#but no seriously why the fuck is everything under the sun available up until about 60L and then it's like 120L/31 gallon

[chipped-chimera]

I am a woman looking for:

⬛ men

⬛ women

✅ a 20 gal/75 litre fish tank I can actually fucking buy in (Western) Australia

[saturdaysky]

Midst s2e5: Sugarcoat

"Moc Weepe is in a bathrobe." Yes i DO love juxtaposing brutal characters and dystopian settings with mundane, silly, and pleasant things, why do you ask! This episode starting strong

I would love to stay the day in this gorgeous penthouse solarium if only it weren't something awarded and available to winners of the seriously fucked up Trust system. can't win 'em all, i guess

A bulletproof city floating in a glassy, deadly cloud. Everything is beautiful and armored. The city is named The Highest Light, which is lovely and also still giving me serious Sunless Skies Clockwork Sun vibes

peepaw weepe can't use the fancy telecom

peepaw weepe also doesn't know what brunch is

a huge golden statue of Jonas Spahr adorns this promenade! No pressure, Jonas

"Weepe notices a distinct lack of anything resembling poverty" hmmmm

"a basket of dried crispy flower petals as an appetizer" something you may not know about me is that my favorite flavors of anything are the ones that sound like they should be printed on a shampoo bottle. I want to eat this appetizer

"a bitter floral dirt flavor" okay they had me until dirt, nevermind

It makes so much sense that greenery would be conspicuous consumption for a city that floats in a deadly glass sky

"Caenum is not a crime. It is simply...the potential to repay." WOW. It feels very relevant that the very first appearance of the Trust on-screen was someone so deeply in debt he kidnapped some official's son to try and get out from under it

"Positivity is what gets me up in the morning every day. I get out of bed and I think to myself, 'what am I gonna do to make everything better?'" I laughed aloud at this being said by Moc Weepe of all people

I think Imelda truly enjoys torturing Moc Weepe with things like brunches and day spas

"I'll have a mani-pedi as well. What does that taste like?" it's kind of endearing seeing this brutal frontier power broker so thoroughly out of his element

[eternally-writing]

chain reaction 02 | jjk

genre: fluff and angst 

rating: PG 

pairing: Jungkook x reader

theme: college!au , enemies to lovers, series 

word count: 4.6k

warnings: light swearing

synopsis: A semester with your mortal enemy, Jeon Jungkook, as your lab partner was bound to be an experience to remember. 

banner by me!

read part 1 here! 

 If you want to be tagged in future parts, send me an ask! 

--♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡--

When you had imagined what Jeon Jungkook’s apartment would look like, you had definitely thought it would look something like an evil lair (except messy, because Jungkook definitely struck you as the messy type). 

However, upon stepping into his surprisingly well-finished apartment, you found the exact opposite case. Before this, you had planned to make a ton of jokes based on whatever you would find in Jungkook’s apartment. And the truth was, you still could. 

Jeon Jungkook was an absolute neat freak. You watched the way he subtly shuddered as a fleck of dirt from your shoes travelled off of his doormat and you took note of how his kitchen counter was so clean you could probably eat directly off of it (which was especially rare from someone in college). If he had a roommate, there was no trace of him right now, as the apartment pretty much looked like a showhome.

“I didn’t know you were such a clean freak, Jeon,” you said with a smirk.

For the first time, you saw Jeon Jungkook look the slightest bit timid. 

“I like to keep things tidy, I guess,” he said while rubbing the back of his neck with his right hand. 

He gestured for you to enter his quaint but somehow spacious living room as he sped to the kitchen to grab you a glass of water (he may not like you, but he’d be damned by his mother if she found out he let a guest into his place without giving them a beverage).

You had a very clear game plan when it came to entering Jeon Jungkook’s apartment: Enter. Talk about the project (and nothing else). Grab the chemistry notes from the class you missed on Monday. Leave. 

It definitely seemed like an easy peasy 4 step plan  -  except that all seemed to flow out the window once you saw the photo Jungkook kept on his coffee table. From what you could decipher, it looked like a high school aged Jungkook in a music studio, right in front of the mic, with some of his friends around him. You had never seen Jungkook smile as big as he was in that picture, and it even managed to pull at your heartstrings.

Before you could open your mouth to ask about it, Jungkook had already come over to you and slammed the picture to be face down on the table, leaving smiley high school Jungkook out of sight. 

“An invitation into my apartment isn’t an invitation into my private life, Y/N. Don’t get it twisted.” he said coldly, dropping the glass of water hashly onto a coaster by the picture frame. 

To be fair, you kind of deserved that (and looking into Jungkook’s personal life definitely wasn’t part of your 4 step plan to seeing him today), but he didn’t have to be that mean.  As a peace offering you moved as far away from the photo frame as you could.

“Let’s just get this over with, Jeon. I have a pilates class in an hour on the other side of campus.”

Now Jungkook couldn't pass up that opportunity to make a joke. 

“Pilates, mmm.”  He let out an overexaggerated moan to make his point. 

“ Think you can slip my number to the hot girls there Y/N,” said Jungkook with a smirk. 

“In your dreams Jeon. You’re lucky if any girls will still want your number if you fail organic chemistry, which is what you’re going to do if we don’t work on this project.”

“I think you’re forgetting Y/N.” he said as he bent down, bringing his lips to your ear - “if I go down I’m taking you with me sunshine”. 

Ignoring how his close proximity to you was making your heart race (it was probably due to anger, right??), you jumped away from him and pulled out your macbook.

“Our group contract is due tomorrow so let’s just finish that up and then I’ll be out of your hair okay?” you said with an air of desperation and potentially sexual frustration.

For the most part, you and Jungkook worked in silence besides the occasional sound of you typing or clearing your throat. Looking at the live google doc in front of you and the progress you both were making, you were starting to think that working with Jungkook might not be the worst thing in the world. 

Jeon Jungkook and Y/N L/N : CHEM 251 LAB PRESENTATION CONTRACT

Topic - Green Chemistry 

1. Answer all communication from your partner (emails, messages) within 24 hours

2. Complete all portions of assignments at least 1 day before it is due. 

3. Any changes to your availability should be communicated to your partner. 

4. Y/N will handle the background literature and introduction of the presentation. 

5. Jungkook will look for future applications of Green Chemistry and direct applications of course material in the field of Green Chemistry. 

6. Don’t fall in love with your partner. 

As soon as you saw Jungkook type the last point on the document, you glared at him beside you on the couch. 

“Seriously Jeon? I forgot you have the mindset of a 13 year old boy,” you muttered as he looked at you cockily. 

You took a deep breath as your internal monologue started to run: 

Okay, Y/N. you’re not here to let Jeon Jungkook mess with you. 3 strikes and you’re out of here - there’s no reason to need to keep up with his bullshit (especially since at least the first part of your project was over).

Jungkook had then had to add more rules to your group contract. 

7. Y/N will give out Jungkook’s number to any hot girl at her pilates class. 

You groaned and hastily deleted off the document. 

That was strike 1 for Jungkook. 3 strikes and he’s out. 

Jungkook was still relentless in his attacks. 

“Seriously though Y/N, do you really not think I’m attractive at all? You really don’t want a piece of this?,” he said as he wiggled his eyebrows and gestured to his body all too suggestively. 

“Cut it out Jeon, I’m not dealing with your shit today,” you hissed, your eyes shooting metaphorical lasers into Jungkook. 

Strike 2: He’s getting close. 

“C’mon Y/N, what’s the chance that you’ll ever be able to bag someone as hot as me. I mean, look at me and look at you!”

Strike 3: you were DONE  with Jeon Jungkook today.

Not even stopping to put on your shoes fully, you took one last glance back at him before you walked out the door. 

“Fuck you, Jeon Jungkook.”

The glass of water he got you sat untouched on his coffee table, drops of water spilling onto the photo frame beside it due to his apartment shaking from you slamming his door.

Mirroring the new droplets on his coffee table, you found tears starting to drop across your face as well. 

--♡--

Even though you loved your chemistry lecture, you’re not sure why chemistry labs had such a bad vibe to you. The most obvious explanation for this would be having Jeon Jungkook as a lab partner (especially after your last meeting, the situation speaks for itself). But what could be is probably at least part of the reason is because of what happened in your first year 8AM chem lab. After getting through a grueling 3 hour titration (that you messed up and got no results for in the end), you walked back to your dorm to find your (now ex) boyfriend Jimin in bed with your roommate, Soomi. 

Needless to stay you left that day with one less friend, no boyfriend (and you had also gotten 16/30 on that lab… yikes), so chemistry labs did leave a little bit of a bad taste in your mouth. 

It had been months since that incident, but even after getting a new lease and cutting any ties you remotely had to Jimin, you still carried the insecurity that Jimin instilled in you by cheating on you with someone who you thought of as a sister. 

You had yet to run into Jimin against post-breakup, and had managed to successfully avoid him, until now.

“Y/N?” 

You knew that voice all too well. Turning around, you were met with the sight of your ex, Jimin. As if that wasn’t bad enough, as you looked him over you noticed your old roommate, Soomi, hanging off of his arm. You had no clue that they were still together (you had lost all contact with anyone remotely related to Jimin), and somehow seeing them together hurt you even more. 

Jimin looked even prettier than you had last remembered him; his prince-like hair shone in the afternoon sun, his charming smile seemed even brighter. Knowing Jimin was still with Soomi made you feel that he didn’t even feel a pang of regret for cheating on you, like he didn’t need to take some time by himself to reflect (like you definitely did) or stop to grieve your relationship. From your point of view, it seemed like you never even mattered to Jimin. 

You suddenly felt self conscious of everything under the judgmental gazes of Jimin and Soomi. Those baby hairs that you didn’t bother to pin down with a bobby pin this morning now felt like they were sticking straight out of your head and the pimple that was poking through your concealer on your forehead suddenly felt like a volcano. In your mind, compared to Soomi, you looked like a hot mess.

Your brain was on autopilot for all the small-talk you made with the two of them, and you didn’t snap out of your trance until you heard these words from Jimin. 

“I only wish the best for you Y/N”

You internally scoffed at this statement. Who the fuck was Park Jimin to say that he “wishes the best for you”. You took months to get over him and the hurtful words he said to you. Every mean comment and snarky comparisons he made to you felt like it was tattooed onto your skin and stuck with you forever. But now he was standing in front of you like nothing was wrong?

In a different world, you probably would’ve slapped Jimin across the face. But instead you rose above like your mom taught you to. 

“You as well Jimin.” you said courtly with a nod, trying to stop the tears that were pricking at your eyes from escaping your tear ducts. 

After receiving a small nod from Jimin as a response, you turned around as if you had somewhere to be (in reality, you didn’t have class for another 2 hours).

Getting as far away from Jimin was all you could think about at the moment, and you moved as far as your legs could take you in whatever direction you thought would take you out of your college’s quad, even as the tears falling from your eyes blurred your vision.

You didn’t know how to feel. You had imagined what seeing Jimin for the first time after the break up would look like; maybe he would grovel at his knees and beg to have you back (it’s not that you wanted to date him again or that you had feelings for him, but it would feel nice to feel wanted), maybe you would just throw a drink in his face and walk away like a bad bitch, maybe you could’ve flashed a new boyfriend in front of his face. 

All of a sudden your phone started to ring.  Your first fear (and somewhat hope) was that it would be Jimin calling you, but little did you know that it was something so much worse.

Incoming Call: Jeon Boy 

“as if this day couldn’t get any worse,” you thought to yourself as you pressed decline. You had yet to talk to Jungkook since that day at his apartment (you didn’t even call to congratulate him on his 

Incoming Call: Jeon Boy 

You groaned and hit the decline but at the speed of lightning again.

Incoming Call: Jeon Boy

Seriously, could this guy not take a hint? You were tempted to turn your phone off all together, but settled for hitting the decline button again.

Incoming Call: Jeon Boy

You realized that for whatever reason, Jungkook was not giving up, so you either had to answer him or listen to your ringtone of “Love Killa” by Monday X play every 10 seconds. Praying that your voice wouldn’t betray you, you took a deep (albeit shaky) breath and tried your best to wipe your tears before clicking “answer”.

“Look Jeon, I’m - uh - sorry but I really can’t do this right now okay? I’ll call you later.” you choked out, your voice obviously wavering as you tried to be as professional as possible. 

Before you could press the “end call button” you heard Jungkook’s concerned voice through the speakers.

“Y/N, wait, you don’t sound too good. Are you okay?”

Ah yes, “are you okay” - probably the most loaded question a person could ever ask. 

You probably could’ve kept it together if he had asked any other question, but his “are you ok” truly pulled at your heartstrings.

You felt your chest tightening but you tried your best to help the feeling subside. You had yet to show weakness about how Jimin had affected you to anyone, and you sure as hell weren’t going to start with Jeon Jungkook. Clutching at your chest and taking a few deep breaths in an effort to calm your racing heart, you continued on. 

“Is that genuine concern I’m hearing from you Jeon? Be careful, you’re losing your bad boy persona,” you said as you tried to make a joke to distract him. 

“Y/N, no. I’m serious. are. you. okay.”

You couldn’t handle it anymore. Sobs broke free from your chest and you heaved into the phone, your whimpers and whines striking Jungkook on the other side of the phone. 

“I, I can’t- I just-“

The words barely broke through your sobs. Your chest was tightening and you could barely hear Jungkook through the ringing in your ears. 

“Y/N where are you, I’m coming’” said Jungkook. You could hear the jingling of his car keys and the rustling of him putting on shoes. 

As if mother nature felt your pain, the rain started pouring down on you at the same time.

You barely got out any more words to Jungkook,  but he didn’t hang up on you. He just kept whispering comforting phrases, trying to calm you down from afar as you could hear his car engine roaring in the background (in another world, you definitely would’ve yelled at him for using his phone while driving). You barely even registered that Jungkook was there at all. Every memory of you and Jimin seemed to reopen like a fresh wound, and you couldn’t feel anything except the pain. All you could do was sit on a random curb by the edge of campus, your wails probably reaching the sorority houses nearby. 

You felt broken. The sound of the thunder overhead mixed with your cries as the rain pelted you, soaking your thin sweatshirt. You don’t know how much time passed there. In your head, it felt like time was frozen, while for Jungkook it felt like he was wasting hours zooming through campus (he truly was zooming - a month later he found out that he had accumulated 3 speeding tickets trying to find you, but he would never tell you that).

“Oh, sunshine,” he murmured, voice laced with pity and concern as he pulled over his car on the curb in front of you. 

You and Jungkook hadn’t even said a word to each other since the feud at his apartment, and you had absolutely zero clue how he even managed to figure out where you were through your jumbled phone call. But all you knew is that right now you needed him. You needed someone to give you a bit of comfort, and Jungkook was somehow here to do that for you. Despite everything between you twom you couldn’t hide the feeling of relief that ran through your body as you looked up and saw Jungkook in front of you.

Coming to your side, Jungkook crouched beside you. 

“Jungkook”, you wept as he pulled you into his chest. It was probably one of the first times you had actually addressed him by his first name, which came as a surprise to him. 

Holding you closer, Jungkook couldn’t help but feel protective over you. He couldn’t help but hurt with you as he saw your fragile figure shaking in his arms. 

“You’re gonna be okay now Y/N, okay? I’m here. I’m here for you. I’m not going anywhere.”  

And in that moment, on a dirty curbside off campus, you weren’t Jeon boy and little miss sunshine,  mortal enemies and chemistry lab partners. Instead, you were just Jeon Jungkook and Y/N., and nothing else seemed to matter at the moment.

--♡--

To your surprise (and the surprise of anyone else who knows you), you and Jungkook had not been stepping on each other’s toes as much. What had started out as extreme, extreme dislike had turned into a mild dislike (maybe even a very slight enjoyment of his presence, although you weren't about to admit that anytime soon). And of course, you both refuse to acknowledge the “Jimin incident” that had occurred a week ago and you both refuse to believe that it may have had something to do with you and Jungkook not hating each other. Your emails stopped being signed off with “do your part Jeon, or else” and instead now usually started with “Hey Jeon!” and “Thanks, Y/N”

That brought you here, in your apartment on a Friday night, eating old pizza in an old sweatshirt, no bra, and some comfy shorts that had definitely been through the wash one too many times. Researching for your chemistry project, you chuckled at how much of a londer you would look to an outsider. Sending off the articles you found on Green Chemistry to Jungkook, you closed out the email with some casual pleasantries and then turned to continue rewatching episodes of your favourite kdrama. You definitely weren’t expecting a response from Jungkook until Monday. You were sure that someone like him was at a frat party (was he even in a frat? You had no idea). Either way, Jungkook probably was lounging around in some party house with like 6 girls on his arms, while you were doing quite the opposite. 

Surprisingly, Jungkook was actually doing quite a similar thing to you. Instead of watching kdramas, he was watching Iron Man (for what was probably the 50th time), and was huddled under a makeship blanket fort like a child and scrolling through reddit. Don’t be mistaken though, Jeon Jungkook was definitely a partier, but he also knew when he needed to give his head (and liver) a break.

He saw his phone chime with a gmail notification. He took a brief scroll through the articles you had sent over to him (those were definitely work for another day since there was no way he could digest academic jargon without at least 3 cups of coffee in him), but he was pleasantly surprised with what you had come up with. 

At the same time, the Facebook tab he had open on his Macbook also lit up. 

It’s Y/N L/N’s birthday today! Leave a message on her wall to celebrate!

Jungkook’s jaw dropped. 

It was your birthday and you were sending him chemistry research papers?? Jungkook chuckled because he could already think of 1000 bad jokes to make fun of you, but he also felt some other feeling that he couldn’t quite place.  

Jungkook’s mother had always taught him that it was important to celebrate birthdays, and that is was bad luck that it was  He wasn’t sure if it was just a farce that his mother had come up with to make sure that he still attended those family-wide facetime birthday celebrations once he went to college, but either way, he still believed it to some extent. 

He had no clue why he was doing this, or how he even got here, but somehow Jungkook found himself in sweatpants and a hoodie in front of your apartment door at 10pm on a Friday night, cake in tow in one hand, his other hand out ready to knock on your door. 

On the other side of the door, you were equally astonished. It almost felt like you were seeing a hallucination, as if your email to Jungkook had somehow summoned him to your door. You couldn’t help but rub your eyes in disbelief, just to make sure he was actually there. 

“Jungkook?”

Bashful Jungkook seemed to make an appearance again as he tapped his feet in anxiety. And before he could stop himself, words were already tumbling from his mouth”

“Happy birthday?” he said as a question , posing it as if he didn’t know whether facebook was just playing a prank on him (which he honestly didn’t know). “Can I come in?”

You didn’t even really know how to process this situation, but all you could mutter was a “uh, thank you?” in a similar inquirable tone and gesture for him to step into your apartment. If Jeon Jungkook showed up at your door at 10pm on a Friday night, he probably deserved to be heard out.

“You can make yourself comfortable on the couch. Sorry, I wasn’t expecting company otherwise I would have cleaned up a bit.”  You were sure that Jungkook’s neat freak brain was probably frying itself into overdrive based on the empty now-empty pizza box sitting on your coffee table and stray utensils and crumbs on your kitchen counter. You felt a little embarrassed that he had to see this.

Mirroring Jungkook’s hospitality last time you were at his place, you brought him a glass of water and hoped that this evening would go a LOT better than the last time you and Jungkook were alone together in an apartment. 

Jungkook’s cake was still held in his hands. It was a little cake from the 24/7 cafe on campus; he could only find one that said “happy” with little sunflowers and smiles, so hopefully the “birthday” part of it was implied. 

“I, um, I brought cake - for you. I mean your birthday.”

You sat down across from him. 

“Oh you didn’t have to Jungkook, uh that’s really nice but you didn’t have to do that,” you said as you leaned further away from the cake, as if it was an item that scared you. “I’m not big on birthdays anyways, just usually me chilling in my apartment!” 

However, Jungkook was not planning on taking no as an answer. He tried his best to plead with you, but was still getting nowhere. 

“you… you have to do it for my mom!” he said as he thrust the cake even closer to your face. 

You tilted your head in confusion at his statement. 

“I mean uh-, my mom says that it’s bad luck if you don’t blow out candles on cake on your birthday and that if you don’t do it then you won’t live to your next birthday. And um- i know we’re not friends Y/N but I’d rather see you alive next year”.

 Jungkook tried to look as nonchalant and cool as possible, and when he realized his statement was a little too thoughtful he followed it up with a “i mean you could do whatever you want i don’t care it doesn’t matter to me”. 

You were beginning to like this side of Jungkook, the one that was more thoughtful than he was a selfish, inconsiderate dude.

Taking the cake softly from his hands, you muttered a soft “thank you”. At this point Jungkook didn’t know whether you took it from his hands to throw it on the ground or actually use it for its intended purpose. As you leaned over to grab the lighter by your candles on your coffee table, Jungkook let out a breath of relief. 

Throwing open the cake box, you lit the candle in the cake and stared patiently in front of it. 

“Well Jungkook, I believe if I am going to be blowing out candles there should be singing too, no?” You joked with a silly smile on your face. 

Knowing he had no way out of this (and to be honest, he secretly wanted to anyways), he began to sing. 

You had never heard a more beautiful rendition of happy birthday in your life. Jungkook turned the most mundane song, one that you didn’t have many happy memories with, into a tune that made your heart start to swell with joy. You wished the song was longer, because as he stopped to sing you wanted nothing more than for him to keep going. 

“Make a wish, Y/N” , he whispered. 

You didn’t know what to wish for. There were a lot of things that needed to be fixed in the world, and lots of things that you needed too (like a new toothbrush, or the experience of true love). It seemed fitting that since you were only blowing out these candles because of Jungkook, you should at least dedicate the wish to him. So all you wished for was for you and Jungkook to get along just like you were in this moment. 

You looked up at Jungkook from the cake, and from there all you could say was a sincere “thank you”.

The moment was all too sincere, and you and Jungkook could feel the atmosphere shift to one that was all too intimate and friendly for your relationship. As moving away from a hot flame, you both picked up your phones and mumbled excuses to move away from the situation. 

Jungkook was the first to break the ice again. 

“I don’t know how good this cake is going to be, the expiry date was at least a week and a half ago”

“Well Jeon Jungkook, if you brought an expired cake into my apartment, it feels like a right of passage that you have to try this cake with me.”

You couldn’t stop yourself from picking up a piece of cake on a fork and shoving it into his mouth. Immediately, his face scrounged up in disgust, and you could pretty much see him gag. 

“That cream is… very creamy to stay the least,” he said as he thickly swallowed it down, grimacing the whole time. 

His expression made you chuckle. There was something about the way his naturally fluffy hair seemed to move as he swayed like a piece of seaweed on your couch (a mannerism that you had picked up on quite quickly), that made you feel warm inside.

“Considering me sacrificing myself to this cake as a birthday present to you, Y/N” 

The laugh that bubbled out of your chest almost made that gross cake worth it to Jungkook. And some words of sincerity slipped out before you could hold them in. 

“Best birthday present ever, Jungkook, thank you.

--♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡--

Taglist: @apollukee , @mrcleanheichou , @monvieesdaebak 

If you want to be tagged, please send me an ask! 

 If you liked what you read, please interact/follow! Thank you for reading♡

- Emily

[allhailthewicked]

Random JATP Headcannon: Reggie Pep-Talking Julie

 Disclaimer: Hey y’all there’s a lotta negative self-talk and body image stuff in this long and chonky puppy (like a dachshund). Am I just simply projecting in this headcannon? Si señores, señoras, y señoritas ...umm chile anyway so... on to the angst and fluff.

Julie is a bad bitch.

And we love that for her. But every bad bitch has a few weaknesses. Like popping balloons or falling for a ghost who died in 1995 or being afraid that you are going to lose everyone you’ve ever cared about. But there are days when Julie’s biggest weakness is her body. Then again Julie loves her body, she loves how her hair curls and how it frames her, and even though it can be a pain in the ass, she loves it. She also loves her smile and the gap between her teeth and how musical her laugh is. She loves how she can pull off a blazer and a dress and how her eyes sparkle in the sun. She loves how clear her skin is and her brows and her height and everything but some days she doesn't. But some days she looks in the mirror and cringes at what she sees.

Ha, it's funny to think that I can pull this off.

I'm too much of this and not enough that.

I don't really love how I look in this.

Maybe I should just change

These thoughts often seem to be swirling around in Julie's brain. But sadly those aren't the worse thoughts she has that award goes to thoughts like:

Luke would never fall for a lifer like you.

and

He’s way too good for you. Maybe you'll have better luck if you're prettier

Julie sighs flattening her crop top grabbing her sides before quickly opting to change into a longer looser shirt. She grabbed her phone from her nightstand shooting a text to Flynn.

Trouble #1💜: hey love! you free rn? i’m having a terrible bbd today and i need a distraction and a hug

Trouble #1💜: and maybe a good cry

Trouble #2💕: aww girlie i would love to but i’m in colorado at my aunt’s wedding reception

Trouble #1💜: oh shit. i’m sry i forgot.

Trouble #1💜: no thoughts head empty only body negativity

Trouble #1💜: how’s the wedding? did stacy cry when your aunt came down the aisle?

Trouble #2💕: don’t worry about it jules. a certain dead ghost boy has haunted your brain cells maybe you can go to him. i’m sure he’ll love the cuddles 😉😉😉

Trouble #2💕: stacy bawled btw but so did aunt hilda and dad pretended that he didn’t, but we all know he loves seeing hilda happy.

Trouble #2💕: it’s so fucking freezing. but the dress was absolutely gorgeous tho

Trouble #1💜: cuuuteee love that for them. well, i have to go guys maybe practice a song or two. but luke was kind of the one who started this. idk i’m just going to try and get through the day so i can rush back to my room and rewatch New Girl or something

Trouble #2💕: WHAT DID THAT BASTARD DO?!?!?!

Trouble #2💕: I WILL COME DOWN FROM COLORADO TO BEAT HIS ASS!!!

Trouble #1💜: He did nothing. I’m just overthinking ya know. Like I’m not worth it. He doesn’t need me. I don’t deserve him

Trouble #2💕: jules i’m going to be real with you. HONESTLY HE DOESN’T DESERVE YOU!!!! but he does look at you like you’re his source of life so don’t let this dead, paler than wonder bread boy hurt you!!! he’s so lucky to have you in his life.

Trouble #2💕: you are a gorgeous girl!!!! stunning. an absolutely beautiful, smart, and amazing person!! everybody lights up when you walk into the room. but you know who lights up the most. mr. boo-berry music man simping cute bright dead eyes looking ass.

Trouble #2💕: but maybe you should talk to alex if you don’t believe me. sadly he seems like the himbo with the most emotional knowledge. so maybe talking to him will help. but promise me you’ll take care of yourself love

Trouble #1💜: I promise. flynn imma just wear a bigger sweatshirt and pretend that i’m okay instead of feeling like I want to wrap myself in a blanket. it’ll be all good. gtg bye love you :)

Trouble #2💕 : THAT’S NOT HEALTHY!!! but please do take care of yourself. i’ll be back soon and i’ll talk to you later💕.

Julie grabs an old Orphuem hoodie that belonged to her mom, slipping it on noticing how she still hasn’t quite grown into it. Walking past her mirror one more time Julie scrunches her nose not appreciating how her tight jeans look on her. In fact, she doesn’t like how her nose looks today. 

Fuck I hate when I feel like this. Maybe Flynn is right. I should probably talk to Alex and at least try to avoid Luke. He doesn’t need to see me like this.

Sighing, she makes her way over to the garage. She opens the door only to see Reggie intensely focused on playing the riff he was working on for their new song.

“Is Luke around? I need to snatch up Alex, but I don’t want him to see me and worry,” she asked, starting to giggle when he snapped out of his trace as a small yelp left his lip.

Reggie spotted Julie’s Orpheum hoodie not noticing how much his eyes widened.

Julie cocks her head at the gaping Reginald before realizing he was staring at her hoodie. “It was my mom’s,” Julie whispered as Reggie nodded along, “she used to work there in college. Mom and her best friend, my Tia Maria were waitresses there. But I’m getting distracted, is Alex here? I just really need to talk to him and his dumb emotional availability.” 

“Well, it’s Alex and Willie’s 6-month anniversary, so I hope he’s not around here. But he’s like at the beach with Willie being all mushy.”

“Oh wow, they’re so cute together! He’s definitely seemed so happy since he met him,” Julie said, truly proud of her drummer but not completely masking her disappointment of not having anyone to talk to.

“Yeah, he's more free now. Plus it gives me and Luke the opportunity to rag on him on how easily he flushes when Willie teases him. But you don’t need to worry about lover boy or your lover boy,” he says while waggling his eyebrows at her. 

Julie sadly laughs trying to hide her face from the boy. As Reggie seemingly oblivious continued “Luke is at his parents. He’s been going more often trying to find sneaky ways to leave his song. Some unpublished songs Julie. He has never done anything like that since you went to his parent’s house with him. The closure is cathartic for him,” he whispered, putting down his bass. “He loves seeing his mom’s face light up when she finds another song. But you seem down Julie, what’s wrong?”

“Oh it’s nothing Reggie don’t worry about it,” Reggie cocks an eyebrow at her with a concerned look on his face. Julie looked away sighing, putting on her hood before continuing on, “I’m just a little under the weather and just needed someone to talk to, but it’s fine. I’ll be fine. I will be fine in a few hours. But don’t worry, and please don’t tell Luke.”

“Well Julie you can talk to me,” Reggie pauses puts down his bass putting his hands behind his head, legs cross, frowning slightly, “Believe it or not I can be a little insightful but seriously Julie you’re like my little sister and I hate to see you like this.”

Reggie taps on the spot on the couch next to him motioning for Julie to sit down.

“I’m not going to force you to tell me anything but if you need someone to talk I here when you are ready,” And with that, Reggie picked up his bass and started to work on what seems like a new song.

Together they sit in this calming silence as Reggie starts to pluck away at this melody taking notes of what chord progressions work and what doesn’t while Julie quietly points at chords. This goes on for about five minutes until Julie finally says something.

“Fine okay you need to promise me that you won’t tell Luke because he’ll try and fix this, and he’ll probably make me feel worse,” Reggie quickly nods before putting his fist out giving her a promise fist bump. Julie wetly laughs at this before taking her hood off, running her hands through her hair.

“You know for years I’ve waked up and then immediately looked in the mirror and some days I loved what I see those days are good. I love how I look and how I feel, and I’m just happy. But some days I don’t... some days I look in the mirror and I just see every single flaw I have, and I just want to hide in my bed and not let anyone see me. Some days I feel like I don’t deserve you or Luke or Alex or Flynn or even my family. I just look into the mirror, and I’m like why would anyone stand to look at me. And you know today is one of those days. When Mami was alive she would call a day like today a BBD. It was a code for bad body day or day when we would just wear matching hoodies, cuddle, and binged movies without telling Dad what was wrong. But he understood, he understood that Mami would take care of it and that she understood what I was going through. We did it so often until she you know... that I don’t know how to tell my dad about it. Like him making me hot chocolate like he used to won’t make going away,”  Julie sighed wiping the quickly forming tears from her eyes. Julie turned away from the concerned, so he couldn’t see how close she is to completely breaking down.

Reggie wrap his fettuccine arms around Julie pulling her into a warm hug that smelled like the lemon-lavender bath and body works body wash she bought him for the shower in the garage. The was comforting which led to Julie letting her guard down, shoulders shaking as she heavily sobbed into her undead friend’s shoulder as he rubbed her back. After she was seemingly cried out she looked up at Reggie, who looked wide eyed at her.

“I’m sorry I snotted all over your flannel. God that’s so disgusting. I’m just going to go to bed and just mope and watch Netflix. Thank for being a shoulder I could lean on. I’m sorry that I was just being annoying,” Julie whispered as she tried to wipe away the snot only to make a bigger mess.

"Hey hey hey it's okay Julie I can just wash it or like blame it on ghost ectoplasm. Julie do we leak ectoplasm?"

Julie laughed wetly as Reggie frantically looked to see if he was oozing before realizing that he was getting distracted. She quickly noticed the major shift in demeanor change as he seriously looked at her.

"Julie you are beautiful and I know that you don't feel like that now but you will eventually. And I know that you don't want me to fix you and I won't because I can't. And I know you might want to try to impress Luke with how you look or just think that your looks are all that Luke that think about, but I am his best friend and I know that he would be head over fucking heels gone for you. Even if you look like whatever a Jar-Jar looks like he would see you as the light of his world. He is in love with you and your soul and you deserve that love. But you deserve self love even more. Julie you are not a thing to be looked at then judged. You are a person with feelings and  personality and a story, a story to tell. Your body looks the way it does because of all the things you've experienced in life. Julie I know this all may sound meaningless coming from me but you are literally one of the strongest people I know and I know you can through. You will not be less strong if you reach out for help. You might be my favorite Molina but talking to Ray is smarter than you think and he can help. I just hate seeing my sister hurt like this," Reggie said before yelping as he noticed that Julie had started to bawl again.

"Wait Julie no I'm sorry. Was that too much. God I know you said I shouldn't try to fix things. I should've kept my dumb mouth closed and not bring up Ray. I'm sorry Julie don't cry," Reggie rambled nervously rubbing her back

“No no no no Reggie you didn’t say too much. You just shocked me honestly but like in a good way. I mean I can’t say that I will believe everything you said. But thank you Reg. Thank you I am so glad that you are in my life. You’re my favorite Peters and you are much smarter than other people give you credit for,” Julie says laughing at Reggie’s bright smile.

“I mean need them to underestimate me sometimes. But let’s watch something together to at least make your BBD a little better.”

Julie smilies quickly nodding before putting on the first episode of the Mandalorian and snuggling close to the older brother that she never had. 

Julie felt okay to say the least for the next couple of weeks her next BBD hit her. Julie sighed pushing herself off the bed looking in the mirror that is covered in encouraging notes from her Dad, Reggie, and Flynn. She sighed about to leave her room to go talk to her Dad again about what was going on before she notice a hoodie on the bed. It was a fleece lined hoodie that was left on her bed folded her bed saying ‘Uke I’m your father’ on it. 

Reggie Julie sighed shaking her head smiling as she picked up the little note that was left with it 

‘I knew that you said that you and mom had matching hoodies for your BBD’s so here’s one that we can wear together. I mean only if you want to I know it was something you and your mom did so I don’t want to butt in on a tradition. But it could be like a signal that you’re having a BBD. I don’t know it might be stupid but I hope you like it.’

Julie smiles at the slight awkwardness of the note before slipping on the hoodie

A/N: HEY IT’S ME AGAIN WITH THE ANGST FOR THE SECOND TIME IN LESS THAN A WEEK!!! Idk what it is but every time I write something for this fandom it turns into angst. Am I sadist? Ehhh wouldn’t be surprised but idk I think I went through something writing this lol. Also I’m sorry if some the dialouge is cringe I’m tired and I really wanted to post befire I got distracted. Anyway please let me know if you want to be added to my taglist down below by either replying to this post, reblogging this post, or sending me an ask! I would appreciate reblogs and feedback because I love reading your guy's comments and tags they seriously make my day!!! but it's fine if you don't want to :)

~✨My Taglist Isn’t Under the Cut Tonight Lol✨~

@poppin-peters, @sunset-bobby, @theobligatedklutz, @soupforfree, @iamthefryiestfrench-blog, @fiddlepickdouglas, @gay-ghosts-committing-crimes

[womenstan]

I See You When You Run From The Light (within your eyes) - Chapter 3

Ao3 Title : The end of the line Chapter :

When he woke up, the first thing Robbe felt was warmth. It was all-enveloping, seeping through his every muscle. He felt so relaxed and at peace that he found himself wishing he’d never have to get out of bed. Just lay there forever wrapped up in the covers that were hugging him close. He snuggled a little deeper, trying to get a hold of the covers to bring them closer to his body, only to lay his hand on something far too hard to be silk.

Robbe’s eyebrows furrowed together in confusion as he tried patting the surface, trying to understand what was thrown over his stomach, but feeling far too lazy to open up his eyes and be attacked by the sun rays.

“Why are you feeling up my arm?” A voice chuckled, deep, next to his ear.

Robbe startled, opening both his eyes at once, only to lay his eyes on the blonde body next to him. Sander, of course . He’d forgotten they’d both gone back to his place after the party last night, Sander insisting until Robbe caved under his adorable mimics.

Laughing, Robbe switched to softly caressing Sander’s arms, making him smile softly. “Royal secret. If I told you, they’d have to kill you.” He said, trying to sound serious, but ending up barely containing his laughter.

Sander snorted, playing along. “They? Do you have body guards then?”

“Oh yes, only the best ones in the whole country. From the King’s own personal army!”

Sander smirked, in that way that told you he was about to crack a joke he was particularly proud of. He lifted his hand up, bringing it on Robbe’s biceps, “Good, there’s no way you’d be able to defend yourself with such small arms anyways.”

Robbe scoffed indignantly, swatting Sander’s hand away. “Me? Small arms? I’ll show you small arms”, Robbe said, before launching himself on top of Sander, trying to immobilize him. Sander laughed, pushing back. They kept pushing at each other for a while until Robbe decided to show off a little.

In one swift motion, he got one leg over Sander’s hips, effectively straddling him and preventing him from moving away. Sander let out a small gasp of surprise and Robbe used that momentary confusion as an opportunity to grab both his wrists and pin them down to the mattress.

Chest heaving, Robbe smiled, lowering himself over Sander, pressing his arms further into the covers. Sander was panting too, even more so than Robbe was.

“Still think I’m too weak to defend myself?” Robbe teased, proudly.

While Robbe had been expecting more teasing, Sander’s face softened and he relaxed his body under Robbe’s. “I think you’re perfect.”

The fondness in Sander’s voice took Robbe by surprise and, for a moment, he wasn’t sure how to respond. If it’d been anyone else… but it wasn’t. This was Sander and he was like this, always affectionate and saying things like this without realizing what they sounded like.

So, Robbe laughed, brushing the remark aside with a soft ‘idiot’, which only made Sander’s smile widden. He rolled off of him, laying back on the bed and sighing deeply.

“I don’t want to get up, like, ever.” Turning his head towards Sander, he added, “Can we just stay here forever?”

Much to Robbe’s confusion, Sander shook his head. “No way”

Getting up on one elbow and turning his whole body towards Sander, Robbe asked, “What? Why not?”

Sander didn’t answer at first, throwing his feet off the bed and onto the floor. He got up and turned towards Robbe expectantly.  When he didn’t hear any sound coming from Robbe, Sander threw his hands up in exasperation, a small smirk playing on his lips.

“ Because , Robin, I’m going to make you the best breakfast you’ve ever had”

Robbe hesitated, chuckling slightly in case it’d been a joke, but Sander seemed dead serious, extending an arm towards Robbe.

“Allez, come”

Robbe sighed, putting his hand in Sander’s and letting himself be tugged up. “Sander…”

Robbe’s whining didn’t deter Sander however, as he led them to the kitchen.

“Ok, get me a pan, some bread and, hm… Ah! Cheese” Sander said, dropping Robbe’s hand in favour of feeling around on the counter to find the stove.

Robbe squinted his eyes at him, slightly worried this wasn’t going to end well. “Sander… Can you even… Like, since you can’t…?”

Sander turned towards Robbe. “Since I can’t see? I’m twenty years old, Robbe, I’ve used a stove before. Don’t worry, just get me the ingredients, you’ll see.”

Still uncertain, Robbe walked slowly towards the cabinets, bringing one over to Sander.

“Ok, I’m going to trust you Sander, but if you burn down the apartment, I’m telling Milan it was your fault” Robbe added, only half-jokingly.

Sander waved him off, before starting the stove.

After a while, Robbe caught onto what Sander was making him.

“Croques? Really? Is that even breakfast food?”

Sander tutted him disapprovingly. “Robbe, everything can be breakfast food if you eat it at breakfast.”

“I don’t think that’s how this works Sander, but whatever you say…” Robbe teased, sitting up on the counter next to where Sander was cooking.

Sander sighed, reaching for a knife and cutting the first croque in half. He took it in his left hand, reaching it out to Robbe. “Stop complaining and try this”

“I’m not even com-” Robbe began, before being interrupted by Sander quite literally shoving the croque into his mouth. He made a noise of complaint, but bit into it anyway, determined to scold Sander immediately after.

Only, as soon as he began to chew, Robbe felt his taste buds explode with joy. The flavour was perfect, the crispiness impeccable, every single bite into the food felt like a whole experience of its own. Robbe couldn’t help but let out a very satisfied hum, making Sander’s face beam with pride.

“Good, right?” He said, clearly already aware of the answer.

Robbe finished swallowing his bite before he answered, sounding bewildered. “Good? Sander, I’m convinced this is the best croque ever made”

Sander blushed a little under the compliment, dipping his head downwards. “I mean, I told you I wasn’t going to fuck this up”

Robbe smiled, extending his arm to ruffle Sander’s hair fondly. “I know, I’m sorry for doubting you. My mind is truly blown right now. I’m going to force you to come over every day to make me breakfast from now on”

Sander only raised his head, softly letting out a “Anytime”.

----------------------------------------

The rest of his weekend passed by in a happy blur, his time spent between joking around with Sander and catching up on his homework. But, as all things do, monday eventually came around the corner, and with it came university.

In all fairness, this time, something else was exceeding his dread of having to go to class: the thought of seeing Noor.

She’d been texting him all weekend, but he’d managed to ignore her easily enough by staying busy. In school though, it would be a lot harder to avoid her.

The worst thing was that he knew he’d promised Sander he would break up with Noor. And it made sense: all they did lately was argue and get mad at each other. So, the problem wasn’t that Robbe didn’t think they should break up, but rather that he would do literally anything to avoid confrontation.

He hated it more than anything else. He didn’t want to hurt Noor, although he supposed ignoring all of her messages and calls was probably also hurting her. If he’d listen to himself, he would simply fire her a breakup text to get it over with, but he wasn’t that shitty.

So, while he was trying to gather the courage to walk up to her and get this over with, his plan was to avoid seeing her at all cost. The good thing about them being together for a while was that he pretty much knew her schedule by now, so he could try to take alternate paths to his classes or hang-out in different spots during his breaks.

It wasn’t exactly convenient, but it wouldn’t be for long anyway. Robbe was going to break up with Noor soon enough and then everything would go back to usual. Or, well, almost everything.

At least, that’s what he told himself Monday, as he had to take a five minutes long detour to get to his first class just so he wouldn’t run into Noor, who had a class next to him.

Coincidentally, it’s also what he told himself Tuesday. He was going to hang out with the guys in the cafeteria for lunch, as they had a common break. Only, as he’d made his way towards the cafeteria, he’d seen Noor exiting the girl’s bathroom and walking in the same direction. He’d quickly fired a text to the boys with a dumb excuse about having forgotten a textbook at home and ran the other way. He ate outside.

On Wednesday, Robbe had been determined to do it. He’d even drafted a little ‘it’s not you, it’s me’ speech the night before. So, he was ready, right? Except, he’d barely made two steps in Noor’s direction before he was stopped by Yasmina who needed him now , and ‘ no, Robbe, it can’t wait ’.

Turns out one of her friends was into Aaron - which, really? Aaron? - and they needed Robbe to subtly figure out if Aaron could be interested too.

“Yasmina, it’s Aaron . As long as she’s got two eyes and a heartbeat, I’m pretty sure he’ll be up for it.” Robbe sighed, trying not to appear as aggravated as he was. Seriously, did she need to have such a shit timing?

That led him to Thursday, at which point Robbe was almost convinced the universe was against this break up. He’d waited for her before his first class, but to no avail, as she didn’t even show up.

They had one break in common that day, around 1pm, but Thursday afternoons were reserved to hang out with Sander, and Robbe was not about to cancel on him just so he could break up with Noor. So, Robbe decided it would have to wait until friday, as he threw his bag over his shoulder and made his way towards the library where he knew Sander was waiting.

Robbe stopped at the tiny student coffee shop on his campus, ordering for both Sander and him. While he waited in line, he quickly shot Sander a text message to let him know he was done with his class and on his way to him, smiling dumbly at Sander’s answering ‘:D’.

He’d been so busy between school, first trying to avoid Noor, and then trying to find her, that he’d barely had time to text Sander since the weekend, let alone see him. He was glad they could still honour their Thursday tradition, just the two of them hanging out without having to worry about anything - or anyone - else.

The barista handed Robbe the two cups and Robbe hurried to the table where he knew Sander would already be sitting, all of his books and material spread over the table. Sander would probably be hunched over some paper, drawing, that concentrated look on his face. He would slightly stick his tongue out, sitting in between his teeth, his eyebrows furrowed and his hair falling in front of his face. Robbe had to admit it was quite the sight.

At first, Robbe had wondered how Sander could be an artist, seeing as he was blind. He’d always just assumed blind people had no way to draw, since they couldn’t see the paper, the colours or the drawing itself. Sander had simply snorted at that, before patiently explaining his method to Robbe.

He used mostly textured art, like pastel or paint. He’d draw with one hand, alternating between tracing the surface of whatever he wanted drawn and the surface of the paper with the other one. Robbe’s curiosity had pushed him to ask for a demonstration, and Sander had gladly obliged.

It was a fascinating process, and the respect and appreciation Robbe already had for Sander’s talent grew tenfold in the space of a single drawing. He’d just looked at Sander, moving seamlessly across the paper and found himself speechless. The only thought that came to him was that Sander was clearly in his element, that he belonged to the arts.

Still now, every time he’d had the privilege of catching Sander drawing, he’d been overwhelmed with this feeling of pride and warmth, watching entire worlds take form on the blank pages under Sander’s touch.

Sometimes, Robbe found himself thinking that Sander had the ability to make everything he touched turn into art. From the dull beige paper cup of coffee that could rival Albert Anker’s Coffee Drinking once it was held in between Sander’s fingers, to Robbe’s own pale skin that shined bright pink under Sander’s soft strokes.

Or the way he was stroking his hand through his hair right as Robbe walked up to him, pulling it back off of his forehead. That was true art.

Robbe shook the thought out of his head as he scraped back the chair next to Sander and sat down, slowly pushing Sander’s coffee to his hand.

“Robin! Finally!” Sander exclaimed enthusiastically, making Robbe chuckle.

“Missed me?” Robbe teased, taking a sip of his own coffee.

“Obviously,” Sander answered, sending him a beaming smile

Robbe laughed, getting his books out of his bag and carefully placing them next to Sander’s stuff on the table.

“What are you drawing?” He asked Sander, trying to peek into his open sketchbook.

Sander smirked, closing his sketchbook before Robbe could properly distinguish the shapes.

“Wouldn’t you like to know, huh?” He teased, making Robbe drop his head to the side in fond exasperation.

“Yes,” Robbe sighed, “I would like to.” He tried to sound annoyed, but he couldn’t help the smile slowly etching its way up his face.

“How badly?” Sander asked, his growing smile indicating he had a joke ready to go.

Robbe rolled his eyes, sighing loudly. “As bad as-”

“Robbe fucking Izjermans!”

Oh . Oh no .

Robbe whipped his head towards the voice, while Sander visibly startled on his chair, dropping his smile instantly.

Robbe mentally groaned when he saw he’d been right about who this voice belonged to. From the library’s entrance, Noor was storming his way, a visible scowl on her face.

Why was it that when Robbe was trying to find her, she was nowhere to be found, but as soon as he’d wanted a moment of peace, she suddenly showed up? What had Robbe done to get such bad karma?

“Noor,” Robbe sighed, “What are you doing here?”

Noor raised an eyebrow, coming to a halt in front of Robbe, arms crossed in front of her chest.

“What do you think I’m doing here? You’ve been ignoring all of my texts and I couldn’t find you anywhere!” Noor half-screamed, earning them a few dirty looks from nearby students.

Before Robbe could answer, Sander scoffed loudly.

“What? You got a problem?” Noor asked him, clearly offended by his reaction.

Sander sighed, bracing himself on the table as he got up to properly face Noor.

“Look, I get that you’re pissed, but Robbe dumped you. He doesn’t owe you anything.” Sander said, keeping his voice levelled, although Robbe could hear the hidden layer of frustration.

It took Robbe’s brain a few seconds to properly realize what Sander had just said, and when he did, it was already too late.

Noor made a surprised noise in the back of her throat, halfway through anger and disbelief.

“Dumped me? What the hell are you talking about?” Noor said, chuckling humourlessly. “Don’t mistake your dreams for reality, Anders.”

Robbe stood up at once, feeling all the blood drain from his face.

“Noor, come on, let’s talk in private.”

Robbe made a move to step towards Noor, but Sander’s arm shot up in front of him, barely missing his face by a few centimeters.

“Robbe didn’t break up with you?” Sander asked, turned in the general direction Noor was in.

Robbe didn’t know what hurt more, the anger in Sander’s voice or the look of pure disappointment on his face.

“Sander, look,” Robbe began, desperately trying to diffuse the whole situation.

Noor’s laugh cut him off, loud and obnoxious, clearly meant to irritate Sander. It seemed to work wonders, as Sander’s jaw clenched in response.

“I don’t know what kind of fucked up fantasies you’ve got going on in your head, Sander, but this is the real world. I guess you might be too crazy to understand what that is.” Noor spit out.

The words hit Sander the same way a punch would have. He stumbled a little backwards, dropping his arm. He turned around, hastily threw all of his stuff inside his bag in a jumble, picked his bag up and walked away without a word.

“Sander!” Robbe yelled, cringing at the desperation he could hear in his own voice. “Sander, wait!”

Robbe started putting his papers back into his own bag, determined to run after Sander, but Noor’s fingers settled around his arm, pulling him back softly.

“Come on, Robbe. Let him be, he’s not good for you anyway.” Noor said, smiling as if Robbe’s world wasn’t falling apart in front of him.

Robbe gave a sharp tug on his arm, freeing himself from Noor’s hold. He shook his head at her, feeling rage boiling up inside of him and threatening to overflow.

“You know what, Noor? We’re through. Over, done, finished!” Robbe yelled, too angry to find it in himself to care that the entire library was witness to their spectacle.

Robbe threw his bag over his shoulder and stormed towards the entrance, where Sander’s back had disappeared barely a few seconds ago.

“What the fuck, Robbe? Do you not love me anymore?” Noor asked, her voice high-pitched and frail.

Robbe sighed, turning back around to face her one last time.

“You’re cruel, Noor. You’re just cruel.” He said, voice tired.

He didn’t wait around to hear her try to convince him he was wrong and that Sander had somehow manipulated him, instead choosing to take off after Sander.

Robbe’s heart was beating so fast that he feared it might fly straight out of his chest. His mind was immediately going to the worst scenarios, telling him Sander would never forgive him, that it was over, that there was no point going after him... But Robbe knew better than that.

He knew that Sander was probably the best thing in his life right now and that he wasn’t going to let him walk away.

So, out he ran, the heavy library doors shutting behind him with a loud ‘thump’ .

Robbe looked around frantically, trying to spot a patch of blond hair in the sparse crowd of students, but to no avail. He ran his fingers through his hair, tugging a little at the strands in frustration.

That’s when he heard a loud crash coming from the boys’ washroom, and something clicked inside his head. He ran towards the room, which warranted him a couple side-looks, but his attention was focused on one sole thing: getting to Sander.

Inside, there didn’t appear to be anyone. All the stalls seemed closed, and the general area was empty. As Robbe stepped further in, he heard a small sniffling sound that broke his heart at once.

He put his bag down against the wall and walked along the stalls, softly pushing the doors open. When he reached the third to last one of the row, the door didn’t open, locked from the inside.

Robbe sighed softly. “Sander?”

The sniffling stopped.

“Sander, please. I just want to explain.”

Nothing but silence.

Robbe leaned his forehead on the door with a small thud.

“I’m sorry, Sander. I really am. I… I should have told you,” Robbe began, unsuccessfully trying to swallow the lump in his throat. “I did mean to break up with her.”

A scof came from the stall, turning into a sob halfway through, and Robbe wondered if there was any piece of his heart left to shatter.

“Sander…” Robbe whispered, worry seeping through his tone. “I’m not lying. I spent the week looking for her too. I couldn’t do it over text, that’s just… I’m not an asshole. Or, trying not to be.” Robbe explains, “I broke up with her just now. What she said to you…” Letting out a frustrated sigh, Robbe shakes his head at the memory. “She’s so horrible. I’m so sorry Sander”

“Don’t be.” Sander’s voice came from the stall, muffled. “She’s right,” He laughed, but it was a bitter sound.

“Sander, no. She isn’t.” Robbe said, a little destabilized at Sander’s sudden lack of self-confidence.

He heard Sander breathe in deeply inside the stall, and Robbe prepared himself for the worst.

“I’m fucking crazy, Robbe, ok? I’m bipolar.” Sander yelled, but he didn’t sound angry. All Robbe could hear was pain, and fear. Just so much fear. “So, yeah, she’s right. She’s right and you should probably go before I fuck up your life too.”

The silence that hung between them after Sander’s declaration was heavy. Robbe felt suffocated under the weight, and he could only begin to try to imagine how Sander was feeling.

“Sander,” He said, keeping his voice low but firm. “Let me in.”

Time stood still as Robbe waited for Sander to make a decision. Seconds passed by, maybe even minutes, Robbe wasn’t sure how long he stayed there, forehead against the door.

Slowly, he stepped back, prepared to argue his way into the stall, when he heard the lock slide open. The door didn’t budge, but Robbe wasn’t mistaken. This was Sander’s way of letting him in, both literally and figuratively.

Robbe took a deep breath, slowly pushing the door open. Sander was leaning on the opposite wall, head hung low and turned away from Robbe, in an attempt to hide his distress.

Robbe slowly closed the door behind him, locking it, before turning back to Sander. The stall wasn’t big and with the two of them, the space was definitely cramped. Robbe took that to his advantage, merely raising his arms to be able to graze Sander’s shoulders.

Sander stiffened, but didn’t move away. Robbe took that as an encouragement and, little by little, wrapped his arms around Sander’s now-trembling form. As soon as Sander’s chest collided with Robbe’s, Robbe felt Sander’s entire body give up on him.

Sander hid his face in Robbe’s shoulder, body limp in Robbe’s arms. As for Robbe, he had one arm caressing Sander’s back in large, circular motions, while the other was stroking his hair softly. He could feel Sander shake through his sobs, but Robbe ignored the urge to make him stop crying.

Sander needed to let it out, and Robbe would be there for him, even if it killed him to see Sander suffering.

Robbe whispered a steady stream of ‘it’s ok’, ‘I’m here’ and ‘let it out’ into Sander’s ear, and slowly but surely, Sander relaxed against him and his sobbing subdued.

When Robbe felt like Sander had calmed back down, he took his chance.

“Sander, you’re not crazy.” Robbe started, making Sander snort humorlessly. “You’re not. Having bipolar doesn’t make you crazy, Sander. And it’s definitely not going to make me go away.”

Robbe tugged Sander back, just enough to look at him as he said, “You’re not some kind of monster, Sander, and you sure as hell aren’t ruining my life. You’re like, the best person in my life right now.”

Sander’s eyes glistened with tears that threatened to fall, but the corner of his lips lifted up a little at that.

“I don’t care what happened between you and Britt, and I care even less about what Noor thinks of you. I know you, and I know that you’re an amazing, caring and talented person that I want in my life for as long as you want to be.” Robbe said, all at once, like the words were spilling out of his mouth the same way Sander’s tears were spilling out of his eyes. Out of his control, filled to the brim with emotions, but, oh, so liberating.

Sander stayed silent, a thunderstorm of emotions hidden in the quiet. Robbe was suddenly glad Sander couldn’t see him, because he was pretty sure his face looked like an open book, and he wasn’t ready to confront what was written on it yet.

He didn’t know why exactly, couldn’t pinpoint what it was about this moment specifically, about Sander’s stare, but it felt like something had shifted between them. Like there would be a before this, and an after this.

Robbe smiled at Sander, stroking his hair one last time before unwrapping his arms from around him.

Sander laughed, wiping at his wet cheeks in embarrassment. “I can’t believe we had this conversation in the school’s bathroom.”

Robbe chuckled, shaking his head. “I have no idea what you’re talking about, Sander. I have all of my heart-to-hearts in school bathrooms!”

Sander raised an eyebrow, a teasing look on his face. “The empty paper toilet dispensers and the vague urine smells really do it for you, huh?”

Robbe tried to suppress his smile, keeping his tone serious. “Oh, yeah. Big time!”

Sander wiggled his eyebrows suggestively, and Robbe responded by giving him a light push on the arm. They made their way out of the washroom, while Robbe avoided the stares of curious students wondering what all the fuss had been about (and probably questioning the tear streaks on both of their faces…).

When they reached the front doors, Robbe hesitated a moment, holding Sander back with a hand to his forearm. Sander stopped, turning back in Robbe’s direction.

“Do you maybe wanna go hang out at my flat?” Robbe asked, cringing at how fast his heartbeat had gotten at the simple sentence. He never got anxious when he asked the boys to hang around, although he hadn’t done so in a long time. So, why was it that whenever he had to ask Sander to hang out, Robbe’s hands got clammy and his heartbeat increased tenfold?

Sander just snorted in response, which only served to make Robbe even more apprehensive.

“You scared me! Of course, I do.” Sander said, now smiling brightly at Robbe.

Robbe wanted to be a little mad at Sander making fun of his hesitation, but he couldn’t help but beam in response, a comfortable warmth settling in his stomach.

They walked to the flatshare, arms locked at the crook of their elbows (if anyone asked, Robbe would say it was to guide Sander, despite them both knowing that Sander didn’t actually need it).

It was a sunny day, and it would have been too warm for Sander’s leather jacket had there not been a chilly breeze flowing through the air. Robbe wasn’t much of a fan of warm days, but when he saw the way the sunlight hit Sander’s face, perfectly illuminating his side profile of a golden hue, he figured he’d like them a lot more from now on.

Robbe couldn’t make himself look away from Sander’s face, intoxicated by the way it looked under the daylight. From the curve of his nose, to the way his eyes glistened, everything about Sander’s face had Robbe in a trance-like state.

He did eventually turn away, after he’d stumbled over a crack in the pavement and Sander had made fun of him, asking ‘who’s the blind one, huh?’ Sander had only been teasing, but Robbe figured it might be smarter for them to have at least a pair of eyes on the road.

Once they reached the apartment, Robbe didn’t even have to unlock the door to know that everyone was home. The sounds of cheers and laughter came through the door and resonated all the way to the staircase, warming Robbe’s heart instantly.

He barely had time to open the door and usher Sander in, before he was attacked by a swarm of bodies.

“Milan, you’re kind of crushing me” Robbe croaked out, the strength of Milan’s hug pressing all of his internal organs together painfully.

Milan loosened his arms immediately and stepped back, an apologetic smile on his face.

“So, what? Robbe gets all the love and I get none?” Sander asked, with a small (irresistible) pouth.

“Sander! Of course you do, come here!” Milan exclaimed, practically jumping in Sander’s arms. Zoë followed suit immediately, eyeing Senne, who just shrugged before joining in. Robbe laughed, moving to take his shoes off before they could attack him again.

“Come on guys, don’t suffocate him to death!” Robbe said, which got him a snort from Sander in response.

“You’re just jealous Robin,” Sander said, winking. The group hug slowly dissolved, as Milan let out a ‘ooooh burn!’ that made Robbe shake his head, amused.

“Sure, I am. It’s not like I’ve hugged you a thousand times before already” Robbe teased, while everyone returned to whatever they were doing in the kitchen.

Sander bent down to untie his shoes, shaking his head. “See, that’s precisely it. I’ve got you addicted”

Robbe laughed, sending a small ‘you wished’ Sander’s way, seemingly unaffected, despite his heart that skipped a beat in fear at Sander’s words.

They navigated to Robbe’s room, where Sander immediately laid down on the bed in a star shape.

Robbe went to his desk and took his books out of his bag, while Sander groaned in the background.

“Sander? You ok there?” Robbe asked, stifling a laugh, his back to Sander.

Sander sighed, hard. “Yeah, but I hope you realize that I’m never leaving your bed again. I’ve melted into the mattress.”

Robbe threw him a glance, seeing Sander had somehow snaked his way under the cover.

“Suit yourself, just don’t steal all the blankets,” Robbe answered, to which Sander scoffed.

“I would never do that! I’ll have you know that I’m a perfect blanket gentleman.”

Robbe hummed, sitting down to start working on his essay. He was quickly bored though, and with Sander in his room, Robbe didn’t really feel like slaving away doing homework. He turned to face Sander, only to find him fast asleep, his mouth open and squished against the pillow.  

Robbe chuckled under his breath, getting up to take a closer look. Once he got within reach of Sander, he slowly caressed his hair. The gesture made Sander frown a little, before he buried himself closer to the pillow, sighing happily.

Robbe smiled fondly, before moving away and to the end of the bed. He still didn’t feel like working on his homework, so he grabbed his controller and decided to game until Sander woke up from his impromptu nap.

After his third loss in a row, Robbe threw his controller aside and figured he was too out of it to keep playing. Looking at his phone, he saw that Sander had been out for a little over thirty minutes, so Robbe figured he might as well join him.

Taking his hoodie off, he walked to the other side of the bed in his shirt and jeans. He laid down next to Sander, who had turned to face Robbe’s way at some point in the past half hour.

When he was awake, Sander’s face always transpired a panoply of emotions. Even his eyes would glisten, darken and light up in the span of a single conversation. Robbe had always thought that blind people’s eyes wouldn’t hold much emotions, but he was clearly wrong. There were more emotions in a single one of Sander’s pupils than there was in most people’s entire face.

Robbe was pretty sure that’s what made him so fascinated with Sander’s face (because, let’s admit it, he was absolutely obsessed with it). He’d read somewhere that eyes were the window to someone’s soul, and while he was more inclined to think it was pure bullshit at first, since he’d met Sander, he’d come to understand the meaning of those words.

Robbe brushed a strand of hair that had fallen over Sander’s face, softly, trying his best not to disturb Sander’s peaceful sleep. Robbe didn’t know how to describe the swelling that overtook his chest as he watched Sander’s body raise and fall with each breath he took. He’d never felt this before, this peaceful yet gut-wrenching feeling that was filling up his heart.

There were a lot of feelings that Robbe had never felt before he’d met Sander. He didn’t know what it was about Sander that provoked those strong, undecipherable feelings that swallowed Robbe whole, but… He would be lying if he said he hated them. Whatever was causing this, Robbe didn’t mind. He liked Sander and he liked feeling like this, giddy in a way alcohol could never provide, yet rested in a way no amount of sleep could bring about.

He rested his hand in between his body and Sander’s, laying his head down on the pillow. He could feel Sander’s hot breath hit his cheeks from how close they were laying, but it didn’t annoy him. On the contrary, it made Robbe feel safe, content even, as he slowly drifted in and off of sleep.

His state of semi-slumber was interrupted when he felt Sander stirring awake next to him. Sander’s hand stretched and fell down on Robbe’s chest, which made Sander startle.

“Robbe?” He asked, voice still full of sleep.

Robbe hummed in answer.

“What did I just hit?” Sander questioned, his eyebrows furrowing as he felt around Robbe’s chest for clues.

“Chest” Robbe answered, chuckling at the concentrated look on Sander’s face.

“Ahhhh, all good then. Sorry for that,” Sander said, giving Robbe’s chest one last apologetic pat before rising to sit up. Robbe followed.

“Hey, what time is it?” Sander asked, sounding a little stressed all of a sudden.

Robbe looked around for his phone, finding it near his desk. “Hmmm, just about four, why?”

Sander rose to his feet so fast that Robbe feared he might fall down when he started swaying. “Shit! I have to be back home by four thirty to babysit, I’m so sorry. I promised my mom and-”

Robbe interrupted Sander, putting a hand on his shoulder. “Sander, it’s chill. Don’t worry”

Sander nodded, but didn’t seem convinced, as he chewed on his lips. He mumbled something under his breath, too low for Robbe to hear.

“What?” Robbe prodded, curious.

Sander sighed, running a hand over his face. “I can’t believe I spent our time together sleeping. I’m so sorry, Robbe.”

Robbe sighed as well, but a little more tenderly. “Sander, I swear it’s fine. I slept too. Besides, we can always hang out tomorrow, once we’re done with classes, right?”

That suggestion seemed to enchant Sander, whose eyes immediately lit up. He snapped his fingers as if he’d just had an illumination, a smile spreading on his face.

"What? You look like you’ve just had a moment of genius.” Robbe teased.

“Even better! I’m going out with friends from uni tomorrow night.” Sander said, excitedly.

Robbe couldn’t help but feel his face fall at that. “Oh. Ok, I get it”

Sander shook his head. “No! No, you don’t. I meant to ask you this earlier, but forgot…” He took a breath, as if steeling himself. “Would you want to meet them? Tomorrow?”

Robbe was stunned into silence, staring at Sander, his mouth hanging open. Sander wanted to present him to his actual friends? He wanted to include Robbe in other parts of his life?

“How is that even a question? Of course I do!” Robbe said, getting just as excited about the idea as Sander.

“Yeah?” Sander added, his smile ever growing.

“Yes!” Robbe said, adding, “Since when do you even have other friends?”

Sander stuck his tongue out at Robbe. “Ha. Ha. Very funny, Robin.”

“Thank you, I think so too”

Sander grabbed his stuff after that, promising he’d send Robbe the address as soon as he’d be home. Robbe suggested walking Sander to the tram, but Sander declined, insisting he could get there on his own.

When Sander was gone, Robbe closed the door and leaned his back against it, slowly sliding to the floor. He was going to meet Sander’s actual friends. He was going to meet Sander’s actual friends! Fuck! Why had he accepted the invitation? This was such a bad idea, they were probably going to hate him and-

Groaning, Robbe lowered his head on his knees.

“Woah, there. Someone’s having a crisis,” Milan said, to which Robbe only grunted in answer.

“Come on, Robbe. What’s on your mind?” Milan asked, sitting down next to him.

“Sander invited me to meet his other university friends tomorrow night.” Robbe sighed.

Milan blinked at him, confused. “And?”

“And, I said yes!” Robbe half-screamed, exasperated by his own actions.

Milan chuckled, looking just as puzzled. “How is that a bad thing? It’s good that he wants you to meet them!”

Robbe groaned at Milan’s incomprehension. “They’re gonna hate me Milan! They’re probably all cool art kids and I’m…” He gestured vaguely towards himself, “not!”

Milan sighed, patting Robbe’s back sympathetically. “Come on, Robbe. You’re smart, interesting and super cute! There’s no way they won’t fall in love with you the second they see you.”

Robbe threw a glance Milan’s way, “Thanks Milan.”

Milan nodded, “Good luck! You’ll be great,” He said, getting up and walking away.

Robbe’s worries were far from gone, but he was glad that Milan thought so highly of him. If all else failed, he knew he’d always have the flatshare to fall back on. That was a constant Robbe was so grateful to have in his life, he didn’t think he could ever find words to express it properly.

------------------

The next day passed by so slowly that it felt painful. It’s like time had decided to mock him, by prolonging his suffering.

Robbe hadn’t registered a single word from his lectures, spending the hours looking back and forth at the clock, so much so that he feared he might end up with a torticollis by the end of the day. If the end of the day ever came, that is.

The second his last lecture of the afternoon was dismissed, Robbe had pounced on the door, practically running all the way back to his flat.

Sander had, as promised, texted him the address the night before. They were meeting at a local bar, nothing too fancy, but Robbe’s usual ‘jogging and sweater’ school attire would probably be too lowkey.

Robbe tried rummaging through his closet, throwing about half of it out before giving up.

“Milan! Milan!” He screamed, hoping Milan would be willing to help.

A second later, he popped his head into the room.

“You called for me?” He asked.

“Yes. Milan, can I please borrow something of yours for tonight? Everything I own is just… wrong” Robbe sighed, pleading Milan with his eyes.

Milan seemed to mull it over, before he threw the door wide open. “Of course you can! Come with, I’ll turn this pumpkin into a prince!”

Robbe laughed, following Milan around the house. “I’m pretty sure the pumpkin gets turned into a coach, not a prince.”

Milan stopped dead in his tracks, turning back to Robbe with a warning finger.

“Do you want my help or not?”

Robbe nodded vehemently.

“Then don’t question my Disney knowledge, Robbe! Flatmates rule #35!”

Robbe raised his hands in surrender, laughing, before Milan started back towards his own room, Robbe on his heels.

Milan did deliver on his promise, after all. Robbe was dressed in a nice long-sleeved shirt with fitted jeans, nothing too flashy, but classy enough to look like he’d put an effort into his outfit (which he, or rather Milan, had).

The bar wasn’t far from Robbe’s home, so he decided to simply walk there. He figured he could shake his nerves out on the way there, and, hopefully, be a little calmer once he’d reach his destination.

The breeze was nice, flowing through his curls. He had been smart enough to bring a jacket, in case the night grew colder as it got later. Despite the atmosphere and his precautions, Robbe couldn’t help the hammering of his heart against his ribcage. He felt even worse than he had that one time in second grade when he’d been called out in class to make a presentation about a book he’d never bothered to read.

Soon enough, he reached the bar, which seemed to be busy with customers. Robbe closed his eyes, taking deep breaths. He tried to tell himself that everything would go smoothly, that Sander’s friends would like him, and that he’d get out of this alive and with his pride intact. If the shaking in his hands was anything to go by, he wasn’t very good at convincing himself.

He sighed, shaking his hands out, before walking into the bar. A radio was playing in the background, just barely covering the noise of the chatter. Robbe walked a little further in, immediately spotting Sander in the corner, sitting at a table with three other people.

Robbe took another deep breath for good luck, and made his way to their table. All three pairs of (functional) eyes were staring at him as he walked, more curious than austere, which reassured Robbe a little.

A blonde guy was the first to signal Robbe’s arrival. “This must be the famous Robbe!”

“Yeah, hi!” Robbe said, nodding in everyone’s direction.

Sander’s whole body whipped towards Robbe when he spoke. “Robbe! You’re here! Sit, sit,”

Sander fumbled with the chair next to him, making space for Robbe to sit next to him. Robbe thanked him, sitting down, trying not to be too unsettled by the looks Sander’s friends kept throwing each other.

Sander’s right hand came to rest on Robbe’s left shoulder immediately.

“Did you find the place easily? I think it’s pretty close to your place, isn’t it?” Sander asked, with the same considerate tone he took every time he wanted to make sure Robbe was ok.

Robbe figured he could probably sense his nervousness. Hell, anyone in a five mile radius who took one look at him could probably tell he was shitting his pants.

“Yeah, it was fine, don’t worry Sander” Robbe answered, smiling.

Sander smiled as well, more to himself, but Robbe still caught it and it made him feel a little more at ease.

Only a little though, because the same boy from earlier decided to clear his throat at that moment, making both Robbe and Sander turn their head towards him abruptly.

He had both of his eyebrows raised, and a knowing smile floating on his face.

“Sooo, Robbe, what are you studying?”

The night went on pretty similarly. After the initial interrogation, Robbe stayed a bit more silent, observing how Sander interacted with his friends.

At some point, Robbe was listening to a drunken story from one of the girls, Marie, while tapping the fingers of his hand on the table. He hadn’t even noticed the nervous tic, before Sander’s hand came to rest on top of it. Robbe’s eyes were instantly drawn to their overlapping hands.

Sander squeezed once in reassurance, and it made Robbe smile. Even in social situations like these, Sander always had a way of knowing exactly how Robbe was feeling, and exactly how to make him feel better. Robbe squeezed back, before Sander slowly took his hand back.

The night wasn’t much different from Robbe and Sander’s regular nights, in that Sander acted exactly the same way he always had with Robbe. When something really funny made him laugh, he would softly knock his forehead on Robbe’s shoulder, hiding his face as he giggled. When he couldn’t remember where he’d placed his glass, he’d lightly tap Robbe’s hand with his own, a silent signal that Robbe had long learned, and Robbe would silently pass Sander’s glass over to him. And when Sander felt Robbe become too antsy, he’d place his hand on Robbe’s bouncing knee, tapping fingers or shaky hands.

Before knowing Sander, Robbe hadn’t been used to touchy people, but now that he was, he found Sander’s small, mindless gestures calming, in the same familiar way that your childhood beddings or your mama’s hugs appease you.

After a while, the blond guy, Max, sipped the last of his beer, knocking it back against the table.

“So, who wants what? This round’s on me!” Max said, already pushing to get up.

Sander stood up at once, surprising everyone at the table.

“No! I’ll go. It’s my turn with the tab, anyway.” Sander said, sounding sure of himself.

Robbe furrowed his eyebrows, but said nothing when he saw Max sit back down and cheer Sander on. Everyone passed their orders and Sander repeated them once before expertly making his way to the bartender.

“How does he navigate so well everywhere?” Robbe asked out loud, to no one particularly. Max probably assumed the question was directed to him, since he took it upon himself to answer.

“Oh, that? It’s like his little superpower. Bring him somewhere once or twice and he’ll know the place by heart.” Max said, earning a few chuckles from the girls and a curious glance from Robbe.

If Sander was so good with directions, then why did he always let Robbe guide him by the arm? Robbe had never really thought about the fact that Sander could seemingly perfectly get back home by himself, but required Robbe’s assistance in the flatshare or when they went out somewhere.

His thoughts were interrupted by Marie.

“Say, you two are pretty close, huh?” She asked, her smile telling Robbe that her question covered a hidden meaning.

“Yeah, sure, he’s a good friend.” Robbe shrugged, smiling politely.

Marie and the other girl, Anne, exchange an amused look.

“Yeah, I bet you must be really good friends,” Anne added, laughing.

Robbe’s face scrunched up in confusion.

“I don't get the joke” He said, a little annoyed.

Max sighed, like an exasperated parent. “Robbe, haven’t you noticed that Sander is a little…” He looked towards Marie, “touchy?”

Robbe frowned. “Yeah? He’s blind, touch is, like, his way of seeing.”

Max nodded. “Then, why does he only ever touch you ?”

Robbe could feel his features harden. He wasn’t dumb, he could clearly understand what Max was insinuating.

“He doesn’t.” Robbe answered, his tone sharp and severe.

Max smiled, as if he could clearly see through Robbe’s bluff. He held Robbe’s gaze.

“He does, though.”

Robbe thought back to all the times he’d been with Sander and other people. He did accept Milan’s group hugs, but even when he came over to eat at the flatshare, he wouldn’t purposefully brush his hands on Milan’s, Zoë’s or Senne’s. If they went to catch a movie with the boys, Sander would only ever lay his head on Robbe’s shoulder, curling up into his side. Even at Sander’s house, Robbe couldn’t remember Sander being so tactile with his mother or his sister. He always did stuff himself, and if he needed them, he’d call them out loud instead of touching them to get their attention the way he did with Robbe.

And tonight. Sander had kept a free seat next to him for Robbe. He’d touched Robbe, almost constantly in one way or another. But he’d never even accidentally brushed against one of his other friends. He wasn’t cold towards them, and you could see the friendship that was linking them together, but still… No touch.

If Sander was truly that tactile, then wouldn’t his childhood friend, Max, and his other uni friends notice he’s tactile as well?

So, if Sander was only ever tactile with Robbe, then why? Was it funny to him? Did Sander think he could try and see what he could do, how far he could go, before Robbe would catch up?

The befriending, the breakup, the mysterious past with Britt… Everything was making sense, now. Robbe had been played, hard. He didn’t know why, what motive Sander could possibly have to make a fool out of Robbe, but he’d succeeded.

Robbe felt angry, betrayed and ashamed. But most of all, he felt pain. He could sense his heart cracking and falling into tiny pieces, as more and more worries overtake his mind.

Whatever he had left of pride was holding back his tears from rolling down his cheeks. He got up, grabbed his bag and coat.

“I... I have to go.” Robbe told the group of three, hurrying towards the entrance like his life depended on it (and at the moment, he felt like it truly did).

He slammed the door open, stepping outside as the first tear streamed down his face. He tried to wipe it away, but it only got replaced with even more tears. He walked down the small steps and leaned against the wall, his head tilted to the sky.

He was furious. He wanted nothing more than to go back in there, make a scene and demand explanations from Sander. But even more than that, he was humiliated. It wasn’t the first time he’d been made fun of, but this time, it hurt a lot more and a lot deeper. What he felt with Sander…

It’s true what they say, he supposes. Ignorance truly is bliss.

Robbe heard the doorbell of the bar ring, but he didn’t pay attention to it.

“Robbe? Robbe!” a voice shouted from his right.

Sander.

“Fuck off, Sander.” Robbe said, getting ready to walk away, but Sander was quicker in grabbing his arm. Robbe sighed tiredly, too exhausted and hurt to fight. “Let go,”

Sander shook his head firmly.

“No. No, Robbe, come on. I don’t know what they told you, but whatever it was, it’s definitely not what you think.” Sander pleaded.

“I don’t care, Sander. Whatever little game you were playing, I hope you had your fun. I’m out.” Robbe said, trying, unsuccessfully, to shake his arm out of Sander’s grasp. “Let me go, Sander!”

“Robbe, Robbe, listen to me. Please. I wasn’t playing any game, I swear, I can explain. Please.” Sander was practically begging, and Robbe could see tears forming in his eyes. He turned his head away.

“Let go,” was all Robbe said, trying to appear cold and composed.

Sander loosened his grip, and Robbe thought he’d finally listened.

A second later, Sander’s hands were cupping his face. Another second later, and Sander’s lips were on his.

Robbe was frozen in place at first, his brain unable to process everything that was happening.

The warmth from Sander’s hands on Robbe’s cold, wet, cheeks. The warmth of Sander’s mouth against his own. The explosion of heat pooling in his stomach. The explosion in his own brain.

Sander was… Kissing him?

Robbe brought his hands up to Sander’s shoulders, pushing him back. He felt a little bad when he saw Sander stumble backwards, not realizing how hard he had pushed him away.

“Sander… I…” Robbe started, unable to form a single coherent thought.

“I like you, Robbe. A lot. A lot more than other people. So, that’s why. I wasn’t playing you.” Sander said, a sad smile dancing on his lips.

Robbe took a small, tentative step back. He could feel his body shaking, badly, as if the temperature had suddenly dropped well under zero.

“Sander… I don’t… I’m not…” He swallowed painfully, “I don’t like you, not like that .”

The word was said with a bit more venom than Robbe had been shooting for, and he could see the second it hit Sander.

Sander’s face crumpled, as he whispered a small, desperate, “What?”

Robbe tried to breathe in, but even his breathing was shaky. “I’m so sorry, Sander. I’m… I have to go. I just… I can’t. I’m sorry.”

Robbe threw Sander one last apologetic look, turning on his heels and walking away.

The last thing he heard were Sander’s first sobs. His own followed soon after.

As soon as Robbe turned the corner, he let his tears flow freely as he took off in a run. He didn’t even know where he was going, or where he was, but he didn’t care.

His whole world had just fallen apart and the most important person in his life was gone.

[wincestismyguiltypleasure]

Warnings: Weecest, a little angsty, jealous!Sam, bratty, emotional, and confused baby brother content, feminization, name calling, humiliation, sadist!Dean, spankings, and of course, that sweet, sweet fucked up codependency. 💋

--------------

Sam just wanted Dean's attention. He always had.

And when he didn't get it, Sam felt not only emotionally, but physically injured by his brother's "neglect." Like Dean had taken his switchblade to Sam's heart, cutting it open just a little bit to play with it. As if he was curious to what was inside. Like Dean had no clue know that every vein, artery, and nerve worked in unison for him.

And over the years, that small wound had ripped open wider and wider on it's own, even though it was no secret that Dean's life had always revolved around Sam.

Perhaps it was a product of Sam's jealousy? His resentment towards John and the unshakable devotion Dean showed him?

Sam didn't really know. But no matter the cause, what was once a dull ache in Sam's chest was now a blinding pain. The only hope of soothing it resting solely on his big brother's touch.

And the worst part about it? Dean knew. He knew Sam was desperate for something so simple as a sideways glance or a pat on the back. Sam would poke and prod and tug at the hem of Dean's shirt for just the slightest bit of recognition, like he really didn't know that he was already the very center of his big brother's entire world.

It was infuriating sometimes, and it made Dean want to be cruel just to prove a point. Besides, at the end of the day, Dean was still Sam's big brother. Ignoring him was part of Dean's job description. And maybe, just maybe, Dean got a sick sense of satisfaction out of making Sammy beg like a slut for something that was already his.

"Dean, c'mon! Pay attention!"

John had only been gone for ten minutes before Sam was shaking Dean's leg violently, trying to make his brother look up from the magazine he was reading.

"Jesus Christ, Sam. Can't you leave me alone for five fucking seconds?"

Dean doesn't have to see Sam's face to know the younger boy is pouting; the corner of his lips turning up in a twisted smirk at the thought of his little brother's pretty eyes starting to water.

There's no answer to Dean's question, just a loud huff and the sound of the bathroom door slamming, rusty screws barely keeping it on the hinges.

And if Dean didn't get such a kick out of being an asshole to his needy little brother he might have felt bad for hurting Sam's feelings. But he doesn't, mainly because this was all part of the sick, fucked up game they'd been playing since Sam had turned sixteen. This volatile give and take, back and forth, born out of Sam's misguided pain. The younger boy thinking that Dean loved John more than him and Dean's cutthroat determination to prove his little brother wrong. To show Sam that even if he isn't looking, he's still paying attention. And that he couldn't stop paying attention to Sam even if he tried.

Honestly, Dean still gets a little hot under the collar thinking about the first Sammy pushed his buttons like this. He'd been both mortified and so disgustingly turned on when he found out that his sweet baby brother knew just how to act bratty and coy to get fucked through the mattress. God, Dean was so pissed and guilty about it at the time that he'd almost thrown up afterwards.

Even now, Dean feels kinda queasy. But the feeling is so simple to ignore this go around because he's also rock hard and shaking a little from the anticipation.

Oh, and of course, Sam makes him wait. Almost two fucking hours. Tiny beads of water still dripping from the younger boy's long, dirty blonde hair when Sam finally emerges from the bathroom wearing nothing but a pair of lacy blue panties and a triumphant smile.

"Seriously, Samuel?" Dean asks, trying his best to keep his voice steady as he tosses his magazine to the side and sits up.

But Sam, being the shameless little tease that he is, just grins wider and does a slow turn. Making sure to show off every sharp curve and flawless inch of sun kissed skin he had before looking over at Dean and giggling.

"Think you can ignore me now, big brother?"

Sam barely gets the words out before Dean is off the bed, marching over to him with purpose, not stopping until the two of them are only a few inches apart and his baby brother's eyes are wide with fear.

"What do you want, Sam?" The older boy asks through gritted teeth, even though the answer is so painfully obvious.

And even though it is, Sam can't say it. He's never been able to because it's Dean's job to know. Without Dean guiding the way, Sam's just a confused kid with a need so intense and overwhelming that it could swallow him whole. And it would, if it wasn't for Dean.

Dean knows what Sam wants, and Sam hates the fact that he doesn't hate his brother for making him feel this way.

But still, he can't talk and he can't explain, so instead Sam just whines. Taking a timid step forward into his brother's personal space, searching for pity with those big innocent doe eyes. And fuck, does that do the trick. Every. Single. Time.

"What, baby?" Dean asks again, this time softer, his expression lightening as he grabs Sam by the wrist to pull him closer.

"Dean."

Sam's knees feel wobbly. His heart threatening to pound out of his chest because there's nothing in the world more intoxicating and simultaneously terrifying than looking into Dean's gorgeous green eyes when they're full of rage and passion.

"You want this?" Dean's voice is rough, like cigarette smoke blown over shattered glass as he guides Sam's trembling hand between his thighs. Pressing his little brother's warm palm hard against his erection before he makes Sam squeeze just a little, the both of them letting out a breathy groan.

"Please Dean," Sam whimpers, knees nearly buckling when Dean leans forward with a filthy grin, cherry red lips ghosting lightly over Sam's. The older boy teasing him like he always did. Pretending like wasn't eventually going to give Sam everything he wanted and more.

"Say it."

Sam's stomach clenches at the command, throat going dry because he hates this part. (Or at least Sam pretends that he does.)

"I want..." Sam groans, eyes closed tight as Dean nuzzles against him, making Sam go crazy with need. "I want your cock. Please Dean."

When Sam hears Dean chuckle, a low, filthy sound that makes his insides feel unbearably hot, Sam almost starts crying again. He's so naive and inexperienced compared to Dean. And Dean knows Sam feels like an idiot when his big brother makes him talk dirty. Which is exactly why he does it. The bastard.

"I know you do, baby boy," Dean laughs as he takes a step back, and Sam swears he feels his heart detach and drop into his stomach. Long, bony fingers instinctively trying to curl around Dean's shirt but to no avail.

"Dean-"

Sam's temper tantrum is cut short when Dean sits down on the foot of the bed and raises a hand, the look on his face calm but dangerous and it makes Sam almost swallow his own tongue.

"C'mere and lay across my lap."

"Why should I?"

Sam's voice doesn't sound like his own when he challenges his brother. It's weak and breathless and honestly, Sam can't believe an apex predator like Dean didn't go for his throat right then and there.

"You've been buckin' for my attention all day, sweetheart. You got a better way to get it?"

God, Sam wishes he did because the last thing he wants is to give in so easily. But what Sam's been dying for is right here in front of him now. Ripped jeans wrapped tight around thick thighs that he'd sell his soul to be bent over and Sam isn't about to turn down an open invitation.

"Gotta hand it to you, little brother," Dean says when Sam's finally stretched out across his lap. Sam's pretty face, flushed and tear stained, hidden in the mattress as Dean starts to soflty rub circles against his ass. "Despite all that fuss, you really are an obdient little bitch."

"Fuc-"

Sam nearly gags on his insult when he feels Dean's palm, rough and warm, connect with his right ass cheek. The blow hard enough to make his whole body jerk, tears of frustration rather than pain starting to blur his vision as he squirms in Dean's lap.

"Dean, please," Sam begs, his tight panties completely soaked through as he rubs himself desperately against Dean's thigh. His cock so hard and swollen that he feels a little dizzy, pleasure and pain fighting for dominance in his mind. Every one of his nerve endings on fire as Dean continues his ruthless assault. Each gentle touch followed by a thunderous smack that Sam swears makes his teeth rattle.

"Hey, don't cry, baby boy," Dean whispers when one of his rough blows finally rips a sob from Sam's throat. "This is what you wanted right? My undivided attention?"

Sam chokes back the urge to tell Dean that he hates him. One, because he doesn't. They both know that. And two, because if Sam doesn't swallow his pride soon and play by Dean's rules, he knows he'll never get want he really wants. That's what all this is about after all. Sam's insatiable need and Dean's absolute willingness to provide.

"C'mon, Sammy. You're a smart kid, you know what your answer should be."

Sam's only response is a loud, wanton groan, his knuckles turning chalk white around the blanket beneath him when he feels the tip of Dean's finger, rough and slick with spit, tease his rim. Pressing just hard enough to make Sam's hips jerk, but not applying quite enough pressure to slip inside him.

"Yes," Sam croaks, daring to push back against his brother's finger only to be rewarded with a smack to his right ass cheek that makes him see stars. "This is what I wanted."

"I know it is, slut."

Dean's finger feels wetter this time, hotter. And Sam's not expecting his brother to push in so deep, his eyes rolling back in pleasure when Dean barely grazes his prostate, clearly torturing Sam for all the shit he'd put him through that day. An eye for an eye was most definitely the Winchester way.

"You want me to finger fuck this tight little pussy until you make a mess all over your cute panties, don't ya baby boy?"

"Yes! Fuck Dean please." Sam isn't even trying to hold back his sobs now, big salty tears rolling down his cheeks as he wiggles around in Dean's lap. Desperate for his big brother to fuck him deeper. But before he can get the leverage he needs, Sam's empty again, mouth hanging open as Dean's next blow makes his whole body rock forward involuntary, neglected cock throbbing painfully against the worn denim of his brother's jeans.

"I'll give you want you want, Sammy," Dean coos, caressing Sam's battered skin with his palm. "I always do. But first, I'm gonna teach you a lesson about acting like a brat."

Of course, Sam's been taught this lesson before and it hasn't seemed to stick. But it doesn't matter, because they both know as long as Sam craves his big brother's attention, Dean will gladly put him in his place give it to him.

[lunarnirvana]

Beach Baby

꧁☮︎︎☽𓁹☾☮︎︎꧂

TRIGGER WARNINGS:

Please not read if these subjects upset or trigger you in any way. Heavy themes are often present in my writing.

𓁹 Anxiety symptoms, fighting, cursing, angry/rude Reid 𓁹

Prompt: None

Summery: This is based off of Beach Baby by Bon Iver because I love that song more than myself. Reader and Reid get into a fight so Reader goes to the beach to calm down.

Category: Angst with fluff/comfort at the end??

Word Count: 1k

Paring: Spencer Reid X Reader

A/N: I love this song and all I can think of when I listen to it is when I’m upset and I walk down to the beach while it’s foggy right before it rains so I’m excited about this one ahh hope you enjoy. also sorry for angry Reid/so much angst I promise to write fluff soon

“All the clouds in me are raining,” - R.h. Sin

Never mind the alluring frigidity of the landscape wrought before me in the luster of morning dew. The sky was pale and blanketed with a hazy shroud of cloud cover, concealing the sun’s brilliance. Fog hung low against the ashy dunes and as I walked toward the ocean I felt the sand become firmer under my step. Each footprint sank deep into the dampening earth and I could hear the sloshing of the ocean.

The sound beckoned me toward the sharp daggers of the mavericks. Each wave break, each peaking tide that stabbed the horizon and made the once linear display jagged and discouraging. The sky was grey. Everything was a grey, pale sloom.

How did I get here?

I stood there against the stillness of the beach like a chip in the paint of a white wall. I was a black speck of pepper in a pile of stark salt. My mind felt completely detached from my body and I was suddenly floating on the sea. The wind carried small particles of sand that stung the exposed skin on my body. I was cold.

I wanted desperately to cry, to scream, and so I did. I released all the air in my chest and pushed the waves back with the force of my cry.

With everything in my body expelled by my sobbing wail I collapsed in on myself. A dying star crumbling into nothingness. My hands latched onto my arms and I sat on my heels, just holding myself together by my weak grip.

I couldn’t help but recount what he had said to me. It was destructive and torturous to remember but I still replayed it in my mind until I was numbed by the memory.

𓁹𓁹𓁹𓁹𓁹𓁹𓁹𓁹𓁹𓁹𓁹𓁹𓁹𓁹𓁹𓁹𓁹

Spencer threw his satchel on the recliner as he walked into our apartment, slamming the door behind him. It startled me off of the couch, my legs pathetically kicking the blanket from entangling my limbs in the knitted fabric. I looked at Spencer, tugging my face into a frown at the sight of him.

Frustration would have been a relief. He was fuming, His hair fell in his countenance and disrupting any aspect remaining of him. He blew out an exasperated breath as he pushed his hair back but his attempt was only met with more strands obstructing his view. I waited for him to apologize for the ruckus, to envelope me in a hug and kiss me and tell me what was bothering him.

It never came. He began to walk into our room wordlessly but my voice stopped him in his tracks. “Spence?” I asked, almost too timidly for being the one expecting an apology. He turned around begrudgingly, leaning against the wall as if to say ‘I guess this is going to take a while’. As if greeting me was a burden.

“Yes?” He spat the response.

“What’s wrong? Is everything okay?” I asked, standing to meet him. If he wasn’t going to hug me I assumed I’d have to go to him. He stepped back slightly as I approached and I felt something in my gut twist.

“Yeah, a lot is wrong. You called me, what, six times while I was on the case? When I’m at work I need to be focused on saving lives. Not what kind of food you plan on making for dinner,” It was a completely unprovoked defense but I knew it wasn’t what was actually bothering him.

“You were gone for two weeks, Spencer, I’d say six calls is justifiable considering we’re in a relationship,” I didn’t want it to sound as antagonistic as it did. I tried to soften the blow, “What’s really bothering you?”

“What’s really—“ he cut himself off, looking almost baffled at the question, “What, do you think you’re a profiler now? I’m mad because you’re being clingy, Y/N.”

“Excuse me?” I didn’t bother trying to sugarcoat my wordspeak. He was just being irrational at this point.

“Did I fucking stutter?” He retorted.

I let my mouth hang open at his curt dictum before resorting to blatant reprimand. “You need to leave,” I said finally. I felt something hot prick at my eyes and only realized I was crying when I felt the rolling water flowing down my cheeks. The tears pooled in the creases of my mouth and all I could taste was salt and disappointment.

“I need to what?” He asked, dumbfounded that I would even suggest kicking him out. His face softened when he noticed I was crying but not enough to stop the endless flow.

“Did I fucking stutter?” I mimicked his reply.

He wasted no time towering over me, losing any remorse when I changed my tone to a much more aggressive one. It wasn’t a conversation anymore, it was a challenge. Spencer never backed down from the opportunity to debate someone into the dirt. What he didn’t seem to realize was, I didn’t see it as a debate.

It was a fight. And likely the worst one we’d had. His behavior stunned me into matching his seemingly blind rage.

“You’re seriously kicking me out after the week I just had? Do you realize how important my work is?” His voice raised a decibel each word he uttered.

“And mine isn’t?”

“I didn’t say that—“

“You implied it.”

“Stop putting words in my mouth, Y/N. Stop being manipulative,” he didn’t hold back anymore. I seemed to only fuel his anger.

“How am I being manipulative when you’re the one attacking me?”

“Attacking and manipulating are two completely different words with completely different meanings. Do I need to get you a fucking dictionary?”

“Stop treating me like I’m an idiot, Spencer!” I was screaming now. Composure wasn’t my strongest suit but the more we argued the worse my breathing rhythm got. My chest felt constricted as I began violently sobbing. I was choking on snot and mucus and trying hard to muffle my cries against the palm of my hand but they still broke through between my fingers.

“Listen, I’ve had a really shitty case and I need to get some sleep,” he sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“So that’s what this is all about? A bad case?” I finally managed to say.

“Yes! Of course it is! How are you that clueless that you couldn’t see that?” He was yelling just as loudly now, his voice booming over mine. His words shrunk my demeanor into a shaking insect. I felt my breath hitch finally, having expected this reaction from such an aggressive interaction.

“I—I can’t be here right now. I have to go,” I suddenly breathed out and grabbed my coat from the hook beside the front door. Feeling the wool fabric in my hands was the only thing that brought me comfort. Something that was supposed to be Spencer’s job.

I didn’t hear any protest but I was sure there would be. No matter how mad Spencer got at me he’d never let me drive in such a condition but regardless, I did.

After running two red lights on my way there, I was finally standing barefoot in the cold sand. It was teetering on springtime but the crisp residual chill of winter still stained the temperature.

I buried my face in my palms and continued to weep, softer now that I expelled any volatile emotion from my fragile being.

I felt something warm snake around my waist and shrieked in surprise, thrashing back at the assailant. I was suddenly pulled tightly into someone’s chest, suddenly on my feet. Spencer swayed back and forth as he enveloped me in his bliss. I felt his lips connect to my temple as he graciously kissed the surface.

“I’m sorry. Oh god, Y/N, I’m so sorry,” he mumbled the words against my face, refusing to disconnect his face from mine.

“Why the fuck would you say any of that to me? You—you can’t treat me like this every time you have a bad case,” I managed to blubber the words out. As the expression flowed endlessly from my mouth I felt him tighten his grip on my frame.

“I know, I know. I’m an idiot and I screwed up. I’m so sorry,” his voice was cracking and he swallowed to try and clear his throat to no avail. Then I felt his chest heaving against my back and realized he was crying himself.

I tried to pull away but he latched onto me. “Spence let me go.”

“Not until you’re breathing slows down,” he said and I realized I’d been hyperventilating since he arrived. As he held me and made me realize I was, I began to try and correct the rhythm.

Finally, I managed to calm down in his embrace. Once I did he spun me around to face me but didn’t let go of my waist. He never lifted his hands from me, only slid them across my body to new locations. He was afraid I’d run away again.

“I know I can’t take back what I said. I know I made a mistake and it’s going to scar us for life but I will do anything to make it up to you. I love you, Y/N. I can’t live with myself knowing I hurt you like this,” He was pleading while he leaned down to meet his forehead to mine, “Please forgive me. I don’t deserve it but I can’t imagine being without you. I know this isn’t going to be easy to bounce back from but I want to try if you’re willing to do the same.”

I blinked in the pasty light and watched his eyebrows furrow, his tear stained skin now speckled with sand that had blown against it. I reached my hand up hesitantly but the feeling of my palm against his veneer was overwhelmingly consoling. He leaned into my touch before cupping my own hand with his.

“I forgive you,” I said softly.

“We’re gonna work on this. I’m gonna work on this, I promise you, love.”

I attached my other hand to the opposite side of his face and pulled him down to my lips. He kissed me like I had left him for good and he finally found me at the end of his journey. He ravished my waist and back and body with his hands as he did before he pulled away. He began freckling my face with pecks before making his way across my jawline and down my neck.

“Spence?” I asked softly. I didn’t want to interrupt the moment but curiosity overtook the pleasure.

“Yes, darling?” He asked as he pulled away and searched my expression for vacillation.

“How’d you know where I would be?”

“You always come here when you’re upset. Come on, it’s freezing out. Let’s get you home,” his hand fell behind me on the small of my back as he guided me to his car. I relished in the heat of his body, leaning my head against his shoulder as we walked.

[sohin-ace]

Jotaro - Sister

This is cross-posted from Wattpad and available on AO3.

Enjoy~

Y/N is Jotaro’s sister

I want to make clear that this fic is non romantic. I don’t write incest.

"Papa, since you're here, I have to show you Jotaro and Y/N's old pictures~" Holly cheered excitedly while dragging her father to the living room.

"Oohhh can't wait!" Joseph joined, enthusiastic to see some hidden treasures of his grandchildren.

The commotion of Holly and Joseph going through photo albums caught you and Jotaro's attention as you both walked past the living room.

"Look at this one, Papa! Their first time going to the beach together! Y/N was scared and Jotaro brought her a starfish!" Holly squealed and you furrowed your eyebrows.

"Uh, mom what are you doing...?" You carefully asked.

"Oh! I'm showing your baby pictures to your grandfather!"

You glanced at Jotaro next to you who had a pearl of sweat gliding down his forehead. Oh no...

"Oohh ohhh!!! This one is my favourite! Jotaro and Y/N taking a bath together~" You both flinched.

"Ooohhhh!!!! OH MY GOOODD!!! How cuuuteee~" Joseph cupped his face in his hands and was almost dying at the cuteness before him.

"You know! Y/N would always tell me this, 'When I grow up I want to marry Jotaro onii-chan!' " You blushed madly and gasped at the embarrassing memory.

"MOOOM!!!! WHAT THE HELL?! WHY WOULD YOU EVEN REMEMBER THAT???" Joseph burst into a fit of laughter while your mother had a sheepish look on her face.

"Yare yare daze..." Jotaro walked away with his hat resting low on his head, effectively covering his reddening face.

You were Jotaro's younger sister. Despite your age difference being negligible, your relationship was very complex. It changed and switched a lot throughout the years.

As children you used to be really close, nothing could separate you. You would share and do everything together, from toys, to beds and everything in between.You both took care of each other in your own way.

But as the years passed, Jotaro grew colder and more distant, which was to be expected from a male teenager who had been overwhelmed by feminine compagny, whereas you became calmer, more patient and less cheerful than before, trying to learn to not depend on your brother's presence as you used to in the past.

Despite your differences, you two still kept that unconditionnal kindness that seemed to run in the family.

Currently, you both lived your lives on your own ways. You couldn't really say you were close, or at least, not as much as before. You didn't think your relationship could progress any further from there, at least, not until a certain day.

You both walked out the door after receiving your usual goodbye kisses from your mother Holly, and went on your way to school.

You used to always make the walk to school together, but since highschool, Jotaro would just walk in front of you and leave you behind without even looking back.

The first few times, you'd run after him, calling him out to wait for you, but after a few days, you gave up and accepted to just make the walk on your own. You were used to him ignoring you even at school so you grew to not mind it anymore.

From his point of view, it was to protect you from having a stressful walk surrounded by fangirls, being the potential target of bullies who wanted to get to him, or to prevent you from being in the middle of a fight between stupid thugs who wanted to meddle with Jotaro.

But as you didn't know that, in your eyes you were just a burden to him. You didn't want to be the annoying clingy sister and as he was already very edgy, you left him be.

You continued your lone walk to school, your brother long gone before you and already out of sight. You heard voices behind you and you flinched.

"Oohh isn't that Kujo? Hey yeah it's her! Kuuujoooo~" You kept on walking, but they caught up to you.

"Hey, hey, babygirl, don't ignore us like that~ What's the matter, where's your big brother?" One of the guys said, sliding an arm around your shoulders and leaning a bit too close to your face.

"Yeah, where's your big strong bro? Not very nice to let his sister all alone in the street. It's okay though, you don't need him, we'll take care of you~" The other snickered, towering next to you and taking a strand of your hair between his fingers, playing with it as you looked down.

These two guys again, for some reason they had this weird obsession with you and just wouldn't take the hint.

"...Please go away, I don't have time for this." you quietly said, not even bothering speaking up. They wouldn't listen anyway, but you still tried.

"Don't worry sweetie, you're okay with us, we'll protect you!"

"I don't need protection, go away."

"Awww, don't be like that~ It makes me want you even more." The shortest slid his hand from your shoulders down your arm and laid it on your waist.

You sighed and swatted their hands off of you. "Shut up, you're so annoying!"

"Ooh she's trying to act all tough like her bro, how fucking cute!" The tallest one then forcefully grabbed your wrist and pulled you towards him.

"LET GO YOU PSYCHO!" You pushed him as hard as you could, which sent him stumbling over a nearby parked car.

"You asked for it you stupid bitch!" He then slapped you hard across the face, so hard, the impact made you lose balance and you fell down on the ground, dropping your schoolbag.

"Dude! Stop, that's too much!" the short one quiered, overwhelmed by the turn of events.

"SHUT UP! I gotta teach her a lesson. Get up, Kujo."

He didn't even let you react and pulled you up by the arm, slamming you straight against his chest. You struggled, but he locked you firmly in his surprisingly strong arms. "So what are you gonna do? Where's Jotaro now, huh?"

"I'm here, motherfucker."

They flinched and both their jaw dropped. They slowly looked up to see the huge form of your brother, standing so tall he was blocking the sun behind him and casting a shadow over you three.

"J-j-j-.....JOTARO???!!" the shortest one stuttered, shaking like a leaf and sweating bullets.

"...What the FUCK do you think you're doing to my sister?" Your behemoth of a brother growled.

Before they could even retort, Jotaro grabbed you and abruptly snatched you out of the boy's hold, making you stumble against him and he caught you effortlessly in his arm. He sent a murderous glare to the two boys and they whimpered, taking the warning very seriously.

"I-I-.... Shiiit!!! I'LL COME BACK FOR YOU KUJO!!!" The tall one stormed off with his friend following close behind.

"Yare yare daze..." Jotaro sighed in annoyance as he turned towards you. "Are you okay?"

You nodded quietly, looking down at the floor. He harshly held your chin in his large hand and lifted your face up, inspecting your bruised cheek.

"Tch... That asshole...Can't wait to dance on his fucking grave." You put a reassuring hand over his arm and he relaxed slightly, letting you go.

"Don't. It's not worth it, Jojo. Let's go, Mom will be worried if we're late to school again."

You spoke softly and he stared at you in silence, not moving an inch, but before you could question him, he started.

"Stop looking at me like this."

"Huh?"

"I can't bear that melancholic look on your face. Wipe that out."

"That... That's just my face, Jojo..." You trailed off softly, quite confused with your brother's shenanigans.

"I know I made you like this."

You stared at him for a moment, then looked away, silently. Maybe you were colder than you used to, but you wouldn't put the blame on him, after all...

"I made you like this too..." You replied, looking off to the distance. "Your stone cold glare...Your burning hate for girls...It's all me, isn't it."

He fell silent. Your silences spoke more words than any of your actions, this is how it came to be. You finally looked up at him, both sharing the same stare.

"You're one to talk about a cold glare. Just look at you."

As he said that, Star Platinum manifested in front of you, surprising you as you let out a tiny gasp. He then held your cheeks and tugged slightly on them, forcing a smile out of you.

"Oh...! The spirit's back!" You were too fascinated by the weird spirit that started following your brother to even care that he was childishly playing with your face.

Jotaro cracked a tiny smile at the interactions of his Stand and his sister. He couldn't understand you sometimes, but at the end of the day, you two weren't so different.

The tall male pulled out his pack of cigarettes and brought one to his mouth before lighting it up.

"Girls are fucking headaches..." You looked up at him, deadpanning as Star Platinum and you were squeezing each other's cheeks.

"But your my little headache." He mumbled under his breath before puffing a thick cloud of smoke.

You wanted to scoff at his weird confession. Oh great. He didn't hate you as much as the others. How cute.

You looked down, your features softening into a smile as you held onto Star Platinum's arm who was now playing with your hair.

"Let's just go now, Jojo."

The moment you both started walking he noticed you wincing and limping a bit.

"Are you okay?"

"Y-yeah... It's nothing, I just scraped my knee when I fell earlier." you tried walk again, but winced at the pain from the open, bleeding wound on your knee.

Before you could even step any further, you saw your brother crouching in front of you, his back turned towards you.

"Climb."

You stared at him in utter confusion. "It's okay Jojo I ca-"

"Yare yare daze, I don't have all day. Hurry up." He pressed on and you couldn't fight his stubborn nature.

You leaned over, putting your hands on his shoulders and let your legs rest on either side of his waist as he steadied them with his hands. He effortlessly hoisted you up and walked you both to school.

It felt so nostalgic, being carried by him. The world was so much more beautiful from the view of your brother's height. You didn't care for the view though, as you leaned further against his back, wrapping your arms around his neck and resting your head on his shoulder.

"Just like old times... Right? Oni-chan..." You uttered quietly, calling the name you stopped calling him for years now.

He chuckled lightly, which was also something that you didn't hear in years.

"Yeah... Just like old times. Except now you're cheesy as shit. You're starting to sound like Kakyoin."

"Hmm? What's wrong with Kakyoin? I like my men cheesy." You purred.

He immediately stopped in his tracks and turned his head to glare at you. He suddenly felt angry as his brotherly instincts kicked in.

"...Take that back right now."

Bonus:

You were walking out of the nurse's office with Jotaro.

"See you later." He turned the other way towards his classroom.

As you were about to walk away yourself, you turned around to be met with a group of girls blocking your route.

"Y-you're Y/N Kujo, right?" Started a shy-looking girl.

"Oohh you're Jojo's sister? Cool!! Could you give him my number~?" added another one, excitedly.

"Actually, you do look like him a little bit!" Continued a third one, as they all interjected one by one.

"What? Noo they look nothing like each other, what are you saying!"

"Hmm they do have a.. Family likeness, kinda? Maybe it's the eyes, or the lips, I'm not sure, but there's definitely something!"

"Now that you say it, they do have the same cold frown on their face." they all giggled and your face was red with annoyance.

"Get lost. All of you. This is why you don't have boyfriends." And just like that, you stormed off, leaving the girls in a love-struck daze.

"Waaahh~ she's so cool~"

"She's kinda cute when she's angry."

"She could insult me all day~"

"Being hot runs in the family, so unfair~" they all squealed to themselves as they watched you leave.

Brothers kinda suck, but they're also a blessing.

[inthedayswhenlandswerefew]

But You Can Never Leave [Chapter 8: The Light]

Hi y’all! Thank you so much for reading and supporting my writing. Each and every message/reblog/comment/etc makes me smile, and it’s a dream come true to get to share my work with you! 💜

Chapter summary: John shares a secret; Y/N excels at Scrabble; Brian makes peace; Roger suffers a misstep.

This series is a work of fiction, and is (very) loosely inspired by real people and events. Absolutely no offense is meant to actual Queen or their families.

Song inspiration: Hotel California by The Eagles.

Chapter warnings: Language, medical stuff, pregnancy (not who you think!).

Chapter list (and all my writing) available HERE

Taglist: @queen-turtle-boiii​ @loveandbeloved29​ @killer-queen-xo​ @maggieroseevans​ @imnotvibingveryguccimrstark​ @im-an-adult-ish​ @queenlover05​ @someforeigntragedy​ @imtheinvisiblequeen​ @joemazzmatazz​ @seven-seas-of-ham-on-rhye​ @namelesslosers​ @inthegardensofourminds​ @deacyblues​ @youngpastafanmug​ @sleepretreat​ @hardyshoe​ @bramblesforbreakfast​ @sevenseasofcats​ @tensecondvacation​ @bookandband​ @queen-crue​ @jennyggggrrr​ @madeinheavxn​ @whatgoeson-itslate​ @brianssixpence​ @simonedk​

Please yell at me if I forget to tag you! :)

Medicine teaches you to be fiercely skeptical of things that seem too good to be true. Bodies fail—completely and inevitably, though the timing may differ—and patients lie. Medical records don’t, fingerprints don’t, track marks up the underside of an arm don’t, blood and paternity tests don’t, oftentimes the eyes don’t; but given half a chance, people will lie themselves right into the grave.

Those bruises, doc? Got ‘em from a nasty fall down the stairs. I’m lucky I didn’t break my neck!

Nope, never done drugs, not even a joint, I swear on my mother’s life.

I’ll give it up, I’ll go to rehab. Never again. I promise. I don’t want to die.

Doc, I don’t care if the timing doesn’t seem quite right. My husband IS the father. There’s been no one else!

That doting fiancé is flirting with the nurses. Those grown-up children who fluff pillows and dab away tears are asking about the will. That wife is never going to testify against her abusive husband. That addict is going to relapse again...and again...and again. Are there exceptions? Of course. But if you get in the habit of trusting people—of believing all those tantalizingly attractive, hopeful lies—it’ll break your heart six ways to Sunday. There is no perfection in medicine, and there are very rarely miracles.

And so during those first few weeks with Roger—as you watch him from the reeling crowd, from the other side of the tour bus, from across the restaurant table, from the tiny viewfinder of the Canon F-1—you can’t stop searching for the cracks, the shadows, the lies, the dark malignancies breeding beneath the surface. Because everything about Roger Taylor is too good to be true. He’s bright and he’s loud and he’s brilliant and he’s always smiling, always warm. He careens backstage after every show—you keep bracing yourself not to be disappointed when the novelty wears away, when it ends, but it doesn’t—pushing aside roadies and reporters, shouting “Where’s the love of my life? Where’s my Boston babe?” with the most absurd grin you’ve ever seen until he finds you, collides with you, scoops you up and spins you in ungainly circles as your toes skim the floor. Then he cradles your face in his scarred hands and kisses you, breathes you in, tells you everything about the show (even though you were there to see it) in a rush of pure, manic adrenaline. And you stumble into some dressing room together—or a hotel room, or a taxi, or a limousine, or an elevator—and finally it’s your bare thighs his palms are gliding over, your tongue tasting the Heineken and craving on his lips, and it feels impossible for that to ever change. Roger is too good to be true, that’s undeniable; but when you watch him with those doubtful, cautious eyes, you can’t find anything but light.

He wakes up at 6 a.m. to join you on a bayou tour in New Orleans, taps his cigarette over the moss-covered sides of the boat, points out the alligators with leathered skin and ancient yellow irises lurking in the depths. He walks Fremont Street with you in Las Vegas and makes you choose his numbers for the Roulette wheel, for his fate. He snaps photos of you on a sun-drenched balcony in Miami, roaring cobalt waves crashing in the background. He takes you to the Metropolitan Museum of Art in New York City, the Art Institute of Chicago, the National Aquarium in Baltimore, the Philadelphia Zoo, Myrtle Beach and the Saint Louis Arch and the Santa Monica Pier. Because he was telling the truth when he said he could show you the world all those months ago when Queen was at Top of the Pops; he was telling you the truth about the list that’s etched into the rushing scarlet chambers of his heart.

When the American leg of the tour ends and the band gets a brief reprieve in London, you move into Roger’s paltry, disorganized flat and scrub away all the remnants of his past life: dust and empty cigarette boxes and women’s socks, ashes and copies of Vogue, a tube of lipstick that isn’t yours. You don’t complain, don’t even frown; you’re under no delusions that something eternal can be founded on resentment, on lies. And so you clear out the clutter and open the windows so sunshine and crisp spring air can breathe through the apartment, so you can both start fresh along with the bellflowers and delphiniums and roses and the tawny newborn ducklings scampering behind their mothers. You hang photos from the tour and John’s sketches on the refrigerator, place your Canon F-1 and pink conch shell from Ostia on the nightstand, litter the drawers with your own socks and makeup. You teach Roger how to sew (although he’s not much good at it) and how to treat blisters (although you’ll always be there to do it for him); and in return Roger teaches you how to trust, how to believe, how to stop searching desperately for faults in the light.  

On the second day of April, Queen boards their flight to Tokyo. Brian settles into a plushy, billowing blanket and loses himself in an astronomy magazine; he’s an engaged man now, an honest man in the eyes of society at large...and, far more importantly, his parents. Freddie pens lyrics in his notebook, humming disjointedly, napping like a cat when the mood strikes him. Roger snacks constantly and tries to get John chatting, but John is particularly subdued today, preoccupied, prone to gazing unfocusedly at the clouds that drift by outside and wringing his hands.

And you think, as you peer down into the glistening sapphire waters of the East China Sea: Brian’s a willow tree, Freddie’s a lightning storm, Roger is wildfire...but what is John?

Something deep, something beautiful and strong and constant and hidden.

The ocean, you decide as Queen’s private plane soars over the quicksilver waves that conceal the abyss. John is the ocean.

~~~~~~~~~~

“You didn’t have to stay, you know.”

John is lying on his back under a small grove of cherry blossom trees outside the hotel, sketching grey outlines of petals and arcing branches in a new notebook. He hasn’t given any sign that he heard you coming, doesn’t turn his head to see you. You freeze, startled.

“How’d you know it was me?!”

“You have very distinct footsteps. Dainty, yet purposeful.” He sets aside his notebook and sits up, crossing his long legs. “Why didn’t you go to lunch?”

“Because you didn’t. You turned down ramen, and you never turn down ramen. I was worried. Plus someone has to make sure a roving posse of screaming Japanese girls doesn’t carry you off.”

That makes him laugh. The Japanese fans are inexplicably obsessed with John; or maybe it’s not so inexplicable, maybe they just have a better eye for quiet, unassuming wonders. “Always so thoughtful.”

You sit down beside him, open a pack of chocolate-flavored Pocky and offer John a piece, frown when he lights a cigarette instead. “That’s really bad for you. Seriously. You should quit.”

“At last. One thing you and Brian agree on.” He exhales a gale of smoke and peers up at the cherry blossoms.

“John?”

“Yeah.”

“You didn’t break up with Veronica, did you?” Chrissie and Mary didn’t mention anything about her tearful devastation, and you suspect they would have had John gone through with it.

He sighs. “I did not.”

“And...are we feeling...okay about that...?”

He twirls the cigarette nervously between his fingers. After a silence, he surrenders. “Look, I haven’t told anybody yet, but I’d tell you first anyway. So here it goes.” He glances over at you guiltily, gloomily, wishing he could disappear. “I didn’t break up with Veronica because she’s pregnant.”

Your jaw falls open. A half-eaten stick of Pocky rolls out of your mouth and onto the grass. She’s what? She’s WHAT?

“Please don’t be disappointed,” John pleads. “I’m disappointed in myself enough for both of us, believe me.”

“I...I...I’m not disappointed, John, I’m just...” You blink at him. “Oh my god.”

He nods, acquiescent. “I’m in complete agreement.”

You shake your head, gaping at him, stunned; and suddenly you don’t like what you’re feeling at all. Because it isn’t just shock and horror, it isn’t just apprehension. You hate the thought of him touching her, of her delicate white hands on him, of innocence stripped away and memories impressed into muscle, into soul.

Because you know she’s not right for him. Because you know he doesn’t love her the way he should. Because you want the best for him and always have.

Oh, there’s a comforting rationale; but is it true?

And then: You fucking hypocrite. Since when do you get an opinion on who anyone sleeps with?

“It must have happened in January,” John says miserably. “Right before we left for the States. She didn’t want to tell me over the phone...I guess maybe she thought if she did I’d never come back. So she told me as soon as I landed in London. And here we all are.”

You stare down at your shoes, trying to compose yourself. “What are you going to do?”

“There’s only one option.”

“Actually, there are quite a few. But I know you’d never consider them.” John’s father died when he was ten, and he never talks about it; which is precisely how you know it’s a wound that can’t ever heal, a gash that goes straight down to the bone. He would never leave his child, never banish them to some dusty, repressed corner of his consciousness while he moves on with a blissfully unencumbered life. You whisper: “I’m so fucking sorry, John.”

That snaps something in him, something he was choking back. He buries his face in his hands. “What the fuck am I doing?” he moans. “I’m twenty-three years old, I’m broke, I turned down loads of jobs, good jobs, as an electrical engineer, I’ve somehow become the bassist in an increasingly famous rock band...I mean, how the hell did this happen? How did any of this happen?”

“It’ll be okay,” you insist with newfound resolve. I have to save him. I have to protect him.

John rolls those soft greyish eyes, hopeless, distraught. “Sure.”

“It will be, I promise you. The tour is going great. I had my doubts about the band when I first met you, I’ll admit it, I didn’t know if there was a future for Queen. But you’ve made me a believer. You’ve made millions of people all over the world believers. The money will keep rolling in, Queen will finally start seeing some of it, you won’t be broke forever. You’ll have two more months on the road and then we’ll be back in London, and it’ll be on to recording the next album, more shows, more money...the hard times are almost over, John. You can do this. And I’ll help you.”

His brow furrows. “You will?”

“Of course. If it’s easier for Veronica, it’ll be easier for you. So I’ll be extra friendly, take her to appointments when you’re busy, help organize the wedding, babysit the littlest Deacon whenever she needs me to. We’ll get through this. I’ll be there to help every step of the way.”

“You’re happy, aren’t you?” he asks suddenly. “You and Roger. You aren’t going anywhere.” He’s reading you closely, sifting through your words and forced smile for something deeper.

“I’m happy,” you assure him. “You don’t need to be concerned about that. I’m staying with the band, I’m staying in London. Whenever Queen is home, that is.”

He nods, but perhaps that wasn’t exactly what he was looking for. He finally accepts a piece of Pocky from you and takes a bite. “Then I guess we’ll plan for a summer wedding.”

“You could do a double one with Brian and Chrissie.”

He laughs so hard he almost inhales the Pocky, then doubles over coughing. “I think Bri would rather slit his own throat, but a charming thought. Thank you for that. Bravo.”

You smile at John, genuinely this time. “You’re going to be an amazing father. I hope you aren’t worried about that part of it, at least.”

“Will you be their godparent?”

“What? Me?!”

“Yeah. Because, you know...” John averts his gaze. “You’d be the person I would want to raise them if something happened to me and Veronica. You’re the most dedicated, stubborn, capable, nurturing, remarkable person I’ve ever met. You’re my best friend. And maybe Roger’s your best friend and you’re his, and that’s all fine, that’s alright, but you’re still mine.”

“Roger is a lot of incredible things, but he’s not my best friend.” You lie flat on the grass and lace your hands behind your head, tracking the weightless snowy clouds as they float by above. When did we become adults? When did all of these rules catch up to us? “I would be honored to be your child’s godparent.”

John plops down beside you. “Don’t tell the others yet, okay? I want to wait until the tour’s over. I don’t want them to panic and think I’m leaving and try to replace me or anything.”

“They wouldn’t try to replace you, John.”

“No?” he asks doubtfully.

“No. Roger knows it, Fred knows it, I think even Bri knows it.” You reach out and weave a lock of his hair through your fingers as cherry blossom petals tumble in the breeze. “You’re irreplaceable.”

~~~~~~~~~~

“Sod,” Freddie mocks. “That’s the best you could do? Really? Sod?”

Roger flings up his hands in frustration. “Freddie, I’ve got like a million Cs!”

“You could have done cod,” Brian notes, sipping a cup of hot tea. “Cods, actually.”

Roger glowers down at his Scrabble tiles. “Fuck.”

“And I’m so delighted he didn’t!” You place your tiles, expanding on sod to make rhapsody. John high-fives you and records the points in his notebook. Freddie and Brian groan in defeat.

“What the hell is a rhapsody?!” Roger snatches the Official Scrabble Dictionary off the table and flips through it.

“It’s a, like a...” Freddie waves his cigarette, scattering smoke through the air. “It’s like an epic poem. Or an opera. With lots of bizarre, different parts all pieced together.”

“That sounds made up.”

Freddie cackles. “Darling, it’s a real thing, I swear!”

Roger locates the pertinent page in the Scrabble Dictionary and his shoulders slump. “Goddammit. Fucking...too smart...nerdy...college-educated...girlfriend.” He drags you into his lap and kisses your temple. “You’re lucky you’re cute. I don’t usually tolerate being conquered like this.”

Bri smirks from behind his teacup. “I rather think you conquered her, Rog.”

“Oh, a rare good one from Bri!” Freddie trills as everyone laughs, although John soon busies himself with clearing empty bottles and cigarette butts off the table.

“Yes,” Roger agrees. “Against her superior judgment, I finally won her over. Only took eight months. Which is approximately...wait, let me count...seven and a half months longer than it has ever taken me before.”

You trace your fingertips across his stubbled cheeks, his soft lips, his little dark blond tufts of sideburns. “No one knows how to say no to you, do they?”

“It’s impossible. I’m too charming. Blindingly heroic. Perseus in the flesh.” He kisses your forehead and steadies you, his hands on your waist, as the brakes squeal and the tour bus lurches to a halt.

Freddie leaps to his feet and claps. “Alright, darlings! Off to the new digs we go. Deaky, hand me my shoes, they’re under the table...yes, right there...and toss over Brian’s hideous clogs as well.”

You help the roadies and the band drag luggage into the hotel (no small feat, as the elevator is out of order), unpack your toothbrush and hairbrush and a floral-patterned dress for dinner, giggle as you listen to Roger’s feral, raspy singing in the shower. It’s something about loving a car, how perfectly on-brand for him. Then Roger goes to fetch Freddie and John for dinner while you find Brian. Bri is collapsed on his bed in a striped t-shirt and jeans, freshly-washed and dewy, gazing up at the ceiling in a daze.

You tap gently on the doorframe. “Bri? You want to join us for dinner? There’s a sushi place a few blocks away that’s a local legend, apparently. Lots of veggie options too.”

He looks over at you. You haven’t spoken about the argument since you had it two months ago. Brian sometimes grimaces or smirks or rolls his willowy viridescent eyes, but he never says anything; not to you, and not to Roger as far as you’re aware. “I’m sorry,” he says simply. “I may have been out of line before. Incorrect, even.”

“No need to apologize, Bri. I’ve forgotten all about it.” You haven’t, but there’s no reason for Brian to know that.

“I just want what’s best for you. For you to be happy.”

“I know, Brian.” You cross the room and take his long, moon-white, artful hands in your own. “I’m sorry.”

“You’ll be in the wedding party, won’t you? I know Chris will ask.”

“Of course. And I’ll proudly wear whatever dreadfully tacky and uncomfortable bridesmaid dresses she picks out.”

“Even if they’re a frightful shimmery green?”

“Oh god.” You swallow noisily. “I’ll still do it. And then burn the photos.”

Brian chuckles as he climbs out of bed. “In a stroke of luck, I suspect she’ll ask you to take the pictures. So you can avoid being in them as much as you’d like. And conveniently lose the unflattering ones.”

You study him thoughtfully. “Are you happy, Brian?”

“I am. Chrissie’s excited, my parents are thrilled, they’ll be sitting in the front row with the proudest smiles you’ve ever seen. Next comes a proper house, and children, and all the rest of it.” But something in those mellow olivey eyes is resigned, melancholy. His words from two months ago echo in your skull: It’s necessary. It’s self-preservation. Because sometimes the people who set us on fire would burn us alive.

“Do you still think about New Orleans?” you ask softly. About the woman he’d fallen in love with there before you ever met Queen, about the utopian passion he never quite stops searching for. Everyone has demons, secrets, shadowy trenches like cracks in porcelain; you’ve learned all about Brian’s. What about Roger’s? What about mine?

He shrugs, staring out the window at the dusky skyline of Yokohama. “Maybe I’ll always think about New Orleans. But that doesn’t mean I don’t have to grow up and start taking responsibility.”

“Responsibility,” you reply cynically, before you can stop yourself. “Is that all love is about anymore?”

“Not for you. Not for Roger. You both want your freedom, your adventure, your true and uncomplicated love. And you’ll get to keep it.”

For now. But you don’t say that. Instead, you smile appeasingly and gesture for Brian to follow you out into the hallway.

The others are waiting by the door to the stairwell: John in a smart grey suit, Freddie in his black-and-yellow jacket, Roger in sunglasses and a ridiculous leopard-print vest he’d dug out of a trashcan somewhere and precariously tall boots.

“At last, Nurse Nightingale and my darling Brian!” Freddie chirps. “Come on, I’m positively famished, and also I’ve bet five pounds that I can consume more sake shots than Roger and I could really use the dough.”

Roger pushes through the door, leading the way. “Prepare to lose!”

“Roger, please,” you implore. “New livers don’t grow on trees, and I can’t give you half of mine. I’m the wrong blood type.”

Roger laughs as he bounds down the steps, then whirls to grin up at you as he walks backwards. “Relax, Deaks will share! You’re type A, aren’t you John—?”

Roger’s heel slips and he plummets down the flight of stairs. He tumbles as the four of you shriek in horror and bolt after him, slams into the wall of the landing, ricochets off of it and plunges down the next flight as well. There’s blood, you think frenziedly as you descend, screaming Roger’s name. There’s blood all over the steps.

Roger, crumpled on the maroon-streaked landing, slowly unravels and groans. He glances down, appraises himself, then hammers his left fist against the concrete wall of the stairwell, roaring in raw agony and rage. “No no no no no no!”

“Roger—!”

And then you see it.

Roger’s right arm hangs uselessly, unnaturally, his snapped radius bloody and splitting through the skin.

[peculiaridealist]

To My Dearest Kara

Summary:

Kara is anxious and Alex is giving her a push that she definitely need. Lena is overthinking and Maggie is... well... being Maggie.

Chapter 2: Yours Truly

Having James tell her to take the whole afternoon off when she about to get lunch, Kara decided to swing by Alex’s apartment before going to get food and eventually, to L-Corp. she needed her sister’s support and advice on how to approach Lena without freaking her out knowing that the brunette intended to keep the letter and wasn’t ready, yet.

“Hey, Alex. You home?” Kara called out as soon as she entered her sister’s loft.

“Here.” Alex said lazily, raising her hand and waved it at Kara. She was lying on the couch with some popcorn on her stomach. “I just finished watching a movie.”

“Don’t you have work?” Kara asked, wondering why her sister was like acting like she had all the time in the world.

“Nah. Don’t feel like getting up.” She stretched. “They’ll live without me barking orders at them for a day.”

“They’ll probably be so thankful for your absence.” Kara quipped.

“Hey!” Alex sat up and threw a cushion and hit the blonde square on the face. “I may be harsh on them but, they all love me and I deserve a break.”

“A break, huh. The end of the world must be near.” Kara continued teasing her sister to hide the shock that her workaholic sister was taking off work for a whole day. “Now, I’m just gonna wait for Lena to stop working without me having to drag her out of her office, as well.”

Alex laughed at Kara’s latter statement. “That would require for a miracle to happen.”

Kara paused for a moment, looking like she was mulling over what Alex had said then nodded with enthusiasm. “Yup, yup. Definitely.” She just then laughed and settled herself beside Alex and grabbed a handful of popcorn, earning a swat from her sister on her hand saying that she should go and make her own. She just stuck her tongue out and continued grabbing handful after handful of popcorn from Alex.

Giving up, Alex muttered. “You’re insufferable.”

“But you still love me.” Kara retorted.

“Says who?” Alex asked, raising her brow.

“Says you.” Kara answered with a wide grin.

“Yeah, yeah. I do love you so, shut up.” Alex chuckled. “Anyway, to what do I owe this visit?”

Kara was just silently staring at her which made her brow furrow. “Kara?” She called out but the blonde was still silent. “Kara, what’s wrong?” She nervously asked, her protective instincts taking over. “Answer me.”

Kara shrugged. “Well, you told me to shut up so I did.”

Alex looked at her sister incredulously. “You ass! You scared the shit out of me, I thought something was wrong.” She doesn’t know if she’ll smack Kara or laugh. “You don’t have to take everything literally.”

“I know. I just love teasing you every now and then.” Kara laughed again which made Alex groan.

A few more chuckles from Kara, the blonde puppy decided that it was enough and told sister what she really intended to do here.” “I found her… The one who wrote the letter.”

“Really?” Alex asked casually. “Who?”

“You won’t even react that it’s a her and not a him?” Now it was Kara’s turn to look at her sister incredulously.

“No.” Alex answered flatly. “And stop looking at me like I’ve grown a second head and just answer my question, Kara.”

“Fine.” Kara huffed. “It’s Lena.”

“Ha!” Alex exclaimed triumphantly, making Kara jump due to shock. “See? I told you!”

“Holy sun, Alex! Don’t do that! Are you trying to give me heart attack or something?” Kara reprimanded while clutching her chest. “And I’m pretty sure you never told me anything, by the way.”

“Sorry, not sorry.” Alex shrugged nonchalantly. “And I’m also pretty sure I dropped not-so-subtle hints before. I dropped a lot, actually.”

Kara wracked her brain, trying to remember when did her sister give hints but to no avail. She can’t remember where or when and frowned. “I really can’t remember you giving me any hints.”

Alex laughed. “It’s because you’re too dense to notice those hints. Hell, you didn’t even notice your own feelings up until now.”

Kara rolled her eyes good-naturedly. “Yeah, yeah, I’m dense, alright. No need to rub it on my face.”

Seconds of laughter later, Alex’s demeanor changed. “So, what are you planning to do?” She asked in all seriousness.

“Well… We’re going to have dinner tonight. Other than that? I don’t know. That’s why I’m here.” Kara sighed. “It’s just that, I want this to be perfect… I mean, she deserves more than anything and everything. I want her to feel that she’s well-loved. I want her to feel that she’s accepted. That no matter what the people think about her, whatever negativity that was thrown at her, it doesn’t matter because she’s something more to her, there’s more about her other than her being a Luthor.” Alex remained silent, letting Kara pour her feelings out without interrupting her.

“She’s special, Alex. She strives hard to be a force of good even if the people out there continued judging her because of her last name…” Kara trailed off.

“But?” Alex asked softly, encouraging her sister to continue.

“But, she’s only human, Alex. And us humans can only take so much and with her under that kind of pressure, I’m scared. I’m scared that I might freak her out. I’m scared that she may hate me for reading that letter. Her intention was to keep the letter. Not have me read it. What if she changed her mind? What if- what if…” Kara paused and took a deep breath to calm herself. She knows that she’s rambling and she can’t help it. “What if she doesn’t feel the same way anymore? Alex, what do I do? I- I…”

“Hey…” Alex slung her arm across Kara’s shoulder, giving her a sideway hug to comfort her rambling sister. “You’re overthinking, Kara. We’re talking about Lena here. Lena freaking Luthor. Your best friend and, I think it’s safe to say, your significant other. If there’s someone who loves you more than anything and anyone else,” Alex muttered ‘excluding me, of course’ and felt warmth on her chest when it elicited a giggle from Kara. “That someone is Lena.”

“You know, love is such a strong word.” Kara spoke with a voice just above whisper that if Alex wasn’t listening, she might have missed what her sister had said.

“Yeah… It is.” The older Danvers agreed. “And it’s stronger between the two of you because it’s true.”

Kara smiled, hope blossoming in her chest. “You really think she does? Love me, I mean. Because if you ask me if I love her, I do. I really do.”

“I don’t think she loves you, Kara. I know she does.” Alex gave Kara a light squeeze on the shoulder. “Though unfinished, the letter says it all.”

Kara glanced at her bag, knowing that the letter was secured inside of it. “I’m a walking anxiety.”

“Only when it comes to Lena.” Alex deadpanned and dragged her sister up. “And as much as I love having you here, I believe you told me that you have dinner plans, or shall I say a date, with the love of your life. I, on the other hand, have plans with Maggie tonight, as well, and will have a dinner date of our own.”

“It’s not a date.” Kara protested as her sister dragged her out of her apartment.

“Oh, it is a date. Enjoy!” Alex gave her a shit-eating grin before slamming the door on her face.

‘Did- did she just kicked me- me, her sister- out?’ Disbelief crossed Kara’s face as she stared at the door of her sister’s apartment before begrudgingly trudging out of the apartment building.

Once Alex was sure that her sister was gone, she whipped up her phone and called her girlfriend.

“Guess who was here.” She immediately said as soon as Maggie picked up.

“Hello to you, too, Danvers. I am doing fine, thank you so much for asking.” Maggie replied sarcastically.

“Sorry, babe.” Alex chuckled. “I was just kinda excited.”

“Oh? Alex Danvers getting excited that I wasn’t the cause?” Her girlfriend quipped. “Do tell.”

“Hmm… Promise me first that you won’t flip.”

“You know I flip at everything.”

“Okay, that’s fair enough. How to put it?” Alex mulled over her words, knowing that Maggie was definitely going to flip and just decided to just wing it. “Kara finally admitted that she’s in love with Lena.” Alex smirked even though she knows Maggie can’t see her.

“She what?!” Maggie practically screamed, making Alex’s smirk turn into a grin.

“Now, now. Don’t go breaking my eardrum before I even get my... winnings?”

“Goddammit.” Quiet as it may have been, she still heard what Maggie muttered on the other line.

“Oh, and I would also like to collect that fifty bucks later, thank you very much.” Alex said smugly.

“Oh, fuck you.” Maggie hissed.

“Oh, yes, please do.” Alex laughed causing Maggie to groan.

“Ugh… Why did I ever agree betting on Little Danvers’ love life with you?”

**

7:00 pm

With Chinese takeouts (including a box of salad and three of potstickers), Kara was pacing back and forth in front of Lena’s office. All the confidence that she felt awhile ago at CatCo seemed to have dissipated even after Alex had given her a peptalk. She was quite thankful that Jess had left earlier than usual so that no one will be able to force her to go inside Lena’s office. Not that she doesn’t want to, no.

After several more minutes of pacing, she tried to calm her nerves. ‘Okay, Kara. Deep breaths. You can do this. You got this.’

Building up courage and after releasing a small huff, she entered Lena’s office. As she entered, she saw a focused Lena typing on her laptop. Deciding not to interrupt as she found the brunette’s look quite (okay, not quite but, extremely) adorable, Kara leaned on the door frame as she silently watched Lena.

Wearing her corporate attire which Kara adored since the day they met, her hair wasn’t up in its usual bun but it’s cascading a little lower down her shoulders, beautiful green eyes fixed on her laptop screen, slender fingers delicately tapping away on her keyboard, and blood red lips pursed on concentration. ‘God, those lips, really.’

Kara whipped up her phone and composed a message.

Kara: Knock, knock.

Lena’s eyes drifted on her phone beside her laptop when it lit up and Kara swore that she had a mini heart attack when she saw Lena smile. A smile which she had caused and a smile that was reserved for her and her alone only.

Lena: Hmm… Who’s there?

Her phone pinged (kicking herself internally for forgetting to put it in silent mode, wanting to be smooth but of course, she was always an epic fail) and as if on cue, Lena’s enticing emerald gaze quickly found her sapphire ones. Kara was at a loss for words and felt like she was under a spell and it was the kind of spell that only Lena Luthor can cast upon her.

“Kara.” Lena stood up immediately, forgetting whatever work she was doing, walked towards Kara and gave her a hug that was too brief for Kara’s liking. “Have you been standing there long?”

“Not really. I got here just a few minutes ago, actually.” She answered. “I believe the question should be, have you been waiting long? I know we talked about meeting 7, but I’m, like, 30 minutes late.” ’25 minutes pacing back and forth in front of your office and basically, 5 minutes staring at you, to be precise.’ Kara thought. “You must be hungry already. I’m sorry.”

Lena shook her head. “Darling, there’s no need to be sorry. I’m quite alright, but thank you for your concern.”

Kara’s heart skipped a beat. It always happened whenever Lena’s calling her those sweet endearments. She’s definitely not gonna be used to Lena’s endearments, not that she’s complaining. “A-are-“ She cleared her throat. “Are you sure?”

“Of course.” Lena husked out and kissed Kara on the cheek. “Shall we eat?”

Kara could feel her face heating up and she was sure as hell that she was blushing really hard. “Y-yeah. W-we should eat.” She stammered and placed the takeouts on the table. “I got you a salad in case you don’t want to eat heavy.”

Lena chuckled. “Ah, always the thoughtful one. Have I told you that you’re my favorite person?”

“A few times, yes.” Kara answered while bobbing her head. “But please, do tell me that a little bit more.”

“And make your head bloat?” Lena raised her brow and smirked. “Never.”

This made Kara pout. “Aww… You’re mean.”

“Don’t pout.” Lena mumbled something incoherently at the end which Kara wasn’t able to get.

“I’m sorry, what?”

“Nothing!” Lena exclaimed and grabbed a box of potstickers which Kara grabbed as well, causing their fingers to brush against each other.

Lena was about to pull back when Kara pushed the box towards her. “Up for a greasy night?”

“I’d like to indulge a little when given the chance.” Lena answered, gratefully accepting the box with a wink and started to eat as she settled on the other end of the couch.

Kara blushed, if possible, even more and by the looks that Lena is giving her, she was sure that the woman in front of her noticed how red her face is and Lena seemed to enjoy Kara’s reactions.

They were eating in silence and it wasn’t an awkward silence rather, a comfortable one but, even though as comfortable as this was, Kara’s thoughts were wandering. How was she going to confront Lena? She doesn’t know what to do no matter how hard she thinks. ‘I’m an airhead.’ She thought.

“Kara, dear...” Lena called Kara and she snapped her attention towards Lena. “Are you okay?”

Kara blinked. “What? I mean- uhh, of course.” She chuckled nervously. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

Lena sighed and smiled a bit. “You, my dear, are a very bad liar. Now, tell me what’s bothering you. Brows furrowed, nose scrunched, and all.”

Kara bit her lip, feeling embarrassed for being caught lying. She forgot for a second that it was Lena. A genius, a scientist, her best friend. Of course, Lena knows if she was lying. That and she’s a terrible liar.

“Kara…” Lena settled beside her which slightly startled the blonde. Kara was so caught up in her own thoughts that she hadn’t notice Lena moving from her spot. “You know you can tell me anything, right?”

“I know that.” Kara mumbled.

Lena gave Kara a light squeeze on her shoulder. “Then tell me what’s bothering you. Maybe I can help.”

“Yeah… You definitely can.” Kara took a deep breath. “Lena…”

“Yes, Kara?” Lena asked in almost a whisper.

“Do you- I…” Kara let out a shaky breath, hoping that it’ll calm her nerves. “I mean, did you… Did you write a letter?”

Lena pursed her lips for a moment before answering. “What letter? I’ve written tons of letters, Kara, so you have to be a bit more specific.”

“Well…” The blonde hesitated for a moment. She couldn’t read Lena’s expression. It was like she had her CEO mask on, the one she uses to guard her expressions, and it was never used on her. She let out another shaky breath before speaking. It was now or never. “A letter intended for me, Lena. The one with the confession.”

“I didn’t.” Lena said with a stoic expression.

“B-but James said that you-“

Lena cut her off. “He lied.”

“No…” Kara shook her head in disbelief. “He wouldn’t.”

“But he did. I didn’t even know that such letter exists.”

“Please tell me you’re lying.” Kara pleaded.

“Why?”

“B-because… because I want to know how the letter ends. I just want to know…” Kara trailed off.

“And?” Lena prodded.

“And I was hoping that it was you who wrote the letter because I…”

“You, what?”

“I love you, like, not in a platonic way. Like, I’m really in love with you.” Kara confessed.

Lena let out a humorless laugh. “This is ridiculous. Kara, are you sure? Do you even hear what you’re saying? I’m unlovable, Kara. After all, I am a Luthor. You can’t possibly love me. I don’t deserve-“

“No, Lena, stop degrading yourself and listen to me.” Kara leaned closer towards the brunette, leveling their eye contact. “Just because you’re a Luthor doesn’t mean that you’re unlovable or you’re not capable of being loved and Lena, you are one of the most inspiring woman that I have ever met and you deserve everything and you’re not just inspiring, you are also strong, intelligent, funny, beautiful, caring, and it goes on and on and if I start making a list of the reason to love you, it’ll take me forever to list the things why.” Kara was a bit shocked that she had said it all in one go without even stuttering but nevertheless, she continued. “Your name doesn’t define who you are. You’re not just a Luthor. For me, you’re your own. You are Lena… and you aren’t that hard to love, Lee. So, I’ll ask again. Did you or did you not write the letter?”

“I…” Lena was about to deny but when she looked at Kara and the blonde was looking back at her with her glassy blue eyes, looking like a damn kicked puppy again, her resolve crumbled. No one, not even her nor Alex, can resist Kara looking like that. She sighed, knowing that she was helpless at Kara’s mercy. Little did she know that Kara was feeling the same. “Fine… I did write the letter.”

With Lena finally admitting that she was the one who wrote the letter, Kara felt relief wash over her and before she can top herself, she blurted out. “Can I kiss you?”

Her face instantly heated up and she also saw that there was a tinge of pink blooming on Lena’s cheek. “I- I mean, it’s okay if you don’t want to. It’s totally fine, really. I don’t want you to feel uncomfortable or anything. It’s just that-“

Her rambling was cut short when Lena pulled her by the neck, feeling the soft lips that were pressed against hers.

“Just shut up and kiss me. No one’s stopping you.”

And Kara did. She placed her hand on Lena’s cheek as she finally closed the gap between them and kissed Lena with passion and longing which was reciprocated with the same intensity and she felt Lena smiling between their kisses. She could hear her heart pounding loudly and she knew she was so screwed. She has fallen hard for her best friend.

With reluctance, Kara was the one who broke off the kiss as they were gasping for air. She was smiling wide like an idiot as she leaned her forehead on Lena’s.

“So… would you mind finishing the letter for me?” Kara asked a moment after their lips parted.

“I actually have the finished one. What you got was just a scratch that just so happened to be folded neatly.” Lena stood up and walked towards her desk. “I was about to throw it away that day and suddenly there was an emergency at the R&D that needed my immediate attention so I left in a hurry and didn’t notice that it slipped out of my bag.”

“Would you read it? Please?”

Lena smiled softly. “Of course. For you.”

Lena grabbed a piece of paper from her desk and settled back beside Kara. Clearing her throat, she began to read. “To my dearest Kara,

I have so much to say actually, but I guess I’ll keep this short, not that short, and go straight to the point. I just want to say thank you for being such a good friend and for everything you’ve done for me. You are the most extraordinary person that I’ve ever met and meeting you is probably the best thing that’s ever happened to me since the day that you walked into my office. I am usually guarded when it comes to reporters but, you? There was something in you that made me open up with ease. Other than that, I also want to let you know that I’m hopelessly in love with you. I don’t expect you to reciprocate my feelings, so don’t pressure yourself. I just merely want to get this out of my chest before it overwhelms me. You’re the only one who treated me like I was just a normal person and indifferent from the others. You trusted me completely regardless of my family background and you stood up for me whenever I’m being treated wrongly. You bring out the best in me and you try hard to let others see the good in me. If this letter affects our relationship, I want you to know that I’ll still be here whenever you need my help. I guess that’s everything.

“Oh, and one more thing. I love how my name rolls out of your tongue with your melodic voice.”

Kara laughed, or more likely giggled. “Lenaaa. You only added that last line just now, didn’t you?”

Lena shrugged and chuckled a bit. “Maybe?” Lena cleared her throat again and read her salutation. “Yours truly,” Lena casted a loving gaze at Kara. “Lena.”

Kara almost cried. Nope. She wasn’t gonna cry in front of Lena… Oh, who was she kidding? A tear already rolled down her cheek which Lena wiped with a gentle swipe of her thumb. Never in her life had she received something that’s really heartwarming such as this. Not from her previous suitors. Not from her exes. Only from the woman who is currently right in front of her. “Lena Kieran Luthor, have I told you that I love you?”

Smiling, Lena grabbed Kara’s hand and intertwined the fingers. “You have. But please, do tell me that a little bit more.” Lena said, throwing back what Kara told her just awhile ago, eliciting a laugh from the blonde.

“Well played, Lee. Well played.”

“You know, I’ve been wanting to hear you say that you love me for years...” Lena confessed, squeezing Kara’s fingers lightly.

Kara tilted her head to the side, looking confused. “I’m always telling you that.”

“That’s true…” Lena agreed. “But not in the way how I wanted it to be.”

“It’s a good thing that we’re on the same page, then.”

“That we are.” Lena giggled and gave the blonde a chaste kiss. “Oh, and Kara?”

Kara grinned. “Yeah, Lee?”

“I love you, too.”

**

As soon as they got in their apartment, Alex’s phone pinged.

Kara: Got my girl. (followed with lots of emojis)

“Oh, you have got to be fucking kidding me!” Maggie exclaimed behind Alex as she read Kara’s message and Alex was howling with laughter.

“You should’ve listened to your own self not betting about Kara’s love life with me babe.” Alex pinched Maggie’s cheek. “That’s another twenty for me.”

Maggie swatted Alex’s hand. “Damn, I shouldn’t belittle Little Danvers’ abilities.” She huffed and glared at her girlfriend. “I’ll wipe that smug look off on your face one day, Danvers. You just wait.”

“Don’t worry.” Alex gave Maggie a brief kiss on her lips. “I’m definitely gonna look forward to that, Sawyer.”

AN:

And the end. Thanks for reading.

[barrysjumpsuit]

the dark side - jj maybank x shoupe’s daughter (ch. 3)

w/c: 2.5k

warnings: underage drinking, mentions of other illicit activity, typos probably, but this is mostly just jj fluff

summary:  catherine shoupe has the perfect life. when she gets hired by heyward to run groceries, she has a new coworker - jj maybank. as the deputy’s daughter, she can’t help but hate him. but when jj decides to bring her to the dark side and woo her over, cat not only has to hide her activities from her father, but learn who her father really is.

a/n: i’ve been super busy and lacking inspo, so i knocked this out in about an hour and a half (and tbh i’m kinda proud of it).  this is definitely based on that time last week i drank 8 beers while swimming and was so drunk i fell off the dock then cried while making a pizza bc i started thinking about drew starkey  

side note, the tags weren’t working on the last two chapters, so if you could reblog this that would mean the world to me :)

get caught up on other chapters here! or check out my masterlist!

----

JJ’s words ate at Cat as she drove home. Leave it to JJ to put that foul taste in her mouth - was he trying to turn her against her own father? Or wanting her to come to the dark side with him?  Of course JJ didn’t like her dad. He was a troublemaker, flirting with all the punishments that were associated with breaking the law. 

Cat got home ten minutes later. Her dad was waiting up for her - it was later than she realized, and she was too caught up with JJ - and then flustered - to text him. “How’d it go?” he asked, seeing her face and pulling her into a hug.

“It was okay. I’m just tired,” she said quietly, her head pressed against her dad’s shoulder.

“You want any dinner?” he asked, and she shook her head. “Okay. Good night, sweetie.”

That night and all of the next day, she couldn’t stop thinking about what JJ had said to her.

Cat spent her day off with her best friend. They shopped before dropping their bags off at Cat’s, changing and going to the beach.

“Tell me about your new job,” Kya insisted, laying beside her. Her eyes were hidden by large, pink sunglasses, a smile plastered on her face.

“Well… it’s different, that’s for sure. I like spending most of my day on the water.” Cat threw an arm up to shield the sun so she could see her friend better. “The guys I work with keep it… interesting.”

“Heyward’s kid? What’s his name?”

“Pope. Yeah, I like him a lot. I usually work with either him or JJ.”

“Maybank?” Kya asked, pushing herself up slightly, and Cat nodded. “Woah, seriously? You haven’t killed each other yet?”

“Actually… we made up for everything last night. Got dinner and everything. He wanted to air everything out, and we had a good night.”

“You got dinner with JJ Maybank?” 

Cat sighed as her friend took off her sunglasses to look at her, her eyes wide. “Yes, Kya, why is that such a big deal?”

“You know he’s a total pothead, right? And his dad’s into all sorts of drugs.”

“Well, that’s a good thing I only work with him, then,” Cat responded cooly. “I just want to be friendly enough to make work not insufferable. I don’t care what he does in his free time.”

“Does your dad know?” Kya asked, and sat upright when Cat shook her head. “You’re kidding me, Cat.”

“He doesn’t need to know, he’d just worry.” Cat tried to ignore how worked up all of this made Kya. “Beside, I’ve made it clear to him I don’t want to get involved in anything he or his friends do.”

Kya sighed, laying back down beside her. “You better not. You’re the only friend I have that hasn’t gone all party mode.”

“That’s not gonna happen any time soon.” Cat tried to reassure her, but remembered JJ’s words. I’ll get you out of your bubble, he had said, a charming grin lighting up his face. Everything about JJ’s existence seemed effortless - he didn’t worry about what people thought about him, and didn’t particularly care for impressing people or following every single rule.

All throughout high school, like Kya had said, they lost friends until their once tight-knit friend group shrank to just the two of them. Everyone discovered alcohol, which was easily available at keggers and parties that seemed to happen almost every night. Some started smoking weed, others started doing harder stuff. People changed, and Cat knew that, but she didn’t like that type of change. Even if she did still want to be friends with those people, she knew it wouldn’t fly with her father, much less with Kya’s mother.

Kya Peterkin was the one person who had Cat’s back while they were growing up. Whenever their classmates adopted the we-hate-cops attitude, they were shunned together. They obeyed the same sets of rules, and since their parents worked so closely together, they were bound to become best friends as well. 

Sometimes, though, Cat wanted to break the rules. She was tired of being under the watchful, critical eye of her parents. Maybe JJ was what she needed - someone to be that person to get her out there. There was something about the way he spoke to her the other day, like he knew something she didn’t. About her, and about her dad. 

The next day, she worked with Pope. 

The day after, she worked with JJ.

It was the first time she actually enjoyed working with JJ. The talk they had eased the tension - JJ sat on the bow of the boat, his vape pinched between his lips, swinging his feet in the air while Cat slowed the boat as they approached the no wake zone. As she eased up to the dock to complete the last delivery of the day, JJ hopped off and tied the boat while Cat started readying the groceries.

Cat wanted to ask him, so, what are you doing tonight?, but she had been taught to never invite herself to things. Luckily, JJ seemed to read her mind, a cocky smile tugging on his lips as they loaded bags into the carts they would haul down the sandy paths to the McEvers’ house.

“You busy tonight?” he asked casually, passing groceries from the boat down to her. 

“Not at all,” she replied. 

“Wanna go for a boat ride?” 

“With who?”

“Me and my friends,” he replied, jumping down from the boat to be next to her. He had a red work shirt on, matching his backwards red hat. 

“What will be happening on said boat ride?” she asked, partly because she was curious and wanted confirmation, partly to annoy him.

“What, you turning into a cop?” JJ asked. “Your dad knows what we do, everyone on the island knows and everyone on the island does exactly what we do.”

“And what do you do?”

JJ raised his eyebrows before taking a hold of the handle of the cart. “Just a little booze cruise is all. Don’t worry, Pope’s the DD.”

“And you’re not worried I’ll rat you all out?” she asked, taking her own cart and starting to haul it down the path after him.

“No, because you would never let your father know you’re hanging out with me.”

JJ’s words and tone were cocky. Cat smiled, trying to wipe her expression blank as JJ turned to look at her, but failed. “Sure. I’ll come tonight.”

“You got a swimsuit on you?”

“I’ll have to run home and pick one up, just let me know where to meet you.”

JJ flashed her a thumbs up, and before long, they had completed their delivery. The rest of the shift was uneventful; they boated back to Heyward’s, ran through the closing procedures, and JJ told her how to get to John B’s house.

“Just come out back to the dock when you get there, we’ll be waiting on the boat,” he had told her. Cat quickly drove home, telling her dad she was going to treat herself to a night out at the movies, changing before driving south to the Cut.

Two cars were parked in front of John B’s house. Following JJ’s instructions, she walked around the side of the house, seeing the dock lit up with deck lights, hearing voices from a boat tied to the end.

The voices became hushed as she walked down the dock, and she saw someone shove JJ, while another threw a hat at him. As soon as she grew close enough to see JJ’s crew, Cat instantly regretted her decision of coming.

“Shoupe’s kid? Really, JJ?” she heard Kiara hiss, before plastering a big smile on her face. “Hey, Cat.”

She stopped hesitantly on the end of the dock. Just go back home, a voice inside her brain told her, and she was about to start back towards her car when JJ stood, grabbing her hand, pulling her onto the boat.

“Be nice, please,” he said in a sing-songy voice, knowing that Cat had overheard them. 

“Dude - really?” John B asked bluntly. He had dropped the hand holding a beer down in a subtle attempt to hide it.

“My lips are sealed.” Cat caught Kiara’s eye roll out of the corner of her vision, and Pope sighed, obviously disliking the conflict.

“Well, let’s go then,” John B said, tension still apparent in his voice. JJ nodded towards the back of the boat, and Pope moved to make room for her to sit.

“Want a drink, kitty Cat?” JJ asked, but before she could answer, Kiara was making a gagging sound and John B looked at him with wide eyes.

“The fuck you call her?” John B asked, and JJ grinned.

“Kitty Cat.”

“I thought I told you to never call me that ever again,” Cat said, leaning forward to look into the cooler. It was full of Pabst and White Claws. She started reaching for one of the latter, but hesitated.

“You don’t have to if you don’t want to,” Pope said quietly, but Cat could feel everyone’s eyes on her.

She looked up to JJ, who shrugged. “The black cherry is my favorite,” he said.

“You admitted it! You like them!” Pope burst suddenly, pointing accusingly at JJ, who just shrugged before speaking.

“There ain’t no laws when you’re drinking Claws,” he claimed, pausing as Cat grabbed one of the black cherries. “Atta girl, Cat.”

She popped the top and took a sip. It was okay, the sharp taste and the carbonation causing her to make a face. The second drink was easier.

As John B pushed the throttle, the conversation died down as they made their way across the water. Cat sat against the back right side of the boat with Pope, while Kiara sat on the back left side, JJ going off to stand next to John B.

“You don’t have to let him pressure you into doing this, you know.”

Pope’s words were sudden, almost lost in the wind. Cat pressed her lips together into a small smile before looking at him and responding. “It’s been a long time coming.”

He smiled back at her, and Cat reverted her gaze to JJ. He still wore his work shirt and that backwards red hat, but had changed into a pair of tropical patterned board shorts and flip flops. Leaning over John B, one hand on the dash of the boat and one on the back of the seat, he was talking with a serious look on his face, and John B was sitting, his jaw set.

After twenty minutes, they reached what Pope informed her was their favorite place to swim and watch the sunset. She had finished her drink, a slight warmness filling her body. 

A lime White Claw was next up. It sat on the edge of the boat, half-drank, as they all jumped into the water, the setting sun coloring the water orange, as if it were on fire. Swimming up to the boat, she finished it, tossing the can back into the cooler.

“Atta girl,” JJ praised from out in the water, just his head and beer visible. She burped in response, giggling a little. “Help yourself to another, kitty Cat, you’re off tomorrow.”

She grabbed a lemon before swimming back out to the group. Pope, Kiara, and John B were deep into a discussion about the skunk ape of Florida, and if there was a North Carolina equivalent. As the evening progressed, they seemed to relax slightly at Cat’s presence. 

“You feeling okay?” JJ asked as she swam up to him, cradling a life jacket in one arm while she held her drink with the other. She nodded and he took a sip of his beer.

“Can I try it?” she asked.

“You never tasted a beer?” She shook her head, and JJ handed it towards her. “Don’t judge it off this one, JB has shitty taste.”

“Hey!” there was a protest from John B’s direction, and Cat made a face at the taste of the slightly warm beer.

“Why would you want to drink that?” she asked, handing it back to JJ. He shrugged and took another swig, tilting the bottom towards the sky before crushing it in his fist and throwing it back towards the boat, where it met the other cans with a clink.

Before long, it was dark, and the group swam back to the boat. “You feeling okay?” JJ asked as Kiara heaved herself up, Cat putting her empty can with all the other ones and nodded.

“I feel… fine.” Cat was kind of disappointed; she felt warm, a little fuzzy in her head, but other than that, not how she expected to feel.

“Wait until you’re in the boat,” John B said, watching as JJ heaved himself up. “Better yet, until we get to shore.” JJ yelped as John B pushed him up with a hand to his ass, and John B pushed himself in easily.

Cat tried to haul herself in, but couldn’t. John B chuckled, and he and JJ each took a hand, pulling her up, and as soon as she was sitting on the floor of the boat, she understood what John B had meant.

“Come on kitty Cat, to the bow,” JJ was saying, his hands in her armpits. He helped her to the front of the boat, which was open and flat. 

“Can you get my towel?” she asked, the evening breeze cold on her wet skin. She knew it would just get worse as they started the ride to shore. JJ left her on the bow as he went to the back of the boat for her towel, and she felt him lay it on her shoulders as he returned.

He sat down beside her, and they were silent as Pope pulled up the anchor and John B started up the boat. As they started moving, Cat was unsteady, and JJ chuckled as she had to plant her hands on the ground to keep herself from falling over into him. 

“How many you have? Three?”

“Four,” she said, holding up four fingers in his face. “One of each flavor.”

“And it’s your first time? You’re seasoned already. If only your dad could see you now.”

“Don’ talk about him,” Cat said, putting a finger to his lips, telling him to hush. “I don’t wanna think about it.”

JJ laughed again. “Okay, then, we won’t.” He put his hand on hers, gently rubbing it with his thumb.

If Cat wasn’t drunk she probably would have noticed the way John B raised his eyebrows, the way Kiara rolled her eyes, and the way that Pope smiled softly. She would have noticed the way he caught her as she swayed unsteadily when they hit a wake, how he brought her towel back up on her shoulder when it blew off. 

She probably would have noticed the way JJ looked at her, his eyes devouring every inch of her, his body relaxed for the first time in who knows how long.

--

taglist (lmk if you want to be added!)  @letsgofullkook @stargazingstarkey @sortagaysortahigh @jjsmentalpolaroids @ims0golden @jjmaybcnks​ @shawnssongs​ @queenk00k @broken-jj​​  @danielle-yeah​​ @wicked-laugh​​ @obxhoe​​ @talksoprettyjjx​​ @kt219567​​ @abrunettefangirlnerd​​ @apoguecalledjj​​  @rollinsstuff​​

[keith-the-hoe]

The Glimmer Hoes Master Plan| Crack Fanfic Mini Series

Episode One: [X]

Episode Two: [X]

Episode Three: American Tour

Episode Four: [X]

Episode Five: [X]

Warnings:

This story will contain violence, sex scenes and a shit ton of foul language. It may also cause you to lose a couple of brain cells and fall into a state of confusion. Do not read if you are under the age of 16. Read at your own risk. Or Keef will eat your grandma.

Cast:

Mick Jagger

Keith Richards

Charlie Watts

Ronnie Wood

Bill Wyman

----------------

After the huge massacre in California, The Rolling Stones were on the run again. Keef was super ugly and devastated from his buddy, Mick, being brutally killed by the sus one. Who was going to sing for them? Charlie and Bill were sitting in the back seat with Mick's body next to them. Their van had broke down when they were out camping in the desert. So they elected Keef to push the van to the nearest town.

"Ah jeez..... Now who is going to be our whore front man?" Keef asked while he struggled to push the van over a speed bump.

"You do it" Billl said as he keep trying to get the body from touching him.

The Rolling Stones stopped by a mechanic shop that was also a coffee shop. California was burning hot. The sun was shining down on Keef so he took his clothes off. Bill and Charlie stepped out of the van and stood in front of the coffee shop.

"Hmm.... Some coffee wouldn't be so bad right now." Bill said to Charlie.

The only problem was, they didn't have any money on them. But Keef did so this whole sentence doesn't work at all. He took out a bunch of crumbled up dollar bills from his underpants. Penis money was what he always called it in case of emergencies. Bill didn't want to touch it so he told him to hold onto it. They walked into the coffee shop. There was no one in there but some weird guy with a big nose reading a news paper. They all sat down at the counter and waited for someone to attend them. A lady with a cheese ball outfit went up to them to take their order. Keef really wanted bananas. Bill and Charlie just ordered eggs and bacon like normies do at coffee shops. Keef kept spinning around his stool and noticed that the big nose whore was looking at them. He got sus so he just walked in the bathroom to take a piss. Or at least that what he made big nose whore think. Keef walked over to the mechanic shop to check on their van. Then he remembered that he left Mick in there. He went into a panic. Bill and Charlie had already taken him out of the van but didn't tell him. Keef searched the van but didn't see him in there. Charlie went outside to see what kind of shenanigans he's up to this time. Keef turned into a mad monkey.

"Jesus! Calm down you fooking dumb fuck of a monkey!" Charlie said. "If you're looking for whore Mick, we hid him behind the dumpster until the van gets fixed."

Keef just stared at him. He felt better now that he knew that his side hoe was okay. He walked around the mechanic shop and saw a bunch of car parts. He got a very good idea. He grabbed the parts, some oil cans, and his guitars. Told ya they might come in handy for later. Charlie stood there in confusion watching Keef once again do something stupid.

"Be hold!!" Keef yelled.

Charlie rolled his eyes at him. He seriously wondered why he's even in a shitty ass band with a very stupid monkey. Keith removed the tarp from his very fantastic creation.

"Wot in the actual fuck did you just make?" Charlie asked sounding annoyed.

Keef chuckled. "You dummy! It's Mick!" He said as he leaned on it only to knock it over. He has built a cyborg Mick as a replacement for the real Mick. Charlie was not amused. Bill came out of the coffee shop with the big nose whore holding a knife to his neck. He was pretty calm about it. Charlie panicked.

"Woah woah! Hey! easy there cowboy! Put the knife down! We can talk this through!" Keef said as he slowly walked up to them.

Charlie was examining the piece of junk. He was trying to figure out how it worked. Cyborg Mick smacked him hard in the head and did Jagger moves.

"Wot is that?" Bill asked as big nose whore held the knife closer to his neck. He remained calm.

Keef explained since they no longer had the real Mick, they could use a artificial one. He programmed it to be exactly like Mick. He even gave him a dick since Mick LOVES to be screwing around with random ass hoes. Charlie cut him off by yelling at him that Bill is being held hostage.

"Oh.... right.... that....." Keef said with a nervous chuckle.

He slowly approached them but big nose whore kept walking away. Keef threw a punch only to get his arm sliced by the knife.

"Owie! Damn! I need this arm to play guitar!! Son of a bitch!" He yelled as he threw a rock at Charlie.

"You play guitar?" Big Nose Whore asked. Bill used the opportunity to run to Charlie and jumped in his arms. Just imagine that though lol. Keef looked at them both confused but he ignored them. Cyborg Mick went up to Keef and big nose whore.

"Greetings, I am Mick Jagger, yes this Monkey whore plays guitar." He said.

Big Nose Whore put his knife away and began to laugh his ass off.

"Well why didn't you say so!? Bitch I play guitar as well!" He said.

Bill and Charlie rolled their eyes. Just what they needed, another dumbass. The van was up and running again. The Rolling Stones were relieved to finally have a working vehicle. Keef and big nose whore became besties and offered to give him a ride. The only thing he wanted to ride was- okay don't be nasty. He accepted the offer and hopped in the van. He sat next to Bill who was already annoyed by his presence. Cyborg Mick kept smacking Charlie in the head.

"Jesus! Keith get your damn sex robot under control!" He yelled.

Keith scratched his head trying to figure out why Cyborg Mick did that. He figured that he set it to fightey mode instead of normal Mick mode. He turned the switch which got Keith's balls kicked. He screamed in pain and Big Nose Whore just laughed at him. Charlie seriously wondered how he even ended up being stuck with a bunch of idiots. Bill also wondered the same thing. They also later learned that Big Nose Whore's name is Ronnie because of course it was. They also learned that he bites people. They had to find that one out the hard way. Keith began to discuss how they're going to be touring with a broken robot and a missing rhythm guitarist. Ronnie got a splendid idea. He drank orange juice. So really he didn't have a splendid idea. I know how to grammar properly.

"Assholes I can be your rhythm guitarist." He suggested.

Charlie said no. He was not about to deal with another dumbass that was going to kill his bestie. He just wanted to go home. Cyborg Mick yelled at Charlie to shut up and he doesn't get to make the decisions around here. A tear ran down his face. Cyborg Mick accepted Ronnie to be a part of the band.

"Sweet! So where are we headed?" He said with a wide smile.

Cyborg Mick started doing weird beeping sounds. Keef programmed him to be their GPS which he didn't even know he could do. They got directions to a small motel near a small town in San Francisco. They didn't question it and drove there.

"Ooooh motels are quite fun, they have all sorts of things to do there." Ronnie explained.

"I hate motels." Bill replied as he lit a cigarette.

"Oh shut it you! You love going there to screw every single girl you lay eyes on!" Keef yelled.

"I have a wife." Charlie said.

"Why screw girls when we can screw each other!" Ronnie replied.

The whole van turned into an argument about fucking people. Cyborg Mick just kept driving without saying a single work to them. He was super horny though, just like the real Mick. Only thing is, this one actually has a dick, unlike the real Mick. They parked in front of the lobby. The van went silent. The Rolling Stones all slowly looked at each other. Who was going to go in there and ask for rooms?

"Alright....." Keef said in a low voice. "In the count of three...... One-"

They all touch their noses as they yelled "NOT IT" even though Keith wasn't even at three. That meant that he had to go in there and ask for rooms.

"Ugh! Son of a bitch! Why do I have to do everything!? Jesus you all don't work for shit! The only thing you all are able to do is be a bunch of whores!" Keith said as he stepped out of the van. Then there was another problem. Who was going to share rooms? Bill and Charlie looked at each other. Guess they're sharing rooms. Keith stood in front of the lobby as the secretary checked for any available rooms. Turns out there was one room with a king sized bed and one with two singles. Keith sighed deeply and paid without any further questions. He walked over to the van to tell them about the rooms. Ronnie claimed the room with two singles. Cyborg Mick also claimed that room. That left with Bill, Charlie and Keith with the room with a king sized bed. This was going to be an awkward night. Bill and Charlie told Keith to fuck off. They didn't want a monkey to be sleeping in the same bed as them. Cyborg Mick put his arm around Keith.

"Me and you can share beds...." He said seductively.

Keith actually didn't mind sleeping in the same bed with Mick. He's his buddy and he's known him since they were in nappies. So he agreed to doing so. Bill hates them both so much that he is planning on doing some murdering. The Rolling Stones went to their room. Cyborg Mick went a little overboard and took Keith to bed with him. Ronnie just stood there eating Doritos that he found in the bathroom. Just another normal day for him.

"Oooh! Make sure to not scratch him up a bit with all of those metal bolts in there....." Ronnie suggested.

Keith just glared at him but then he got a stupendous idea. He removed his clothes. Ronnie was completely lost and wondered why he just did that. Cyborg Mick got turned on by such view.

"Wow! The Rolling Stones really are a wild band! I'm so glad I am a part of it!" Ronnie yelled in excitement. He looked around the room. There were a bunch of used rubbers stuck on them. Beautiful decorating. Cyborg Mick stretched his arm out and pulled Ronnie into bed. They all laid on top of each other and got really funky. Bill and Charlie, who were in a room over, were sitting on the bed watching the telly. Strange noises were coming from the room that Keith was staying in. Bill shook his head in disappointment.

"We haven't even been here for 2 seconds and they're already screwing around? Jesus can there be a-" Bill said as Charlie cut him off with a smack. Bill is a big hoe so the things he is complaining about are extremely irrelevant so he cannot be talking and that is on period 💅. They heard a loud boom outside where the pool was. Charlie was certain that Keith, Mick and Ronnie were up to no good so he went out to check. He saw a telly on the first floor. Turns out Led Zeppelin were also staying in those motels and were the ones who threw the telly out their window. Charlie hated them. He went back inside of his room only to see a naked Bill laying in bed with a bunch of rose petals and candles around him. He was genuinely confused.

"Hey babe..... Why don't you come over here and have some fun eh?" Bill said in a low voice.

Charlie just wanted to go home because according to him, he is happier there then when he is with the stones. Haha I'm using his words against him. He sighed and just went with the flow because Yolo. They really got into it up until they heard screaming from the other room. Bill and Charlie looked at each other.

"Oh wow, they seem to be having a very splendid and wild time...." Bill said.

Charlie rolled his eyes and decided to just ignore them. Keith bursted into the room. He was covered in blood. Bill and Charlie just stared at him with a scared look.

"I-its not wot it looks like....." Bill said with an awkward chuckle.

Keith was breathing heavily and couldn't gather his words. He just began to babble and making hand gestures and so on and so forth.

"Jesus! Use your words bitch!" Charlie yelled.

Keith finally calmed down. "That fucking robot piece of junk just tried to kill me!" He yelled.

Charlie looked at him from head to toe. He was seriously done with The Rolling Stones. He didn't even want to know why he was naked and covered in blood. Ronnie came running in also naked and covered in blood. Charlie just sighed in disappointment. Why is he in a band full of dumbasses.

"Why are you both naked and covered in blood?" Bill asked as he lit a cigarette.

Turns out Cyborg Mick was set in fightey mode instead of sexy time mode and had tried to kill them both by using chainsaws and cheeseballs. He managed to injure Ronnie which caused a whole bunch of blood splattering meaning that he is slowly dying. Charlie had to act fast because clearly these idiots are not going to do so. They all put their clothes back on but Keith couldn't find his pants. Too bad he deserves it. The Rolling Stones jumped in the van that had been vandalized by Led Zeppelin.

"Ughh those fucking hippie bastards!" Charlie yelled as he set the van to drive. Keith held Ronnie's hand. He didn't want to lose him. He has only known him for 5 hours. Ronnie didn't seem to have a problem about the fact that he got attacked by a Mick robot. He just kept smiling and bullied Charlie for having a unibrow.

[vagrantblvrd]

ramwood with werewolves?

Oh my God, yesssss.

So, like.

Ryan on a long roadtrip - moving somewhere or business trip kind of thing, and his car breaks down in the middle of nowhere.

Single-lane highway cutting through a forest/national park kind of deal up in the mountains.

No phone reception to speak of and no choice but to walk however many miles to the gas station he passed a sign for a mile back.

Thing is?

There’s something in the forest, right? He first noticed it when there was a construction detour that took him where he is, glanced over and saw something in the woods keeping pace with his car.

And, like.

He’s going at least tend, fifteen miles over the speed limit in a bid to make up for time lost on this detour.

Whatever is out there veers into the woods when the highway curves, and he’s like.

Well.

Maybe he imagined it?

Sunny day and trick of the eye/play of shadows and he’s been driving for hours at that point, so.

Yes?

But half an hour later there’s a rock outcropping ahead of him overlooking the highway and something up there that’s gone by the time he drew even with it.

Too far away to make it out, and there are trees casting shadows and all that but he swears there was something there.

A few more instances where he knows (he thinks?) he saw something out there before the sun went down and he was driving down that single-lane highway in the dark.

Before his car died on him and he had to get out and check things using his (mostly) useless cell phone as a makeshift flashlight to see if he could fix it.

Which, or course he couldn’t.

So then the Walk of Doom, and he swears he’s seen horror movies that start like this?

Keeps hearing things, seeing things, as he walks along.

Owls and foxes and other things?

But also whatever he saw (thought he saw) earlier.

Big.

Fast.

Stalking him?

Hairs on the back of his neck raising and Bad Feeling and seriously, seriously, super not fun?

Eventually (somehow) he gets to the gas station without being horribly murdered in the dark.

Discovers it’s attached to a little truckstop kind of diner, open 24 hours, and wouldn’t you know it?

Geoff’s there.

(Not that Ryan knows him at that point, but shhhh.)

Geoff’s there, and so is Jack and the two of them are bickering about something or other at the counter, and look up in surprise when Ryan walks in.

Get decent business during the day, but not so much this late at night. Long haul truckers and the like every so often, people on roadtrips pushing themselves kind of thing.

Also, idiots like Ryan, but whatever.

Jack dips back into the kitchen while Geoff is like, all country charm (or Geoff’s idea of country charm) on Ryan.

Makes all the right noises when Ryan tells him about his car breaking down and wouldn’t you know it, the gas station/garage has its very own tow truck?

Turns out Jack runs the diner and Geoff runs the gas station/garage and they’ve been in business together for years.

Because of course.

Jack comes back out with thermoses of coffee for the both of them because Ryan’s not their first poor bastard with a broken down car on the side of the road in the middle of the night and all.

“Really?”

“Uh, yeah. Come to think of it, that does sound weird, right?”

(Only you know, not, but shhhh, Plot Reasons.)

So Geoff and Ryan drive back to his car where Geoff putters about trying to see if he can get it started again - he can’t - and they tow truck the fuck out of it for the drive back to the gas station/garage.

Ryan plays flashlight handler throughout, stands next to Geoff when he pokes at the car engine and whatnot and they chitchat in between Geoff trying different fixes for Ryan’s car.

Get engine grease and oil on hands and smeared on faces when wiping sweat out of eyes and the whatnot and look, okay, look, shit happens. (Also I’m weak for this stuff, give me a break.)

Nothing can be down without replacement parts and the whatnot, because of course.

Anyway!

Just when they’re about to get back in the tow truck for the drive back Ryan hears something in the woods around them again, whips around with the flashlight trying to get a good look at it and such.

Shushes Geoff when he’s trying to pinpoint where the noises are coming from and all that, but to no avail.

Geoff suggests it’s a deer or something, maybe even a bear because why not, and c’mon, Ryan, Jack’s probably got their food ready. (Because you know. Food and hungry idiots and just. Yes.)

Ryan’s like “...Alright” and off they go!

But of course as soon as Geoff starts up the tow truck there’s a fuckin’ wolf howl right fucking there.

Ryan’s like !!! because of course he is, and idk, wolves aren’t supposed to be in the area at all???

Geoff is just ¯\_(ツ)_/¯  because the tow truck’s engine is just so loud, you know? Big ol’ diesel or whatever, and rumblerumblerumble what was that, Ryan???

Get back to the gas station/garage/diner/truck stop and go over estimates and such - gonna take a few days for said parts to get there, but conveniently there’s also a motel there?

More like a couple of cabins, because nearby lake and honestly, the weird plot convenience things are everywhere but, uh.

Yeah.

Geoff cuts Ryan sweet deal on a cabin until he can get Ryan’s car fixed and Ryan’s like, God, yes, whatever, because he’s exhausted at that point.

Takes whatever Jack cooked up to go and crashes in his cabin. Food shoved in his facehole and dead asleep in under an hour. Barely even registers the wolf howls and the whatnot.

And then!

Next day and Ryan’s like shit because his schedule is way ruined and just.

Yes.

Everything seems pretty normal, just your typical middle of nowhere America and all that?

Songbirds and all that nonsense all over the place as Ryan heads to the diner for breakfast and all that.

Jack’s not there, because night shift, but in his place is Jeremy, because of course.

Chatting to this scrawny asshole in Gavin, back from a trip or whatever and stopping for coffee a bite to eat before heading on to the next town over where he lives/works/whatever.

Ryan’s like awkward mcawkward, especially with the way Jeremy’s attention snaps to him like whoah?

All weirdly intense and stuff for a moment before he dials it back, puts on the cheerful face and greets Ryan. Gavin joining in because new face???

And then small talk as Ryan eats breakfast, says goodbye because he forgot to grab something out of his car the night before and all that.

Feels like he’s being watched (Jeremy and Gavin???) as he walks across the parking lot.

Geoff’s not in at the garage, also because night shift, but wouldn’t you know it? Michael is. (Look, I know.)

ANYWAY.

Michael watches him the whole time, shrugs when Ryan tells him he forgot this thing in his car and waves him over to where it’s parked and so on.

Ryan grabs the thing, thanks Michael and all and scurries back off to the cabin.

And just kind of fucks around for the day, makes phone calls and whatever to explain he’ll be late and so sorry and so on.

Takes a nap because still tired from pushing so hard on the roadtrip, and wakes up just before night falls. (Some would call it dusssssk.)

Hungry, so diner?

Finds Geoff and Jack and friendly small talk while they eat and the whatnot, and Ryan nearly dies when he takes a big sip of (diet coke, because of course) and the fucking wolves start up right fucking there.

Or, like.

Somewhere in the woods nearby, but yeah.

Howling up a storm and Ryan slowly turns to look at Geoff who clearly hears it too?

But is like, wow, this food is just so darn good! Also! Must concentrate on chewing it the recommended amount so as not to choke and die! :DDDDDD

But he can’t keep it up forever and he just sighs, looks over at Ryan and is like.

So.

Spins a story about wolves moving down from the national park just north of there a few years ago and all that.

Got some rangers studying them and their movements and it sounds pretty legit?

But no, okay, no.

Geoff is all eyes darting towards Jack to see if he’s still telling a believable story and this weirdly nervous laugh and something is clearly going on?

But Ryan’s like.

Okay! :D and all.

Just goes along with it (only not so much) and finishes his dinner and turns in early - man he’s just working off that sleep debt, you know? - and then Scooby Doos some shit or whatever.

Flashlight and pack from his car and off into the woods he goes following the howls and whatnot and it’s not long before he’s in deep.

A mile into the woods at least, gas station/garage/diner/whatever the hell else far behind him and just.

Dark, dark woods. Eerie as hell and those damn howls.

Goes chasing after them, and if gets him in trouble because of course it does.

Fricking wild boar or something, and he’s just like.

Shit.

Reaches for his bag and wouldn’t you know it?

Has all these interesting things in there like wooden stakes and bottles and vials of holy water, silver bullets and other such things.

A gun, too.

Pretty little thing, but it’s not something that would do much to stop an angry wild boar in its tracks, you know?

More for silver bullets and the like and he really should have brought something with more stopping power along but - like an idiot - he didn’t think he’d need it.

After something that wasn’t a fan of silver instead, and a little tunnel-vision of him, wasn’t it?

Anyway, anyway, just as he thinks getting murderized by a wild boar is going to be part of his obituatry (assuming anyone found him) the wolves show up.

Only...obviously not normal wolves, you know?

Big motherfuckers, huge, and they chase off the wild boar.

Well, most of them do.

Because there’s a whole pack - four? Five? - and most of them take off after the mountain lion, but one of them stays behind.

Lankier than the others, fur that looks black in this light and blue, blue eyes on Ryan and just.

“Uh, hey,” because clearly not a normal wolf in the way Ryan’s not just a normal guy.

The fact it and its buddies didn’t just let the mountain lion have a go at him or come at him themselves says a lot.

(Things like probably not a problem he needs to deal with, which is always nice, but also? What now???)

Because these kind of wolves (Were) are usually not all that ofnd of people like him. (Hunters.)

The wolf huffs, and Ryan swears it rolls its eyes at him before turning and walking off a little ways. Stops to look back to see if he’s following, and makes this annoyed noise because he wasn’t, but uh.

Then he does, and the wolf huffs again before it starts walking.

Ryan is super confused/awkward as hell, but not like he has anything better to do, and follows along.

The wolf slows down until they’re even and then it’s this lovely little moonlit stroll back to the gas station/garage/diner/whatever.

Ryan starts...rambling.

Some random topic that gets little sideways looks from the wolf, occasional grumbles or huffs and so on.

And Ryan, okay.

Weirdly enjoying the walk - they hear the others howling or barking in the distance, but pretty obvious they’re out shenanigating and in no danger and all that - and all too soon they’re back at the gas station/garage/diner/whatever.

Awkward little moment where Ryan looks down at the wolf that’s absolutely laughing at him before it ambles back into the woods and Ryan’s like, well, fuck.

Hunter of some renown or whatever, but not all fantatic about it.

Got a call from a friend next town over about weird shit that’s been happening and maybe if he’s not too busy he could swing by, and then the untimely car troubles and these asshole werewolves.

Probably not them? But he’s got a few days to kill until his car’s fixed so why not do some checking around.

And he does.

Chit-chats with Geoff and Jack and the others when he gets a chance.

Definitely something totes suspicious with them but nothing that pings his Bad Feeling meter, so he figures they’re not a problem he has to deal with.

A few days later the parts for his car come in and he watches Geoff and Michael fix his car up real good -

Maybe pays special attention to Geoff during it, you know? Guy’s under his car on the little rolly thingy (words no work now) and when they get it up on the lift he’s there too.

Maybe some shirt riding up action and it’s not like Ryan’s a saint, you know? Also Michael totally catches him checking Geoff out and Ryan has the choice of spontaneously combusting from embarrassment? OR he could just look Michael dead in the eye and do that eybrow raise thing he does like hey, buddy, he’s not dead, okay?

Michael snorting because jfc, this idiot, but also kind of...impressed isn’t the right word but you get it, right?

ANYWAY.

Ryan’s car gets fixed and he heads out to see that friend of his, who, it should be noted, is of course fricking Lindsay.

She runs a little vet clinic in this adorable little touristy kind of town or some animal rescue. (Both, definitely both.)

Weird shit still happening and oh, thank goodness you made it, Ryan!!1!

Ryan is like ??? because wow,what a reception, and also -

“You forgot to mention the werewolf pack.”

Because could have been a problem?

(Lot of Hunters would have killed them, no questions asked because they’ve all got their stories and this long-running history with werewolves and just. Not a good idea to forget to mention that kind of shit, you know?)

Lindsay’s like ??? until she realizes and is just :O because, fuck.

Asks Ryan if he killed them - please say no, they’re just idiots, omg Ryan, please say no!!!

Ryan is kind of tempted to let her sweat it for a little bit longer, but no, because cruel? And also she will absolutely get revenge on him if he freaks her out for shits and giggles.

Tells her the idiot werewolves are fine, no trouble with them and that they even helped him out and just.

Yeah.

Anyway, since he can’t go investigating the weird shit until nighttime (Plot Reasons) she puts him to work as an extra pair of hands at the clinic/rescue.

He meets one of the volunteers - Fiona, and definitely not human, but he’s not sure what she is? - and these assholes in Trevor and Alfredo stop by at some point.

Complete assholes, but Lindsay clearly likes them and he honestly can’t tell if they’re human or just weird as fuck and stops trying because it hurts his brain.

He’s staying at Lindsay’s - nice ranch-style house that goes along with the clinic/rescue - and takes a nape before nightfall and his Investigation.

Goes out - this time he brings something a little bit heavy-duty than that handgun of his for those silver bullets, just in case.

Checks out the area Lindsay told him about and finds tracks and the whatnot.

Claw marks on tree trunks and in freaking stone - boulders and cave walls and fucking fuck, what the hell did Lindsay get him in to out here?

Like.

Nothing he can’t handle, but still. He was on vacation before all this.

Hunting is serious business and all? But it hardly pays the bills, and he does It or whatever else gives him a flexible schedule and opportunity to work from home and not have to explain horrendous wounds/injuries his second job gives him every so often.

ANYWAY.

Nothing conclusive the first couple of nights? But the third, fourth, one and Something is watching him.

Something that gets his Bad Feeling meter screeching at him and then something’s slamming into him and for God’s sake, why is it always like this?

And then pain, because those fucking claws and thank God he’s got something in the way of body armor under his clothes (CONVENIENT) and those claws slice through it, sure, but his insides stay where they’re supposed to so A++++ for that.

Some tussling and wrasslin’ and all that until he manages to stab it with a knife - silver to it, because it’s one of those multi-purpose things, but it doesn’t slow it down too much.

Makes it angry as hell and Ryan fumbling for the shotgun that he lost when it hit him and some shots fired.

Angry shriek, glowy red eyes and Ryan about to get disemboweled low whoah, but then these wolf howls and then actual wolves (were) and talk about last minute save by the cavalry, you know?

Whole damn pack and not at all happy with this fucker in their territory and lots of growling and snarling. A few pained yelps and wolves (were) being tossed about before running back into the fray and just.

A lot of shit going on, you know?

Whatever the hell is out there with them gets some good hits in and then goes running off to wherever.

Ryan’s not doing great (still alive, though), and the same goes for the wolves.

Ryan’s like.

“Well, shit,” because one of the wolves is limping, another has this bloody wound along its ribs and just - they’re all a mess.

Make their way back to the clinic/rescue and wake Lindsay and Fiona up - neither of them are thrilled with Ryan or the wolves, but not like anyone would be.

They get patched up Heavily Judged and then it’s Ryan telling Lindsay about their super exciting brush(es) with death out there.

A few ideas on what it could be - wendigo, it’s totes a wendigo - and all that and just.

Yeah.

Ryan and the wolves get kicked out of the exam/surgery room of the clinic/rescue because all fixed now, time for sleeps.

Ryan is just like, huh, as the three smaller wolves form a puppy pile in Lindsay’s living room. One of the bigger wolves curls up nearby and keeps an eye on them and the last one -

Dark fur that looks almost black in this light and blue, blue eyes on Ryan is just.

Watching him, at least until Lindsay goes over and looks down at it, hands on her hips and “Something to say, Geoffrey?”

Because of course it’s Geoff, and he sighs. Looks over at Ryan who is just ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ because he knows better than to cross Lindsay. (He still does it, but he’s gotten better at hiding it/running for his damn life before she finds out.)

Heads off to the guest room he’s using while Lindsay interrogates Geoff. Doesn’t know what he’s thinking when there’s the sound of a werwolf shifting and Geoff’s voice all “Whoa, whoa, whoa. I may be an idiot, but how dare you call me stupid,” like an absolute idiot and laughter in his voice and just.

Yeah.

Anyway!

Some stuff about Geoff and the others smelling a wendigo prowling the borders of their territory and going looking for it - whole reason Ryan saw them that first day - and so on.

Ryan showing up making things all complicated because no way to know if he’s going to be trouble for them and various shenanigans up to them saving him from the wild boar and just.

That thing where they team up to deal with the thing that almost killed them? (Kill it if it comes to that, but yeah.)

Planning and plotting, maybe a touch of scheming and also a lot of awkward flirting and feelings between Ryan and Geoff and everyone knowing about it?

Because werewolves and also Lindsay being Lindsay? Fiona being Fiona and who the hell knows with Trevor and Alfredo, also that Matt guy that’s just like. There?

Seriously.

Ryan has no fucking idea where he came from, but nobody seems to care and just. Not important to know what that’s all about.

Anyway.

Thing where they use squishy human Ryan as bait (no one’s a fan of the idea but it’s the best one they have) and then shit goes wrong.

Ryan almost dies, but thankfully he’s got a pack of werewolves on his side and the wendigo’s the one who dies.

And then Ryan healing up and such while the werewolves loiter about.

Or, like.

Geoff, really, since Jack has to deal with the diner and Michael takes care of the gas station/garage and Gavin goes with them, and then.

Uh.

Awkward flirting while Linday is freaking dying at how dumb they are? (Fiona is ignoring them because no, just no. She’s got enough pining idiots in her life, what with Gavin and Jeremy and Michael being the most clueless fucks to ever live.)

Eventually Lindsay has enough of their bullshit and is like. “OH MY GOD,” and tells them they either need to figure their shit out or get their pining asses out of her house and then kicks them out anyway.

To, like.

Feed the rescue animals and the whatnot? But also akwardly talk about feelings and all that and then, you know.

Smooches in front of the birds of prey  habitat/house/whatever Lindsay’s got going on for them.

Which he does, because while he is super happy with smooching Geoff and all that they did just meet.

Might be a good idea  to see if they like one another while not involved in potentially deadly situations and all that.

So the whole long distance relationship for a while? Phone calls and video calls and virtual dates. Well, one, before they break down lauging at how ridiculous it kind of is?

Ryan taking a few days for himself and heading back to the gas station/garage/diner/whatever for a few days and actual dates. (Plus smooches and fade to black scenes because woo-hoo, in the SIMs vernacular.)

And then!

Geoff being :(((((((((((((((((((((( because things are great between him and Ryan?

But werewolf and he loves his pack, assholes that they are, but he misses Ryan because he smells real nice and he’s got that soothing/beloved heartbeat and all this other stuff that would super creepy in a different context because what the fuck, but because werewolf it’s just really sweet.

ANYWAY.

Ryan’s like, “Hmmm,” like he hasn’t been talking to Lindsay - and Jack - about getting a place out there.

Because the whole thing of him being in IT for a day job and working from home, and wouldn’t you know it there’s a nice little house/cabin-thing out by the gas station/garage/diner/whatever.

Other side of the lake where Jack and the Lads have cabins/whatevers and cozy and shit and enough room for two, if Geoff feels like moving in???

Takes Geoff on a little walk around the lake while he’s there for weekend or something, stroll right on up to that house/cabin-thing and mentions something about what a great view of the lake it must have in the morning?

Geoff’s like, hmm, yeah, because sure why not? Kind of sad because Ryan’s supposed to leave in the morning and it’s getting harder and harder to say goodbye when he leaves?

And then Ryan’s going up the steps, wiping dust/whatever off the windows to look inside and Geoff’s like.

“Uh, maybe don’t do that?” because wow, no?

The owners are never around  have been trying to sell it for years, but still, you know?

Ryan looking back at him all ??? because why not?

Geoff a little annoyed as Ryan just keeps on being obllvious about what a bad idea all that poking around the house/cabin thing is until Ryan’s like >:DDDDDD and pulls out a key to unlock the front door and walks on in.

Geoff being !!! before following him, still confused as he follows Ryan around inside until he realizes he can smell Ryan.

Like.

All over the place inside, scent a few days old and he’s like “What the f - “ as he checks the place out.

Realizes all the cardboard boxes around the rooms aren’t dusty at all, have Ryan’s scent and handwriting all over them.

Turns to see Ryan standing there trying to look like a smug bastard?

But he smells nervous, and he’s projecting awkward as hell and just.

“Ryan?”

Ryan and a nervous laugh and telling Geoff that the rent on his place is way overpriced and he doesn’t like his neighbors all that much. (Mutual kind of thing, but no need for Geoff to know about that.)

Babbles on for a bit before he gets to the part about Lindsay and Jack helping him look for a place out here. Ryan packing up his life and dropping it all off here a few days ago.

Figured things with Geoff were going well enough he was ready to do something about it.

And if things don’t work out, it’s not like he can’t just move somewhere else afterwards, you know? Just getting by where he was living and potential for something good here with Geoff and the others if he took a risk, and  -

“Geoff?”

Geoff just staring at Ryan like Ryan doesn’t fucking know - good? bad?? indifferent??? - and then he’s being tackled, the two of them hitting the floor hard because idiots, but, you know.

Geoff laughing and smooching him - and also calling him an idiot and an asshole and -

“Wow, Geoff, wow,” because hurtful words and Ryan’s delicate heart and Geoff just.

Shaking his head and this fond look and Ryan’s laughter trailing off as he looks at Geoff.

Old asshole, sure, but he’d got some good traits in there too. (Everyone says so.)

“Asshole,” Geoff says, and there’s this...his voice doesn’t break, he’s not a fucking adolescent, but there’s a lot of emotion in there, and then there’s some smooching to keep Ryan from making fun of him, which Ryan was kind of angling for anyway, so it’s all good.

[route22ny]

I grew up in the Bay Area at the height of AIDS panic, and all of that era’s sex paranoia remains burned into my brain, repurposed for Covid-19 and the act of commingling wet breath. A few weeks into this crisis, I found myself having a ten-foot-distant conversation with my neighbor Patty, both of us incredulous at people who still tried to talk to us in-tight face-to-face, like we weren't all suddenly barebacking reality with everyone they'd chit-chatted with that day and everyone in their lives, etc. Patty allowed that she should be able to strike people she considered a threat. I mentioned Florida's attitude toward this legal principle and firearms. I suggested she become militant. I tell that to a lot of people, but I attenuate the humor of it for the audience. I tell every teacher I know to strike.

There are more sirens now. It's hard to tell, because unlike New York, everything isn't quiet. Cars are out on the road—fewer, but enough that hearing a siren can still be vehicular idiocy and not a more sinister house call. But I still hear more of them.

I don’t know why Luke asked me to write about Coronavirus in Florida. I mostly stopped writing last year when a good friend dropped dead in front of his family. (Subscribe to my Substack—we don't update regularly!) Before that, I felt increasingly overborne by events. Things ground to a halt in 2019, but the machine began to break down long before. I ended the 2016 campaign periodically sitting under my desk, high, feeling secure because I wasn't writing anything stupid and feeling good because I was appropriately afraid of everything, but people thought I was exaggerating when I mentioned it.  

I wish I could say my seriousness about the novel coronavirus stems solely from believing in science and peer review and that I would take it seriously regardless, but my spouse is immunocompromised, and my father, who lives out in the Bay Area, had Covid-19, back in March or early April. He didn't tell us kids until he was out of the woods, but for days he had fevers over 103º. My stepmom, a former emergency room nurse, couldn't get him admitted anywhere, because he wasn't having respiratory problems. He woke up the same every day: It felt like someone had parked a Volkswagen on him.

We're supposed to say he's out of the woods. I'll believe that when he dies of old age, or something more reasonable that kills men in my family, like colon cancer or car accidents. Sometimes I think about him dropping dead like my friend, only from whatever post-Covid-19 effect triggers the brain’s forgetting to tell the lungs to breathe—or from the one that leads to storms of strokes, like a brain's blood vessels recreating the burning energies depicted on a CRISS ANGEL MINDFREAK poster. Then I wonder how I would die, or my wife, or my friend in Atlanta, or my brother. I think about drowning in open air, alone in a hissing world, and being incapable of saying the overdue apologies I ran out of time for.

After a while I realized that basically all Luke wanted was to hear from a coward living in the mismanaged kleptocracy of Florida, and the thing is, I can do that! I’m frightened right now!

I considered opening with, Every day I wake up frightened, to throw a fucking jolt into a piece about facing down a pandemic in a place where they have a paradise just for the cheeseburgers. But the joke is, I'm not wastin' away here in Coronaville. Sometimes I wake up and just have to pee, on the rare days when I don't wake up from the sensation of my son elbow-dropping my head because—how rude of me—it's 6:45 already.

In this respect, I am serene: My son and I exercise outside to burn off his energy, so I'm out in the sun for hours a day. I'm tanner, I've lost weight, and my phlegm feels looser. I grew a lushly indifferent goatee. My haircut looks like something that belongs on the gatefold cover of a concept album about a form of locomotion by a band named after geography. While the term "Lebowski Phase" has been applied to my appearance and to the fact that my leg injury and medical-marijuana prescription have collided with the reality of never having to drive anywhere again, I must insist that in many respects I have come to look like Jesus Christ. I am pro life and take no pleasure in reporting this.

As I have said, I am frequently awakened by my son, whose full name is My Beautiful Five-Year-Old Son Maitland. He is a treasure who spends quarantine within earshot of 24-hour news, regurgitating West Wing Democrat observations of mine with five-year-old precocity to harvest follows for Instagram. Maitland is an influencer already on record as supporting L’Oréal, opposing Medicare For All, and, when I first read him the shaggy start to this piece, he said, "Not a good look." He's a natural.

Waking up is violent but easy. The problem is everything after that. By the time I close my eyes, I'm not sure what I felt most on any given day—anger, sadness, impotence, a resentful churning need for vengeance, despair. Any one can seem like a day's dominant emotional dysfunction and then suddenly be overwhelmed by the dread that suffuses prolonged thought about the world outside.

I am one of the people who is Taking It Seriously. Seriously Taking It Seriously, though—not the people who say they're taking it seriously and then tell you about:

• Going to a recent indoor birthday party.

• Having a multi-course dinner at a fancy restaurant, "But it was okay because it was [extremely not-worth-a-life celebration]!"

• A full-contact playdate their kid had recently with two other children.

I abhor these people. I have an existential loathing of these people, and a granular scientific indictment. I enjoy reading new articles to learn new ways in which they are a danger to me. My apprehension is rich and exquisite. May their friends shun them, and may they be abandoned by their gods.

Sooner or later, every day, I think of the threats arrayed against me and my family. Each day, I see the most recent thing said by my governor, Ronald Fuckface DeSantis, in which he explicitly endorses and declares his intent to pursue actions that all available data say will kill Floridians by the thousands. Each day, I think about how, if I do so much as suggest fostering a free exchange of ideas about the proportional value of using every means to stop him, I will be arrested.

Every day, I bounce the "Evil or Moronic?" debate around my brain. I check in with an alumna buddy in Atlanta to see whose governor has shown more recent determination to murder his citizens. I gotta give Brian Kemp credit, because he's really holding his own. Naturally, this leads to wondering if either of them have a natural or acculturated advantage in terms of idiocy and malevolence. DeSantis' enrollment at Yale and Harvard and service in the military problematizes the idiocy narrative only for as long as it takes to remember all the people you've met who've gone to any of them and were dumber than dogshit. It would seem like fate to be murdered by an oaf, but I don't know that it's not merciful to at least be murdered purposefully rather than contemptuously and indolently.

Eventually, this leads to spending some time thinking about DeSantis as a kind of lethal bro angel. It's hard not to see his shitchyeah, brah, people are dyin', it's classic! expression and recognize that the state's chief executive resembles a lout you don't want to run into walking alone at FSU after a home loss. I prefer my jokes about the governor, but my friend David Roth nailed it when he said that DeSantis seemed like a person who would describe himself as “kind of a DUI guy.”

I know there's supposedly a culture war out there. There's a truck in my neighborhood with a Q sticker, and another with a Three-Percenter sticker, and there are more than a few neighbors of the "easily victimized white dude who owns a $50,000 truck he rarely takes off the pavement and who becomes physically belligerent when you correct him" variety, but there's a reason why you really only see “war” shit on YouTube. Few Americans are hostile to general safety protocols, and even fewer act out against them. I live where hate groups and old fashioned unaffiliated redneck trash drive in from the county to make a show of rebel flags, rolling coal and honking to intimidate protests, but people line up six feet apart at Home Depot, wear masks at Publix and get takeout at the pizza place outside without insisting on barging in. Most wars don’t need one side of them to be this manufactured.

Most of my friends and colleagues from this gig live in New York, so I've already sat through weeks of descriptions of streets silent except for ambulances, and I’ve already woken for weeks to the half-twilight of nightmares where friends died in a spare white hallway. There aren't a lot of surprises in store for Florida, and no images I can describe that would make you want to turn back now. It's like we're waiting for the rolling premiere of a franchise blockbuster. The dead won't really start packing them in for a few more weeks, but all the scariest shit hit YouTube when it opened in New York a thousand years ago. The coronavirus as an image, what it functionally is, as a horror, feels as familiar as the Scream mask, and the context that makes that scary as hell already feels dangerously been-and-gone, like an apprehension that Florida had for too long before the actual scare came.

There's a hope that all this will come to little again. Despite Governor DeSantis' refusal to take the initiative on shutting down the state until the last dollar was wrung from the last snowbird, the original shellacking never came. The Tampa Bay Times sampled smartphone data and concluded that Floridians overwhelmingly took the initiative to stay home, and they were aided in their quarantine process by the fact that Florida is car-dependent and atomized.

The heartbreaking realization, as you gradually run across more people who are Not Taking It Seriously or are Expressing Moronic Skepticism, is that for a month there about 80 percent of America was on board with doing the right thing. We, a people who suck at doing the right thing even for the wrong reasons, stood on the side of doing the harder thing if it helped people who weren't even us.

I really can't tell if I feel more anger than sadness at the fact that those who were meant to encourage us in safety, to serve us by offering difficult guidance, wasted our sacrifice and our trust. They squandered the patience given by a beggared and exhausted people. All they had to do was the right thing, and if they weren't sure what that was, they could have erred on the side of saving people’s lives and hoping it counted, and they failed.  

Instead, more people will die, and we'll be shut down again, and we will realize we are fundamentally unequipped for life with Covid-19. Florida is built on enclosed air-conditioned spaces: It's dependent on divorcing yourself from Florida as a climate and place. Asking Floridians to generate a public life under the unshielded rage of God’s angriest sun and baked from beneath by a sprawling pave-ocalypse requires asking them to rebel against everything their infrastructure has taught them for as long as they can remember. It is a car culture to the flesh and bone, and a restaurant relocating indoor tables to a road patio would park its diners inches away from eternity.

A picnic day like that is months off, again. It's time to go back inside and resume Inside Time. Inside Time melts away. I saw a headline around the Fourth of July, from the New York Times, that read, "In the Covid-19 Economy, You Can Have a Kid or a Job. You Can’t Have Both," and I remember seeing colleagues tweet, mmmm, so true, and, gets at something crucial we aren't talking about, and shit like that, and I was like, "Buddy, let's get in the DeLorean and visit March." I have nowhere to go, anyway, and all life is timeless.

We have no family in the area and have had no break. It's the three of us, like No Exit, but if most of the dialogue was the word "no" and a lot of stuff about poop and butts and farts, good guys and bad guys, and what Lego Star Wars would do, but with a lot of excruciated pleading for silence because Mom and Dad Are Working Right Now and We Love You Very Much but Jesus Christ Please Stop for the Love of God I Will Give You a Dollar If You Go in Your Room and Be Quiet and Play That Kindle App That Teaches You to Read That You Pay Attention to More Than Us Even Though I Would Read You a Fucking Novel If You'd Just Shut Up and Sit Still.

I'm resigned to staying in here until 2022. I’m screaming, but I will do it. I'm lucky in that I have access to a community pool and a neighborhood where my son and I can roam around on bikes and romp and look at water and birds and turtles. When we're lazy, we have a porch where we can feel nature without feeling exposed. We have a dependable (ok!!! haha!!!) income, and I can do irregularly scheduled work that allows me to be Parent rather than Employee. Exercise, meals and stories take up enough hours that I might as well lean into it.

But we’re lucky. We have a house and prescription mood-altering drugs and one thousand years of undersleep, but we are in less immediate danger than most. The state, almost reflexively, reaches out to open more doors even as Covid-19 blows past reopening benchmark after reopening benchmark.

The inexorable march for commerce doesn’t even come from malice in many cases; people in charge just don’t know how to do anything else but extort and scold people into working under any conditions, so long as it devours most of their time. All the exploitive principles are expected to work the same even if the world they built is fraudulent. We feed meat and the virus into the machines, irrespective of what the data says, and pray for rain. Watching Florida government on the state and local level is like watching two parents bring an alcoholic home after he got kicked out of rehab and deciding that the best course of action is leaving him with $5,000 in an apartment up the street from a dive bar and then going to Cancun for the week. It was on the calendar already, there wasn’t any choice, he looked very healthy at the time!

We have friends who are teachers, and we are scared for their spouses and kids. I don't know what Florida's plan for its teachers is other than to murder them. Again, I don't know if DeSantis is an idiot for flirting with giving enormous bipartisan sympathy to arguably the most effective labor group in the state, or a genius for flirting with finally eliminating a lobbying obstacle to conservative governance by simply liquidating its members as a class.

I worry if I start listing all the things I'm scared of, they'll never stop, but every day I see my son reach for something he should be able to reach for, and I either have a low-grade panic response and stifle it, or I have the panic response and yelp at him to get his attention and tell him to stop, startle him, and add another layer of gun-shy haunting to his day. I'm afraid he'll eventually become an animal in a Skinner Box in which all the buttons and levers are electrocuted, and there are no prizes.

I'm afraid that my son will always be emotionally arrested at two years behind the development of people the same age who had siblings in their house, or who, like many kids in my neighborhood, had parents who thought kids were invincible to Covid-19 and let them play with whomever they wanted. I worry that he may pay a price year after year even into adulthood because other kids got to practice socializing as we rode past. They got to hang out with people their own age and run around and do vitally stupid shit and say "butts" a lot, and he got look at me heartbroken and knowing empirically and epidemiologically that he couldn't play with his friends anymore but still needing to know why, and knowing that I couldn't tell him anything more sophisticated and anything less terrifying than, "So we don't get sick."

The other day he started crying and then screaming, "I hate the sickness! I hate the sickness!" repeating it in a higher and higher register, until he was up even past that piercing birdlike screech that prepubescent boys make whenever trying to sound like lasers or dinosaurs or squealing brakes. Every day I worry that I see another little bit of his capacity for happiness is dying—that the same awkward process of terror that took me from happy little kid to profoundly unhappy teen to scarred adult is even more rapidly at work, and each day another sparkling and joyous little light of childhood winks out in him, replaced by fear as a necessity of life.

I know that there is no plan for us. Conservatives don't want to be taxed or have their businesses lose money, so people are being kicked off unemployment and sent back to work with no test and trace protocols, irregular access to PPE, overwhelmed hospitals and often limited access to any care. We're doing all this as Florida blooms scarlet like paint being spilled into a mold shaped like the state. We're sending the men in the gasoline suits right at the heart of the fire.

It's a cruelly lazy little culling genocide of the working class, a Wall Street gamble that the blow to the labor force won't be more than a blip on the Dow and, a little recession aside, the One Percent will come out ten years later owning an even greater percentage of the United States. To the extent that there is a plan, that's the plan, and whether you land on the dead or the living part of any of those exchanges is more of a Your Problem than a Their Problem.

For now, it's enough to be hermits and hope the rest of Florida goes on strike by going inside and staying there and writing letters to representatives threatening to never come out. Cooking the same things, getting the same exercise in the same places, having the same awkward conversations on VOIP delay, and living every moment outside like we're three drinks in so we’re ready to get belligerent with anyone who is getting too close. Living every moment with some low-level neurasthenia that grows spine-deep and for the rest of our lives sends shuddering disequilibrium at the thought of air that never seems to move, hallways that lengthen without exits, and objects that seem both unavoidable and unclean. It’s fine. We’re all fine, here, now. How are you?

I feel a sudden Git Offa Mah Land thing about my son, a resolute commitment to homeschooling for the foreseeable future and to keeping the gummymint away. It sucks so much. I was so happy to send him to the public school just a few blocks away, instead of the shitty little charter schools nearby, but now that it’s Plague or Parents, he’s got his parents. Between us, he'll have access to 1.5 first-class educations. I still have my grandpa's service weapons from WWII, the last time America was in a war with fascism, when we took the opposing side. I'll empty a couple magazines into anyone who comes onto my property and tries to stop me from teaching my son critical race theory, Howard Zinn, and Leonard Levy's Jefferson and Civil Liberties: The Darker Side. I refuse to turn my back on the heritage of my youth, of watching thousands of hours of MASH, by refusing to wear a mask outside or in fact any time I am doing anything other than drinking gin that I made in a tent.

Outside, records fall and progress rolls on. A governor whose go-to pejorative for opponents of all ages and sexes is very likely still “queef” watches as even the president concedes that a Republican National Convention here would be too lethal, as the state repeatedly sets records for daily deaths, beats out all of Europe in terms of new daily cases, leads the nation in cases per day, then tries to set them again. And then, every day, our governor makes his ahegao-but-for-ethnic-cleansing face and psychotically clangs a bell indicating that Florida just became the 15,000 customer at Leadshoe Larry’s Kicked-in-the-Dick, and it’s time for all us lucky winners to line up and drop our pants.

Florida’s lethality is so tacky that it’s almost camp, but there is no satisfaction in being right about how wrong everything is. Nobody gets a prize for correctly guessing the surplus death toll. All you have to do is look someone else in the eye working in life under Covid.

I’m old now, so I have Humiliating Injury Syndrome (HIS), and somehow in the month between the Super Bowl and the pandemic, I tore a rotator cuff, a labrum, or both, by throwing a (mini!!!) football with friends. After four months, I broke down and went to get an MRI. I skulked down corridors and lurked in a corner of a waiting room, like playing spies with an opponent who was the air. Even the clean and modern fixtures felt miasmic and corrupted, like they were a parking garage in an Alan Pakula film.

Eventually a nurse emerged from an office, crinkled her brown eyes, waved and surprised me by asking after my family by name. She lives three blocks away from me and had hosted me at a party once. Later that day, as my car coasted down the approach to my house, I saw a garage door open and my neighbor’s son walk out on his way to his shift at the same grocery store that I treat emotionally like a Superfund site.

I thought about how much I unconsciously held my breath where they work, and how I unconsciously associate those places with poor choices. The danger of the world outside is so massive that I reflexively need to cordon off the threat into areas of blame and blamelessness. In a moment of crisis, years of conservative rhetorical conditioning in the discourse have taught me to reflexively pathologize those in harm’s way. There is less chaos if someone is at least responsible for something. There is less risk to me, if it turns out someone else’s epidemic is someone else’s fault.

But it is someone else’s fault. And it’s not some poor fucker doomed to sit in a box somewhere and accept paper money and hand metal money back and point at where toilets are, because that’s how he keeps the lights on. It’s not the person consigned to some life-sucking task that, on the best of days, is too humiliating and cruelly impoverished of purpose to ever be a reason why someone should die. It’s not the person around whom you hold your breath because you don’t know where they’ve been. It’s the person and people who put us all in position to suddenly feel like we’re suffocating together.

I hate that I sometimes unconsciously hold my breath around strangers, and I hate that they have heard it. I think of my neighbors, and of the workers on whom we’re dependent, and the permanent uncertain shortness of breath I feel, and I want every moment of their anxiety and mine gathered up and then rained on those who shepherded it into being, those who nurtured it and feasted on it, those who profited from it and were indifferent toward it. Those who consider themselves DUI guys and those who pay to elect them and give them sinecures and who are simply too rich to be arrested for boating under the influence anymore.

I think of how I hold my breath near good people and near vulnerable people in places I am wary of and that we all need to share, and I wonder if we will simply hold our breath for the rest of the year, and if we’ve bargained for standing near each other and holding it for all of the next. And I wish so eagerly that all our suspended futures and the air between us might catch at the throats of those who put us here. That justice for a man like Ron DeSantis might be a permanent and sucking terror: stuck always in an involuntary startled gasp at the sight of responsibility, afraid at the approach of every stranger, incapable of drawing a full and restful breath, and never knowing peace again.

Jeb Lund used to write about politics for Rolling Stone, The Guardian and Gawker, and a bunch of other places, and was the Spectacle of Trump Editor at 50 States of Blue. He and David Roth have a podcast about Hallmark original movies that is mostly funny and exasperated and not unkind, and it's not ultimately about the movies anyway. It's fine and people enjoy it. Don't make it weird. He also has a podcast where he watches every Dennis Quaid movie in a row. That is also completely normal.

Ok here’s me again with a couple more things.

You’ll want to read this in the New York Times today about a forthcoming documentary on ICE. After it was completed the filmmakers were apparently threatened with legal action by the agency over the inclusion of parts that made ICE look even worse than they already look doing literally everything else they do.

Some of the contentious scenes include ICE officers lying to immigrants to gain access to their homes and mocking them after taking them into custody. One shows an officer illegally picking the lock to an apartment building during a raid.

At town hall meetings captured on camera, agency spokesmen reassured the public that the organization’s focus was on arresting and deporting immigrants who had committed serious crimes. But the filmmakers observed numerous occasions in which officers expressed satisfaction after being told by supervisors to arrest as many people as possible, even those without criminal records.

“Start taking collaterals, man,” a supervisor in New York said over a speakerphone to an officer who was making street arrests as the filmmakers listened in. “I don’t care what you do, but bring at least two people,” he said.

Here’s one disgusting detail among many.

They followed Border Patrol tactical agents who took pride in rescuing migrants from deadly dehydration even as the agents acknowledged that their tactics were pushing the migrants further into harm’s way. They showed how the government had at times evaluated the success of its border policies based not only on the number of migrants apprehended, but on the number who died while crossing.

***

source:

https://luke.substack.com/p/all-they-had-to-do-was-the-right?utm_source=Brooklyn+Today&utm_campaign=dd6f63665c-EMAIL_CAMPAIGN_2020_07_28_01_15&utm_medium=email&utm_term=0_1ba554d7d5-dd6f63665c-125128182

[jokerfan99]

Firewoman Cometh (RWBY/RVB) by Necroceph

*RVB Opening Theme*

D82-EST Darter dropship, en course to [REDACTED]

The left thrusters are on fire! The pilot's not sure know how long this heap of junk can stay in the air and there is no way in hell this thing will land on the rocky terrain below without having large chunks of rock piercing into the interior.

Pilot: MAYDAY! MAYDAY! Command do you copy, over?

TZZT

Vic: Heyhey, Command here. How's it going, dude, you doing fine? I'm doing fine too! Now what the hell you want? Pilot: What? NO! Everything's not fine! Listen I can't explain much! I'm loosing control over my ship here and I can't risk landing on rough terrain! Are there any safe places to land on, over? Vic: Whoo sounds like you're in a tight situation. Alright let me read your coordinates and I'll see if there are any soft spots for you to land on. Pilot:... Vic:... Pilot: Hello? Vic: Okay I got one for you, there's a wide box canyon with a Red Outpost near ya. Hope ya don't mind staying too close to enemy lines. Pilot: As long as I don't get blown to smithereens that's fine! Thanks for the help Com- what the? NononoNONONO! AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHH!!!

TZZT

Vic: Hello? Helloooooooooo? Hmm must've blown up already. Well that ain't my problem.

2005 Hours at the Red Base

Another nightly sentry duty and it's Ruby and Donut's turn tonight. It's much darker tonight compared to the other nights, as the clouds above are blocking a single ray of light from the stars and the moon. Blood Gulch is now covered in a mist of blackness and night vision won't do shit in it. And much to Ruby's dismay, this looks like a perfect opportunity for the Blue team to sneaking within the darkness.

HISS

Ruby: GAH! Oh...

Phew, she thought. It was just Donut opening a can of BLAST. That almost sounded like a plasma grenade.

Donut: You thirsty? Ruby: No thanks. My tongue isn't suited for carbonated drinks. Donut: Suit yourself. Say you've been jumpy tonight. Ruby: No it's just that seeing how dark it is right now, my instincts are telling me that the Blues might attack us anytime in this darkness. Donut: Oh don't be so worried. They've tried it once but...

Two years ago.

Caboose: OW MY TAILBONE! Church: TUCKER, IT'S US! Stop poking our asses will you! Tucker: How the fuck am I suppose to see you? This sword doesn't have a brightness setting in it! Kaikaina: Is somebody grabbing my orbs? Caboose: Sorry taught those were the grenades. Kaikaina: GRAB HARDER!

Present

Donut:... it didn't go according to plan. Ruby: Perhaps not this time Donut: How so? Ruby: I learned this technique back home about navigating through the dark without the use night vision. And the problem is Weiss knows the trade too. And since Weiss is with them, she'll help the Blues will easily navigate through it. Donut: Aww crap. Let's hope they don't attack tonight. Ruby: Me too but still it would be nice to see something if it weren't so dark right now! Donut: Well at least the sun's coming up. Ruby: The sun? But it's 8 'o clock. The sun's not coming up in another eleven hours. Donut: Then what's that bright light coming behind the canyon?

Ruby turned to the natural walls of the canyon. A bright orange glow can be seen behind the canyon, growing larger and larger until thousand of pieces of rock gets shattered when a ship out of nowhere breaks through the rock. And it's heading STRAIGHT FOR THE RED BASE!!!

Donut: SON OF A BITCH! Ruby: SON OF A WITCH!

Ruby and Donut quickly ducked onto the concrete floor as the flaming ship flies right pass above their heads, crashing into the dirt behind the base. That was a close one! The attention of the crash attracted the rest of the Red team to check what the hell's happening out there.

Grif: Aww are we being attacked? I haven't started my nightly snack binge. Sarge: Looks that way. Lopez, time to use the white phosphorus. Lopez: No tenemos fósforo blanco. Sarge: Alright now where are those Bluetards? Ruby: Uhm... it's not Blues you should be worried.

Ruby pointed the team at the crashed fiery vessel behind them and boy look at that metal burn.

Sarge: Crazy rodeo on a bomb. It's a ship! The Blues must've shot down! Ruby: No it was already on fire before it arrived. Simmons: Where the hell did it come from?! Donut: It just appeared out of nowhere. Good thing it didn't land on top of us. Ruby: Come on, let's see if anyone's still alive.

On the Blue Base

Wonder what's burning over there? Must be another of Sarge's explosive testing.

Tucker: Should we check that out? Church: Nah. Let's go back to sleep.

The Flaming Dropship

The entire ship's on fire! The flames grows bigger and bigger every second, growing as far to about twice the size large as the Red Base. All the Reds do is watch those flames melt that metal.

Grif: So... anyone wanna put it out? Simmons: Grif, this fire's enormous, we can't put it out ourselves! Grif: You have a better idea then? I have one, how about we watch the scenery in front of us while we roast some marshmellows with this heat. Donut: Ooh I 'll get the crackers and chocolate so we can make smores. Ruby: Hello, is anybody alive in there, not cooked into crisps?

No response.

Sarge: I think they're dead. Ruby: Or probably they've got out of there before it crashed. Say, did anybody said smores? Sarge: Simmons can you identify the ship? Simmons: Two thrusters on both sides, atmospheric and exoatmospheric capability. I'm guessing it's D82-EST Darter, Sir. But I can't tell if it belongs to Red or Blue. The black box inside should tell us everything once the fire's out. I'm guessing maybe... three four hours. Sarge: Three four hours?! That'll take too long! Lopez, get in there and retrieve the box. Lopez: Sí señor.

Lopez runs into the blazing inferno.

Simmons: Wait a second, Lopez isn't designed to be fireproof! Ruby: Oh don't worry he's a robot. I'm sure he'll be alright... I think. Sarge: Shush you two! Do you hear that? Grif: All I hear is my marshmellows roasting. Sarge: Not that you, numbnuts, I mean do you hear that banging?

Everyone kept quiet. Aside from the crackling of the flames and the screeching of metal, banging can be heard from inside the ship.

Ruby: It could be, Lopez trying to get inside. Simmon: I don't think it's Lopez. Sounds like it's coming from inside the left side of the ship.

The Reds ran to the source of the sound at the side. The sound of banging can be heard behind the hull and it's too light to be made by Lopez. The banging lasted about ten seconds until it stops, before being followed by the sound of mulitple beepings similar to that of a watch.

Donut: Who's watch is beeping? Grif: Watch? We don't have a watch... oh crap. Ruby: RUN!

BOOM

Everyone leg's it for their lives! The hull explodes. The shockwave of the blast pushed everyone to the ground. All that's left was a hole revealing the flaming interior of the ship. Then the silhoutte of a man can be seen behind the fires. Sarge is quick enough to get up and draw his weapon at the figure. Could be a dirty Blue behind, he thought.

Sarge: Come out and put your hands in the air, Bluetard!

The figure emerges and reveals himself to be... a girl?! Well that's easy to recognize thanks to that long blonde hair sticking out behind her helmet.

???: 'Sup! Ruby: A survivor! Wait... Simmons: *cough!* WHAT THE FUCK WERE YOU THINKING?! YOU ALMOST KILLED US! Grif: YEAH! YOU COULD'VE AT LEAST KILLED SARGE! ???: Sorry, there was no available escape route so I had to make one myself. I've been through a lot of rough rides over the years but that ship won't be my last I can tell you that. Sarge: But it will be, dirtbag unless you start talking! Now tell us who you are or we'll shoot our bullets between your... your... uh... Simmons: You better do what he says 'cause he's not an easy... man to... negotiate... Grif: Hey guys what's up with you... holy shit.

Sarge, Grif and Simmons couldn't say a word once their eyes are caught in a hypnotic sight. The soldier's body is, shall we say, voluptuous but what caught their attention the most are the lack of a plates on her chest armor, revealing the cleavage of two large visible orbs of beauty.

Sarge: I've seen military heaven already. ???: What? Sarge: Hurk! What? Uh, I mean... identify yourself or we'll shoot you between the bo... EYES! Get a hold of yourself, Sarge!

Sarge noticed his men are under the trance. He smacks one of them to wake em up, Grif first.

Sarge: Wake up you two! Grif: OW! What the hell man? Simmons: Oh... uh, yeah what Sarge said! Put down your weapon and identify yourself! ???: Whoa whoa whoa, now hold up guys. I've made a brush with death and you guys are seriously pointing your guns at me after what I've been through? Talk about overparanoia. Look why not point those things elsewhere and we'll chill out, alright? Ruby: My God, it really is... HI YANG!

The soldier turns to Ruby, recognizing her the moment she sees the red cape.

???: Oh hey, sis! I didn't know they transfered you here. Everybody: SIS?! ???: Yeah, we get that's a lot. I'm Yang, Ruby's older sister. Donut: And I thought Grif's the only one with a sibling here. Grif: Hey! Sarge: My God, I always knew there would be a Rose No.2. And I'm guessing you also have the same genetic tendency to destroy anyone and anything who steals your weapon. Simmons: Plus she also brought two extra grenades with her. Sarge: What was that? Simmons: Nothing! Ruby: Yang are you alright, did you break any bones or any internal haemorrhages? Yang: Woah calm down, I'll be fine. Also do you have any drinks here... cause... I think... I lost forty percent... of water in me.

Yang faints onto the ground with a big thud on the ground.

Ruby: YANG! Donut: What a weenie.

In the Mess Hall

Yang: SIIIIIIIIP! AAH that hit's the spot. Man being in that ship is like being roasted in a microwave. SIIIIIIIIP, AAAAAAaaaaahhh!

Wow that must've been hot in that ship. She throws the empty can behind her with the rest of the pile of empty BLASTS. That was the sixtieth can she dranked and her bladder hadn't exploded yet. Wow!

Yang: Now that... was a blast. Eh? Get it? Am I right?

Cricket chirping nearby

Grif: Does she always does like that? Ruby: Sigh... yeah. Yang: Got another can? Donut: Lady, you just finished our entire stash of it. Simmons: She dranked the whole crate?! Sarge: Damn there goes our victory drinks for this year's Grifball tournament. Grif: So let me get this straight. You have a sister and she joined the Red Army too? Ruby: Yeah. Too bad we were transfered separately to different outposts but at least I'm happy that she's here right now. Yang: Me too, Rubes. Good to see you're still kicking. Ruby: Hey I can manage myself. By the way, what were you doing in that ship? Weren't suppose to be stationed at High Ground? Yang: I was until Command assigned me yesterday to do this escort mission by sending supplies to friendly bases. Not my forte but at least it I'm glad to be away from my team for a while. Ruby: What's wrong with your team? Yang: You do not want to know. Simmons: Then how did the ship crashed in the first place? Yang: Well I'm glad you ask. THE BLUES FUCKING SHOT US!

Yang's sudden outburst took everyone, besides Ruby, by surprised.

Ruby: Language! Yang: Sorry. While we were on the way to another outpost, a Blue patrol spotted us from below and shot us with a rocket launcher, though I got to hand it to them that was a good shot. Everyone on board started parachuting out the ship until I was left last. But just when I was about to get out of there, that goddamn pilot took the last chute for himself! What a jerk! Sarge: Oh I know that feeling. Yang: So I was left to no choice but to commandeer the ship myself and find a safe place to crash. Thankfully I came across this place. Ruby: You flew the ship? I thought you don't take aerial training. Yang: Yeah that's right, but what else am I suppose to do, embrace my destiny? Pfft, yeah right! Sarge: Then how did you flew it? Yang: Well all I did was... sit down and... press possibly important buttons here and there, almost turned the ship off... and I stroke the joystick randomly to keep the ship in the air. Everyone:... Yang: And... I also used my intuition? Sarge: That doesn't even make a lick of sense. Ruby: Who cares? I'm glad to see that she's alive. Yang: It was nothin'. There ain't no way a crashed spaceship can bring this baby down easily. Anyways I should call Command to pick me up but first... YAAAAWWNN... I need to take get some shut eye. Got a room to spare here? Grif: You can have my bed... unless you don't mind sharing with me. Simmons: Don't take him, he's place is inhospitable. Take mine, it's 99% germ free. Ruby: What's up with you two? You're both acting strange ever since...

The thought came to Ruby when she noticed they are ignoring her and facing their visors to Yang, trapped by her hypnotic appearance.

Ruby: Oh crud. Yang: Hehe oh my, looks like those two have noticed my charm! Ruby: Yang, please dont... Yang: Come on, Rubes even you had to get men come to you. Ruby: Dad and Uncle Qrow would approve that! Sarge: IF YOU TWO GOT HARD ONS BENEATH YOUR SPACE DIAPERS, I'LL KICK YOUR BALLS PERSONALLY! Starting with Grif with a spike shoe. Simmons: WHAT?! Nonono i-it's not what it looks like! Take Grif, he's got a hard on! Grif: Fuck you, Simmons! I saw your crotch moved slightly foward. Simmons: T-that's just a random body movement! Donut: Ms. Rose, I don't want to say this but why is your chest armor designed like that? Sarge: And a violation of J0-HN-117. Donut: Yeah that too. Yang: Hehe, funny story. They did provided me with the standard issued armor buuuuutt I couldn't fit any of them thanks to these big ol' babies. So they had to make a few arrangements like what you see right now. Oh and first off, my last name isn't Rose, it's Xiao Long. Yang Xiao Long. Donut: You married?

Ruby is pretty annoyed of the situation right now. This conversation is getting out of nowhere.

Ruby: STOP IT! Yang has just survived a crash and is seriously in need of rest! Now if you'll excuse me, I'll take her to her room Yang: Come on, give me a few minutes with your team, I'm starting to like them. Ruby: RIGHT... NOW. Yang: Alright. I thought I'm suppose to be to older sister here. Hey how about show me the place first.

As the sisters leave, Grif and Simmons follow suit, still hypnotized by Yang's charm.

Simmons: Wait for me, I have excellent knowledge of this facility! Grif: Up yours, Simmons, I saw her first! Hey babe I got a Warthog in the garage! Simmons: Not till I show her my modified SPNKR first! Sarge: Good golly Miss Molly, either Command chose her body as a walking biological weapon for the Blues or an effective dog bone for those morons. Donut: I'm guessing both.

Not long after those four left, Lopez, who's body is entirely covered in ashes, enters the room with a massive box in his hands.

Lopez: He recuperado la caja negra y necesito reparaciones extensas. Sarge: Aha, the black box! Excellent work, Lopez. Donut, get Simmons, we need him to extract this thing right now. Lopez: También puedo extraer los datos. Donut: But didn't, Yang already told us everything that happened? Sarge: You can't always rely on the survivor's point of view without seeing the bigger picture. That's how I expose my Commander back when I was in the ODST. Heh, I still remember that face of his. It was glorified PRICELESS!

But unbeknownst to Sarge, Donut and Lopez, Yang stands beside the doorway overhearing their conversation.

Ruby: Hey Yang, are you coming or what? Yang: Be right there!

Deviantart: https://www.deviantart.com/necroceph

[the-house-of-the-nine]

In Mind of Misery: Might

[ I wrote this scene to bridge between the gaps of our guild RP story and some loose ends I felt needed to be addressed.  This takes place directly after Reflections: Part 5.  Lazarius has gone to say goodbye to his daughter, but Marseille is off to collect someone for questioning.   I hope everyone enjoys this little solo story.]

“Some loose ends to deal with. . .” 

The final words of the ancient elf guardian as he exited out of the Grand Library where the official meeting had taken place.  More unofficially was the look granted to him by his esteemed Inquisitor. 

Marseille knew that look; it was one of silent action to be taken.  Something he and his master had practiced for countless months.  Their time together since the day he was collected had been near infinite.  Lazarius had taken the much older elf under his wing and groomed him; much like he had been groomed by his former Mistress. 

When Pyravari had discovered the mad elf in Suramar only days after the shielded veil was lifted, he was completely gone.  He had lost all he had, given up on life, had taken to body augmentation through arcane runes and manipulated the arcane energy within his blood.  Marseille was all but ready to kill or be killed when he was finally freed from the prison he’d placed himself in.

But rather than kill him outright, the Harbinger spared him, seeing promise in his talent as a bladesman, and also as a gift to her brother.  Lazarius spent weeks mending the damaged psyche of the Shal’dorei; time that would have been spent better elsewhere as far as he was concerned, but try as he might to resist him it was to no avail.  Lazarius managed to break through, begin mending the damage and in the end; freed the ancient elf from the madness he’d slipped into.

The life debt was something he took very seriously; and despite their connections to the Old Gods at the time, and the horrific things he’d come to learn they had done in the past, Marseille refused to abandon them.  He could see past it; and did, because to him it was far more important to repay the man and his kin who’d saved him from the haunting spirits of his own.

That look though; he knew what it meant.  Lazarius and him shared a very well in tune bond that was less telepathic and more cued upon expression.  But this time, the voice of his Master would creep effortlessly into his mind as he exited the Library with Verzatea on their way to tuck their daughter in, and share a bit of time together before the pack departed.

“The goblin has returned, unannounced, and Koltun has clarified his missing whereabouts.  Something does not sit right; if he is crossing the order, he will pay and I will discover the truth.  See to it he knows I am displeased with such careless action, and ensure he is held in our finest interrogation room. I will deal with him when we return...”

Krazzlowe the Goblin Slave Baron had just recently returned from Silithus mysteriously and without any type of announcement.  This was not only unorthodox but also unnerving.  Lazarius felt only the slightest shiver across his cold flesh when the talisman he’d given the creature was activated.  He knew he’d returned.

With Koltun needing to walk back, and the goblin being able to instantly transfer himself here; it was all very curious.  Lazarius had given strict orders to everyone not to use their Talismans during this time.  NZoth and the agents that served it could sense the artifacts; giving off any type of magical signature was like inviting them into the Bastille. The main reason why their current quest to rid him of the unsightly eye was meant to be completely stealthed and without any use of power.  And another reason why Lazarius was not pleased.  Perhaps they’d gotten lucky this time, but he would not risk a second.

Just weeks prior. . . .

Krazzlowe sat on a large yacht just off the coast of Tanaris; sun bathing in the warmth of the desert sky, a dry air running over his now liberally greased sap green skin.  Two other goblin females were dotting over the portly Baron as he sipped from a small umbrella drink and enjoyed the leisure's of his relaxation.

The bikini clad women were rubbing his shoulders and feet; as disgustingly awful as they were, but they were in no place to protest; slaves did as they were told, especially with explosives strapped to their necks.  Yes, goblins took extreme precautions.

“Ill tell ya Rodney, this is the life. . .”  Krazzlowe said slurping up his fruity cocktail through a straw inserted in a coconut.

“Ya really got a sweet set up here, a fella could get used tah dis.”

Rodney was the owner of this sea fairing mansion, another “Baron” no doubt who was self proclaimed just like Krazzlowe.  The two of them were more or less ‘friends’ but in the long run neither really trusted the other.

“Well don’t. . .” Rodney replied as he lowered his own sunglasses and peered across the deck to the other goblin lounging in his chair.

“You promised two shipments a month, you’re late Morty.  Been late for the last few months, what happened to our deal?”

The use of his actual first name caused the snide, and robust baron to slowly roll himself in the direction of his accuser.  His long fat nose turning upward in disgust at the claims that he had not lived up to his part of the agreement.

“Look, I told ya, since the end of the War everything has gone to shit.  You gonna go set somethin’ on fire? How about the Exodar, blame the fuckin’ Horde for that, get us back into a war. You start the son-of-a-bitch back up and I’ll have you three shipments a week.” 

Krazzlowe all but kicked the girl rubbing his feet away as he struggled to sit upright; it wasn't easy being as round as he was not to mention greasy from the tanning oil.

Rodney peered toward him in disgust; he knew he was right but still, he wouldn't admit it.

“And another thing.  Where do you get off?”

Krazzlowe barked.

“You swore up and down you could move the Azerite faster than I could get it.  Well guess what Mac, I checked ya hull, and the ledger. . .you’re sittin’ on enough to last a whole year.  The Horde aint buyin’ and the Alliance aint dealin.  So you tell me, Asshole. . .who dah fuck’s gonna buy dis shit now?  I aint got my cut yet, so I would say we’re dead-nuts-even. Wouldn’t you Rodney”

Both goblins sat there peering at one another on the deck of the yacht.  It was silent, both of the slaver girls had pulled themselves back against the railing now, waiting to see what would happen.  Their glowing azure eyes fixated on their Master as he was fixated on Krazzlowe.

Rodney turned first and scoffed at his partner, the smaller and much more attractive; if you could call either of them that, of the goblins backing down.

“Dats what I thought. . .”  Krazzlowe continued and slowly lowered himself back into his chair.

“Get me anotha one of these fruity mixers, toots, and you. . .how about a bit more on the arches, dem bunions aint gonna rub demselves!”

Rodney was sickened by the vagrant use of his two favorite women, but then again he was clearly out maneuvered by his partner.  Krazzlowe was no dummy, and certainly not without his own set of skills that caused him to be formidable opponent.

“Yep. . .dis is dah life, doesn’t get much bett--” 

The sound of a large bug swooping forward caused the goblin to cut off from his speaking and flip his shades.  Krazzlowe peered around, it was as if a small bird had just whizzed right past them. 

He noticed now that the sun had almost entirely been shaded, like a massive cloud had passed in front of it, but it was a cloudless day.  It looked like a large swarm of. . .

“What dah fu--”

A large flying Aqir slapped right against the fat little goblins chest; stuck to his tanning oil and grease.  He screamed, the Silithid screamed, both of the slaver girls screamed and Rodney shot up.

“For the love of all that is combustible its a fuc--” 

Rodney was then scooped up by a much larger, and much more terrifying Silithid that swooped down and plucked him off of his lounge chair like a raptor snatching up a rabbit from the sky. 

Both girls now screamed even more as their master was taken away, and Krazzlowe tumbled out onto the deck with the creature now successfully swiped from his greasy body.

“RODNEY!”  Krazzlowe shouted as he peered up to see the Silithid flying over the open ocean.  It was about fifty feet in the air and climbing upward.

In the sky above them there was a massive swarm that had blacked out the sun.  The sound of their humming now reached the ears of the baron as he peered up at Rodney being taken. “You still owe me money!”

And then, he was dropped.  Like a stone heading toward the ocean.  Whether or not he managed to survive the fall was uncertain.  But after the slap against the surface of the water vibrated across his ear drums, the goblin would scoff and finalize his decision.

“Welp. . .looks like we’re even.”  He chuckled, grabbing his partners sunglasses that had fallen on the deck before he had been taken and replacing his own.

He whistled casually as he headed below deck in pursuit of the women, but not before noticing that in the distance, Silithus was most likely overrun.  Oh well, looks like the deal is done.  Better head on back and collect what he could and just sit on this little goldmine until a more opportune moment came about.

Back in the Bastille. . .

A frantic and fevered search began when the Goblin tore through the veil of space and time and entered through a broom closet on one of the lower floors.  Not where he had expected to land, but then again he was not exactly one of the most welcome guests even today.  He tumbled out onto the saronite floor and immediately hopped up onto his feet with a panicked look in his eyes.

It was by convenience that Lazarius; out of trust, would have given the goblin a talisman to allow him to come back when needed.  Especially on times when he was summoned by the High Inquisitor for reports about the mining operation in SIlithus; and also whenever Lazarius requested.

“Where is it. . .where is it, dammit I hate this fuckin’ place.”  the goblin snarled as he began opening doors and checking for whatever he could in the hall that was presented to him.

He was looking for the area that he had stashed all of his paperwork and belongings before heading off to Silithus to begin the Azerite operation.  This was about the time when the sword was plunged into the planet and both factions began scrambling to the site.  Krazzlowe had ensured nothing of his own would be lost while he was away and stashed everything he needed here in a room given to him by the dark lord.  But where was the room.

As he turned the corner, the short; though taller than most, goblin was face to face with a most unpleasant welcoming party.  The blunt side of Marseille’s hatchet forcefully kissed his orbital bone over his left eye and the cheek that was directly below that.  It shattered the cartridge of his nose causing a burst of crimson to spray outward and begin flowing steadily down his upper lip and chin.  The goblin was immediately floored. 

He was almost unconscious but damned if he would be knocked out.  Goblins had extremely thick skulls, and they were often known to take a good beating.  But this was cruel and unusual punishment, the use of the weapon could have easily killed him had the elf flipped it around and used the sharpened end.

“Your Inquisitor has decreed that you are hereby relieved of your services as coordinator of the Silithus operation, Baron Krazzlowe.”  the ancient elf proclaimed as he grabbed hold of the blood soaked creature by its ankle and slowly began arranging him for transport. “Henceforth, you will be given a new assignment and stationed much closer to home for observation. . .”

Krazzlowe was nearly in another plain of existence at this point, and his smashed face was making it hard for him to talk at the moment.  He was trying to fight off being taken but he was far too injured to even attempt it.  He just barely understood what this meant, his clouded mind absorbing the hidden meaning of the shades words.  Lazarius knew.

The goblin began to stir and groan as he was more or less unaware what had happened, but the shock was starting to wear down.  He’d just been busted wide open.  The strike had caused a large deal of blood to splatter across the old elf and he would remark as he began to collect his prize.

Marseille wiped his left hand across his right shoulder and down his arm, it had stained his beautiful pastel grey blue skin.  The streaks of crimson would drip across his shoulder, down his elbow and wrist, but also managed to stain his throat and ribcage.  Luckily he did not wear a shirt most times.

“I’ll need to wash this off before I leave. . . most generous of you Baron.”  he stated crassly while the goblins feet were joined to make it much easier to pull him.

Marseille dragged him along the cold, saronite floor.  Down stairwells and through doorways that would have caused even more trauma for the little goblin.  It was not long after the first or second bump that the goblin had blacked out completely due to the head injury.

He only awoke some time later when the door of his cell was being slammed shut.  He would peer around while coming to his senses, and slowly folded over and rolled off onto the floor. “*No!*” He managed to scream out just barely

Marseille was already walking away, his attention elsewhere.  He had planned to stop and visit with Siida-Ray before departing with the rest of them for the Ghostlands.  The goblin was where he needed to be; and at this point he did not care what was being said.  Krazzlowe was considered a prisoner now. And as the footsteps of the elf echoed in the hall, the goblin plead for his case.

“Ya dont understand, its gone! Its all gone! Somebody get me outta here! I didn’t do nothin’.  I just want whats mine! Hello! Somebody!”

The echoed screams of the little battered goblin danced down the hallway like a brilliant acrobat performing for their audience.  But unlike such a marvelous affair, not a single ear would be pulled in the direction of the pleading goblin.  And he would remain down there until such a time as Lazarius saw fit to interrogate him.

“You are makin’ a mistake! Its all gone! The site, the people. . .It wasnt my fault! Wait! Com. . .Come on!”

But his words fell on deaf ears, not a soul cared, and not a single soul would come to his rescue.  But as he sat there in the darkness, the silence began to tease his mind, a strange humming sound came from the floors above, a faint heart beat, a curious tone.  The goblin curled up against the back corner of his cage and whimpered, truly his greed had now cost him his life.  He had no hope of savior in this place.

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