#but when nearly every single switch account is talking about the same stuff? i get tired

[djarrex]

Hi everyone, just wanted to address what happened last night along with some other things from before that all tie in together.

There’s multiple parts to the following post - please make sure you read all of it if you’re gonna take the time to even start.

It was midnight and y'all were still jumping in on anon and telling me how I'm awful for not commenting, owning up, or taking responsibility - I should have been in bed. I have a life and job outside this app; and with the several of you in my inbox and it being too late at night to address each, I’m gonna do it now. I can’t not say something about all of this. I just can’t keep quiet and ignore the problem - it’s not fair to you all. Deleting one post already has you guys even more riled up and all I wanted to do was offer something better than a “half-hearted apology” (it was very late at night when I wrote that very short apology, and wanted a redo tbh). 

I really didn't want to make a long post like this. I reached out to a select few on here because I care about them (there's more of you, but like I said, it was at the time after midnight and I was fucking exhausted). but I was being demanded for accountability. So here I am.

Allow me to be real with you all, if that's ok. If it's not, well, idk. First I wanna address all you anons, who, instead of speaking to me one on one about all this, want to criticize me and shame me and my writing when truthfully it feels like you haven't even read more than a handful of my work. I didn’t realize that I write the clones all the same way? That I always make them super aggressive and uncaring and dom? “you write every single clone as so dominant instead as unique individual men with their own personalities” Interesting. See, that right there tells me you haven't read nearly enough of my stuff for me to believe that's true. That's one accusation I absolutely will not back you on because I know it’s inaccurate - saying how I group the clones into some overly-aggressive, and uncaring category - that I always write all of them as mean in bed because they're men of color. And hey, if I do write rough smut - which yeah, it's out there and I write it, as do a lot of you - there are warnings at the beginning, aftercare, dialogue, reader sharing their feelings, and most importantly... consent between the two. That’s what warnings are for, so that you know what you’re going to be reading. That’s why I, as we all do, appreciate warnings listed at the tops of fics; honestly, write them sub or dom or switch or however you want but don’t come at me like that. I’m sorry if I'm coming across as rude because I'm usually not, I’m one of the nicest people you’ll meet, but I will not stand idly by while you chastise my writing (writing that is pretty much the same type of stuff a lot of you write & rb with the same characters) that you haven’t read enough of to back such claims.

Next: Sincerely, from the bottom of my heart,

I get it. Really, I do. I fully understand the problem of whitewashing in SW along with almost everywhere else, and I do not agree with it. It's a huge problem, and it needs to be rectified. Now just because I don't speak publicly about it and opt out of publicly shaming TBB, doesn't mean that I agree with what’s going on. Not everyone is comfortable with sharing their opinions on a subject, no matter what that subject is or which side they're on. You live and you learn when it comes to that. 

It has never been my intention to fetishize POC in my writing, which btw, the same people who are saying that it is my intention are the ones claiming I portray all of the clones as the same, aggressive men, lacking their individuality. It’s a claim that is simply not true, and I know I have followers on here to back me up on that. I know what I've written; how about you check it out and tell me that you don't see the words "soft" or "fluff" or "cuddling" or “gentle” or “tender” within my work linked in my ML. Clone character being a good partner and father? Tender love making? Holding each others faces in their hands? “We/you survived” sex? Taking care of their partner? Saying “I love you” to one another? Confirming the safe word and going slow at first? Oh my - riveting and harsh stuff - totally unacceptable.  

Now: My admittedly problematic writings of Rex + Zygerria,

I went into writing that rp fic totally unaware and unknowing of the true implications. For that, I sincerely apologize. When I posted the NSFW alphabet, that’s when I was called out on that rp fic - not when I first posted it. Which the timeline doesn’t matter, I know that, but it concerns me a little bit that no one spoke up about it sooner - letting me dig myself deeper into a hole that I didn’t realize I was inside of in the first place. I've apologized once, and I know that doesn't negate what happened; I acknowledged my mistake back then, but I suppose that wasn’t good enough. I had asked you, anon, to message me to give me guidance, to teach me on what to do about the fic - you stayed hidden. Well, respectfully, what the fuck? I know we're all adults but don't lecture me and avoid me when I’d literally reached out for guidance on how to properly rectify the issue. I fixed my wording in some of my fics (the things I’ve caught upon rereading them) because I recognized and more importantly learned about and from my mistakes along with the unintentional negative implications of how I wrote those characters. Some of y'all wanna tell me that I "haven't learned"? Who are you, my personal blog police? My professor? My life coach? Are you even my friend? If I'm wrong and haven't learned, then fucking educate me. I worked hard on that rp fic, just like I do with a majority of what I write, but it doesn’t matter because I will delete it knowing that it’s harmful to others and I apologize for inadvertently romanticizing slavery with what I wrote - it was unintentional, and I’m truly sorry to those who have been hurt by it. I know it’s wrong, and there’s no proper excuse for it. Can’t go back in time, but consider it gone now.

Since that first wakeup call, I’ve been working hard to ensure I avoid using certain words and ideas when describing the clones in my fics. If there’s still something you see that isn’t correct or is inappropriate, please tell me! Don’t hold it in but then jump on the “attack M” bandwagon. Private message me, or come peacefully off or on anon, there will be no hard feelings. I don’t mind being corrected when I make a mistake - that’s just part of life, we all make mistakes and we live and learn from them. Making mistakes doesn’t = scumbag human. When you hold your breath and choose not to take the time to guide me, and if I appear to still be making the same mistakes, well, idk. I’m telling you right now that I do not mind if you message me with the good intention of pushing me in the right direction. When you come at me with hostility on anon, well, no thank you. To the anons that came without rage: thank you! I read what you wrote, and I have a better understanding as to how my writing had hurt the lovely followers of mine, and tried to address as much as possible in this post. See, angry mob anons? It costs zero credits to be kind and offer up your thoughts and advice with a good heart. I’m not going to hate you or block you if you try to correct me. I don’t block unless you’re a snoopin’ minor. Just don’t hold a knife to my throat.

Now: Why did I delete the tags and then my response to that anon ask? 

Simply put: I felt awful. Deleting it doesn’t immediately mean I’m hiding from it and ignoring the issue. I wanted to come up with a better apology, explanation, whatever you wanna call it, because my followers deserve that. The ones who enjoy my work, the ones who interact, the ones who I call my friends, the ones who know that I’m a good person. Didn’t want to leave the tags/post floating around all night, giving more people time to sharpen their pitchforks and join the mob while I attempted to sleep. Trust me, I know saying that I had no ill intentions when tagging that post doesn’t make it better nor does it make it go away. I’m just trying to show you my point of view, that I knew immediately how I should not have tagged it that way, so that’s why I deleted them. I corrected my mistake. But y’all are too fucking quick I swear.

One more thing:

I know some of you who had called me out with the passive-aggressive inbox messages are still following me, and for what? You don’t like what I post, which is why one would follow another in the first place, so why bother sticking around? Do you feel like you need to police my blog? You want to be there the literal minute I make a mistake? I’m gonna turn off anon for a bit, so if you wanna discuss, message me. Just know that if you’re going to come at me with knives out, I probably won’t reply to you. 

To conclude:

I’m sorry. Truly sorry for the entire Rex + Zygerria outfit + slaver ordeal with both the fic from a while ago and then the tags from last night. We can’t go back in time; the only option is to correct past mistakes that are able to be corrected, and then move on with new knowledge that’ll aid in me working even harder to ensure my writing isn’t inappropriate or offensive, and doesn’t hurt my followers nor the characters I write for. I’m still going to write self-indulgent filth and fluff, post-order 66 Rex, and other misc shit. I enjoy writing fanfic, as I know a lot of you enjoy reading what I write and love to talk to me about it. I hope that this didn’t come off as me being a bitch, because I’m really not. I enjoy interacting with the handful of people on here that I’d call my friends, and I love reading your reactions and tags to my fics when you’re excited and/or horny (LOL). It’s just after lunch time where I’m at, so I hope you have a great rest of the day/night/morning whatever for wherever you are.  

<3 

M

[kessielrg]

[Kingdom Hearts] Of Memes and Regrets

Summary: In which Lea has a guest star for his YouTube's next Let's Play, and she perfectly steals the show from him.... again. [oneshot][platonic LeaxOC (AxelxOC)]

Rating: K+

Word Count: 2,412 words

If you liked this story, please reblog!

---

Lea glanced at the timer placed by his monitors and nearly tisked at the time.

She was late.

With a rather tired sigh, Lea started to work on making sure his software was still working right. Maybe while he was fiddling around with stuff, Sabrina would join the video chat so they could get a session done. He knew he should have asked Roxas to join again. Xion would be great to bring in too, if she wasn’t too busy working on her next article for her school’s paper. But alas, his subscribers had spoken, and they wanted Miss Priss and her insatiable need to annoy everyone. Especially him, apparently.

Not that he could blame them, she was great on camera.

Lea hummed as he booted up the game they were going to play. It was a review copy he had gotten a few days back, and he was actually looking forward to bumping it. He would be the first to admit to not being a big fan of the original franchise, but the graphics were crisp and the controls were smoother than butter. He knew Sabrina would have an appreciation for it too; as far as he could tell, the female characters were dressed sensibly- not at all designed just for the male gaze. They could have some fun talks about it when she got here. If she got here.

With the game running as expected, Lea started screen recording. He got a few minutes down before turning on his webcam as well. His face appeared on the screen to his left, with the game and recording software on the right. It was a good time to adjust lights while he was at it. Once that was settled, he began recording from the webcam as well. Lea admired himself in the webcam feedback for a moment. It was always better to overshoot, even if you weren’t really doing anything more than vocal warmups and adjusting your lighting.

Lea cleared his throat a bit before going through with his intro. He kept his tone bright and energetic. It was bad form to go in this early at full blast, but if Sabrina wasn’t going to remember their agreement, then he’d have to make due.

“Hey everybody, welcome back to AxelotlGaming! I’m Axel, and we were going to have a guest. Turns out she’s not coming, because at this point, we are well past being fashionably late.” Lea moved a bit away from the mic before grumbling, “It would’ve been nice if she actually bothered to tell me when she wasn’t coming. Could’ve been halfway through a recording by now.” He grimaced before remembering that he was still recording, so he turned back to the camera with a wide grin. He realized he was going to cut out a lot of his annoyance in editing later if he kept this up. The show always goes on, and whatnot.

“With or without our guest,” he went on to say to the webcam, “We’ve been sponsored to play the new-”

He hated to admit that he jumped when the ping for someone joining the video chat chimed. Lea quickly ended his recording softwares and accepted the newcomer. A new face appeared on the same monitor he kept his webcam feedback on, and he grimaced at seeing them.

“You’re late.” he huffed. He swiveled his car a bit just to glare at her feedback directly. Lea then almost proceeded to get knocked out of his seat looking at her.

Sabrina was a natural beauty and knew it. She was always light on her makeup regimen unless she was going to be seen on video or photograph. Today she did not plan on disappointing; her lips were painted a deep red, her cheeks the faintest of pinks to give the illusion of being an absolute sweetheart, and even the color around her eyes make them look more expressive. It was rather impressive- she must have worked on that for a good hour just to make sure she didn’t look like a raccoon.

“And now you realize why I’m late.” Sabrina smoothly told him, folding her arms with a smirk on her face. Even through the webcam, she looked so in control of everything. Lea didn’t know if it infuriated him, or was genuinely impressed.

“Yeah, yeah,” he said with a wave of his hand. “But know this, princess; just because I have an arguably easy job on paper, it doesn’t mean I don’t keep a schedule too. Got it memorized?”

“Just hire an editor.” she told him in the least of caring tones.

“No way!” he argued back. “I’ve got a certain method to my madness, and I’m not going to have someone else get their fingerprints all over it.”

“What a funny way of saying that no one else is as deranged as you.”

“Enough talk,” Lea then said to her with a clap of his hands, “We should be halfway through a session by now. Start up the game and make it snappy.”

Sabrina gave him a little wave of her hand before doing as she was told. She must have known how late she was- usually when someone told her to do something, her instinct was to react with the opposite. As she did that, Lea also went over his recording equipment and made sure he was recording as well.

“I’m ready when you are,” he decided. “Are you recording everything on your end?”

“Looks like it.” she agreed. Her eyes looked elsewhere for a moment- likely to check if everything was running smooth enough. When her eyes went back to the webcam, she settled back a bit in preparation for the next hour or so of recording.

“Are you doing the intro today?” she asked, gently placing a hand under her chin.

“My show, isn’t it?” Lea smirked. Knowing that she was ready meant it was time to start recording again. About time, too.

“Alright princess, put on your video face.” he warned her. “We’re getting serious in three… two…”

Both of them shifted in their spots slightly to appear more presentable. Lea gave them a few more moments of getting comfortable before going through his intro.

“Hey everybody, welcome back to AxelotlGaming! I’m Axel, and today I’ve got a very special guest. Special guest, why don’t you introduce yourself. Not that you need it, of course.”

“Of course.” Sabrina smoothly agreed, even twisting a piece of her hair. She looked at the webcam before giving a double wave to it. Her voice carried a perkiness never seen before as she said, “Hey guys! You asked for me, so here I am! Your favorite Lady Sabi here to show up, ah, I mean, play with Axel today.”

“So humble.” Lea playfully retorted. Sabrina only gave a wide -rather smug- smile in return.

“What are we playing today, Axel?” she cheerfully chirped. For a moment, Lea wondered if he was friends with a bubbly airhead instead of a pessimistic downer.

“We’ve been sponsored to play the new Blue Bomber MMO called ‘Renegade Chaser.’” he said, gesturing his hands to the side. He’ll edit in the box art during post. “Designed with old and new fans alike, Renegade Chaser can be played online and off with both multiplayer and single player modes.”

“Sell out.” Sabrina coughed into her hand.

“Yeah, well,” Lea mused, “Not all of us get free stuff just by looking pretty on Instagram. Of course, with almost a million followers at PrincessSabiAes2012, you’ve almost got enough influence to carry this channel on your own.”

“Nice plug.”

“Why thank you.”

“Bad rep for you though.”

“Why thank you.”

Sabrina let out a genuine laugh at his misfortune. But this was the kind of repertoire his subscribers enjoyed between them. Just hearing her laugh gave him a vision of a future comment along the lines of ‘hearing Sabi laugh at Axel adds 9,999 years to my life.’ Too bad the actual object of Sabrina’s -disguised- affection wasn’t on YouTube much, let alone have an account. Which was all for the best- he didn’t want to admit it, but Ventus got jealous real easy. Embarrassingly easy, depending on who you asked.

“Now that you’ve harassed me and we’re not even a minute in, how about we pop into game and see what we’ve got?”

“Let’s.” Sabrina agreed with a sweet little nod. 

Lea stole a look at her as she adjusted some things on her end to make sure her game footage was being recorded. Lea chastised himself for being so focused on her. He needed to stop getting distracted by her Clark Kent-ing her onscreen persona. But the switch was just so… uncanny, to put it in the nicest terms possible. There’s no wonder that despite her near million followers, Sabrina had yet to be recognized by any of them in person.

Lea shivered before continuing with his show. Two minutes of recording down, another 58 to go.

. . .

You could tell Sabrina was having a hard time getting used to the game because for ten straight minutes she did nothing but harass Lea instead. Not that it wasn’t to be expected- she was a puzzle girl, not a shoot-em-up girl. That being said, once she figured out the controls, she was nigh unstoppable. She even managed to figure out the special weapons before Lea could. Of course he called her a cheater for it. As long as it was in good fun, who really cared- right?

Another disorienting thing about Sabrina; she kept going from her usual snark to bubbly sunshine in mere seconds. The true (or as true as she wanted to be) part of her came through when she was at her most frustrated. It was yet another thing that his regular viewers came to appreciate of her. A lot of viewers really hated her bubbly self, even though it was arguably when she dished the most one-liners. Lea knew she was actually having a good time when she let the side of her he usually saw come through. That little lady knew how to be a savage and thrived in it.

One such occasion happened during this session. While the two were playing around with the various modes the game had, Lea had found a one-on-one free-for-all that the two took to immediately. Sabrina got so into beating him that he had to talk directly to her or else all commentary would have gone flat. Every word that came out of Sabrina’s mouth was straight from her mind, with no conscious censoring in the slightest. Lea feared so much for her that he intentionally threw the match. He did put up a fight- but it was definitely one of their shorter matches. Sabrina didn’t seem to notice as the victory screen appeared for her.

“Yes!” Sabrina gleefully declared, slamming her hands into her desk before giving her chair a spin. As the chair slowly came to a halt, she threw one of her hands over her head and gave an absolutely satisfied expression.

Lea knew right away that the moment his viewers saw that reaction, there were going to be memes of it. He could practically see them now- a really poor screenshot of that slightly worrying pose she was making, Impact font saying stuff like 'when bae buys you tacos without asking' or 'when Lea's such a moron and makes winning easy.' He'd have to ask her for her footage. He could emphasize the moment to help make some of those insufferable jpegs look slightly better.

It wouldn't have been so bad, but Sabrina was already the source of one of his channel's memes. 'Scrub my feet, peasant' was a line uttered during one Monopoly match that did not go in Lea's favor. Sabrina had also made a rather memorable pose in her chair, coupled with a rather smug face. It became so popular that Lea had to get her permission to make it into a t-shirt. Both Sabrina and his viewers had yet to live it down; Sabrina wearing the shirt anytime she knew the two of them would be in the same room together, and his viewers still made comments that referenced the line.

Good thing she was more of an Instagram queen and not a YouTuber. Lea would probably lose half his subscribers the moment she actually posted videos of her own.

“Heh, I let you win, my lady.” Lea boasted. This realization came to Sabrina with a slow grimace.

“You did.” she said in disappointment. She then smirked at him (not at the camera, but him directly on the screen), before spitting, “There are other ways to flirt with me than making me look superior to you.”

“Oh yeah?” Lea snorted. “Like what?”

Sabrina then smirked like she was taking on a challenge.

“Oh Axel,” she purred into her microphone. Almost immediately, Lea could feel the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. “If you wanted a mistress to teach you how bad of a boy you are, you could have just asked. This doesn’t have to be hard.” She paused for a moment, just to make it dramatic. “Unless you want to be…”

Lea was dead certain that his soul left his body for a hot second. His face absolutely betrayed him, though. He looked away just to hide how red it was.

“Oh well, just look at the time.” Lea decided, already reaching for the keyboard key to finish the recording. “We’re all gamed out for the day. Thank you for watching!”

“But Axel, we still have ten-”

“Thanks for watching!” he loudly declared before smacking the keyboard key. Not long after, his head hit the desk in both relief and frustration.

“Are you alright?” Sabrina questioned, a teasing smirk still on her lips.

“God I hate you.”

“You gonna be alright with that nosebleed?”

“Shut up.” Lea whined.

Sabrina just laughed at him. To rub salt into the wound, she ended the video chat mid-laugh. It was far too effective in leaving a phantom image of her on his mind. Lea let out another groan as he thought about his viewers’ reaction. This was going to be an episode to remember, he had no doubt about it. It was likely going to fuel even more rumors that the two had the hots for each other- which was the last thing he wanted.

He really needed to stop inviting her back.

[peachyunjinnie]

any blogs you wanna send love to? they don't have to be writers— i'm trying to prove a point here!❤️️❤️️

this is 1.5k and is officially more than most of my fics- ENJOY I GUESS??

@ammuqwer Alice, i love you and your lovely compliments you give me all the time to hype me up :’). you are so talented and such an amazing writer and friend. i could not tell you how fUNNY YOU ARE ecila sotl uoy evol i ;)💗

@bangchanismybias i don’t even know how to tell you how much you mean to me with all the support you give me with EVERY SINGLE POST I MAKE it’s so crazy the amount of happiness you bring me when i see your name pop up with every post on my phone! love you!!!💗

@channiesmixtape woody :( ugh where the actual heck should i start? you are for real the biggest and coolest writer that i know one here and with the amazing jungwoo content you give us is just-😞 you are one of the big writers that inspired me to write as well and that was one of the best decisions i could have made on here, to switch from reader to writer! i love you and your selcas! (forreal you is a goddess)💗

@chanonymous s n e h a  m y  p u p p y  m o m  i am your problematic cutie and i love it! we don’t interact as much as we could but the times we do i really have such an amazing time to talk to you and talk about stuff that are just often talked about! i seriously learned some physics for you and i cannot believe that i did but i would do it again for you💗

@cherryeol04 CHERRY! okay, you are so cute and so adorable idK WHY BUT YOU ARE!!! you deserve so much and nothing but the absolute best! your fics are really so well written and you are one of the most underrated artists on here. you really create art on here and that’s nothing but the truth. i love you and i wish to reach your level of writing one day!💗

@doubleknot42 sky!! wow! we haven’t talked in a hot minute but your cute little outfit shows would make my day brighter and better! just to see that is so adorable and how you would thrist over Conan is so relatable! i love you so so much and i wish you nothing but the very very best!!!💗

@gabiog1me gabiiii! i know we just started talking but you are so nice and kind already! it’s actually pretty cool to see and have some black friends on here and kind of have the ability to rant over some stuff that someone with a darker skin color would understand better! and your music taste is A+!!! you are amazing and your a-z is on the way;)💗

@jisungsjheekies lin! you are really with woodles and nicole the biggest blogs that are supporting me and i could not tell you how that literally boosted my energy and my ideas to post! your appreciation posts were just something i would see every single day and would really love! you are such a great writer and your selca is WOW just WOW- love ya!!💗

@kinkywoojins SAMMY SAM! okay okay, the moment i realized that i know you hoe i was 😦 like just 😦. DESTINY IS SUCH AN AMAZING THING HAHAHA i love you mom and i love your posts! if you post again i can bet my left eyebrow i will be the first one to read the masterpiece. AND YOU ARE SO SO GORGEOUS LIKE WOW- THE DOUBLE KNOT PHOTOSHOOT WAS A WHOLE AESTHETIC- i love you so sooooo much!!💗

@lordseochangbin Mel, you are probably really one of the accounts that has the best humor. when you post some crackhead posts i just always have to lie down to calm down and not have an asthma attack and die. PLUS you are so talented! the tennis fic was fuCK so GOOD!! i am so honored to say that you my friend on here! love uuu uwu💗

@lixieslexie LEXIE! okay okay okay. you made me nearly cry when you said that you watched Ghibli movies and I COULD NOT PUT IN WORDS HOW PROUD I AM you are really so pure and such a sweetheart and you have found my softspot some way and now you are my C U T I E. i love u💗

@mrbangchannie meggie meg :) you are so precious and you are so crazy! you are an amazing writer, a beauty, crackhead humor queen and such an amazing friend! we have to talk more and send some crackhead pics cuz i need to send it to someone on here but no one would really get it tbh💀💗

@mikoto-ica-fics m i c a  okay so, YOUR DEMON EYE PIC WAS SO BEAUTIFUL AND I AM NOT KIDDING YOU ARE SO SO SO SO PRETTY!! I COULD NOT BELIEVE TO SEE THE EVERY SINGLE ONE ON HERE IS SO GORGEOUS AND THEN THERE’S ME LIKE WOW JUST WOW UNFAIRNESS AT AN ENTIRE DIFFERENT LEVEL- but you are such a pure person and your writing skill is another level of genius. love yuuuu💗

@mini-meanhoe summi🥺 i can’t believe that you are FINALLY my friend and now that we are and the pics you send me of bald stray kids i really do not regret it a SINGLE bit. BUT YOUR FLIRTY ASS NEEDS TO STOP like i kinda just have a constant bellyache from laughing because you of your flirty actions- you are the death of me and i am really not minding it at all hshshhah. also your writing is so good and you have to continue cuz nabi needs more to read! i LOVE you💗

@nightshade-minho miKA i love you and you are so hardworking and i really admire you on another level. i wish i could maintain such a huge blog like yours! you are really a mAgIcAL person cuz no way a normal human being is so cute and talented. when i saw that you’re following me i shit you not i had a 20 minute happydance in my room- imma end this before i expose my cringy ass too much, i luv u💗

@particularemu nicole! we haven’t interacted really but i really had to say this if you see this or something! you are awesome! you are great! you are incredible, you are wonderful! i love you and your sometimes random hyunjin reblogs and i could not get enough of them! i love you lots💗

@starryseung ivy, i saw that the admin changed into mia so imma just say that you both are great and i really love to read the various posts and just to scroll on the dashboard to see your posts! i love you two and you two are really so special!💗

@seungmins-sunshine ANNA I LOVE YOU I LOVE YOU I LOVE YOU  I LOVE YOU I LOVE YOU I LOVE YOU I LOVE YOU I LOVE YOU I LOVE YOU I LOVE YOU I LOVE YOU I LOVE YOU I LOVE YOU I LOVE YOU I LOVE YOU I LOVE YOU I LOVE YOU I LOVE YOU I LOVE YOU I LOVE YOU I LOVE YOU I LOVE YOU I LOVE YOU I LOVE YOU I LOVE YOU I LOVE YOU I LOVE YOU nothing else to say than that💗

@shari-skz shari! a fellow hyunjin stan and basically my sister...? anna’s family is complicated and i am so confused with who i am related to on here bUT what was about to say is that you brighten up everyone on here so much through the many hateful and irrelevant anons! i love your child ass and i hope we can talk more in the future!💗

@thevampywarlock aShY AsH I LOVE YOU. I SEE YOU AND I INSTANTLY UWU HARD IDK WHY BUT THE ENERGY YOU GIVE OFF IS SO CUTE I CAN’T EVEN STAY NORMAL AND I HOPE YOU CAN ALWAY COME TO ME WHEN YOU NEED TO AND WHEN YOU FEEL SAD OR SOMETHING CUZ I WILL MAKE YOU HAPPY AGAIN💗

@vocalyunhoamelie!!!! the way we first interacted was so weird and so cool at the same time! and the anonie you gave me on your blog really just hits different🥺 and it will stay our little secret hehee i love you and i hope i can get into more of your ateez work!!!💗

@yangomangos MANGOS! mh where to start, you are so adorable and so...idk just give me cute vibes? i was the most nervous little shit to text you because you kinda seemed like a celebrity to me JHGSJHGJASHHI with all of your work being out there and just thriving! you are such a baby and i will not argue over you being a baby! i love you and i really hope we can have better days in the future!💗

@yoyo-mans haya! i really don’t even know where to start with you! you are really such a huge huge friend for me and i couldn't tell you if i would be still here without you by my side. i want you to know that you are absolutely amazing and beautiful! i love you so much and i hope we can make many memories together!💗

[calumcest]

i took a walk with my fame down memory lane (i never did find my way back) - chapter four

[ao3]

is it technically tuesday? yes. are we going to talk about that? no. everybody lives in at least gmt-1 now suck it up 

@tirednotflirting yet again...i cannot sing your praises enough for reading this ENTIRE fucking thing!! although it looks a bit different here to how it looks on the google doc because its not in bold and theres no ‘finishh’ in sight nor my insane random words that i write down when i know exactly the words i want to say but i’m too lazy to write them. am i the worst writer known to man? possibly

we are getting to the juicy stuff now...its quarter to fucking malum o’clock...

also if you saw the title of this chapter before i went to check you didn’t see it. close your eyes 

By the time Calum wakes up the next afternoon, they’re already halfway back to Manchester, somewhere on the M40. Predictably, Liam's up, vibrating with that impatient energy he’s always got when he can’t snort or drink it away, and Calum’s the second one to rise, padding into the lounge area sleepily, yawning loudly and rubbing his eyes. His head’s fucking pounding, and his mouth is dry and disgusting, but Liam, because he sometimes is the angel his doe eyes and full lips make him out to be, has already put out a cup of water and two paracetamols for him. 

“How the fuck are you never hungover?” Calum grumbles, throwing himself down on the sofa next to Liam and nestling into his side as he downs the paracetamol. 

“Luck of the Irish,” Liam tells him, resting his cheek on Calum’s head. Calum makes a noise of discontent and turns to press his face into Liam’s shoulder, squeezing his eyes shut like it’s going to stop his head from hurting. 

“You deserve a hangover,” he mumbles. “You were off your fucking head last night.” 

“And you weren’t?” 

“Never said that.” Liam huffs out a soft laugh. 

“Nearly fainted in the fucking toilets, you did.” Calum scowls. 

“Fuck off,” he says, as his memory flashes back to last night - yeah, he did almost fucking faint in the toilets, but that was only because- and then his eyes fly open, because fuck. Jesus fucking Christ. 

Michael. 

“Our kid barely even made it back to the bus last night,” Liam says, and it’s just meant to be casual conversation, maybe a little contemptuous, but it makes Calum’s lungs collapse in on themselves with guilt. 

He’d spoken to Michael. He’d come to some sort of a fucking understanding with Michael, something he can’t quite remember and doesn’t quite understand. Fuck, he might have even called Michael pretty. Jesus Christ. He’s fairly certain any and all of that goes against his promise to Noel. 

“Oh?” he says, when he remembers to speak. Liam just hums, and Calum tries not to exhale too shakily as his mind races. 

It’s not his fault, he tells himself. Not really. He’d been there first, hadn’t he? Michael had been the one to walk up to him, and the one who hadn’t walked away. And sure, maybe Calum had been the one to strike up conversation, but it hadn’t exactly been friendly, had it? And Michael had been the one to ask questions, to change the topic, and to level the playing field when Calum had accidentally let something slip. Plus, Calum had been drunk and high, so he can’t really be held accountable for his actions, can he? 

Liam’s still talking, but Calum’s not listening, and it doesn’t even matter because Liam cuts himself off when Tony stumbles into the lounge area, bleary-eyed and yawning. There’s no paracetamol set out for him, and Liam makes no move to get any. 

“I’m looking forward to a fucking break,” Tony says a little hoarsely, and flops down on the sofa opposite Liam and Calum. 

“Fucking when?” Liam says. “We’ve got Top of the Pops in two days.” Tony groans, pressing the heels of his hands into his eyes. 

“Fucking Top of the Pops,” he mumbles. “Why the fuck did we agree to that?” 

“For the money,” Liam says. 

“Don’t even get to play the fucking drums,” Tony says, muffled by his palms. 

“Thank fuck for that,” Liam mutters.

  -------

  Top of the Pops is exactly the bland, boring nightmare Calum expects it to be. 

They’re shepherded into some kind of studio for a rehearsal and informed that they’ll be recording a live track then and there which will be mixed together with the album version, and none of them will actually be playing live. Liam’s having absolutely fucking none of it, and for once neither is Noel, and Calum, Bonehead and Tony all decide to step back and enjoy the show that is both Gallaghers on the same team for once. 

After a lot of shouting, swearing and a few threats of violence, it’s decided that they’ll go ahead with recording the backing track but Liam will sing live. Noel’s absolutely fucking furious about not being allowed to play live, but it’s almost entirely forgotten when he sees the setup for the stage - Tony on drums in the front, Calum and Bonehead on a step behind him, and Liam and Noel on another step right at the back. The BBC aren’t budging on that, though, despite Calum, Bonehead, and Alan all weighing in to agree that it’s fucking stupid to have the stars of the band stood right at the back, and a nasty row breaks out between the Gallaghers and the production team, ending in Calum having to move at the speed of fucking light when he sees Liam tense into the all-too-familiar I’m going to fucking deck you stance. A lawsuit with the BBC is still well beyond their budget, no matter how well the singles have been doing. 

Calum manages to talk Liam down, and Liam manages to talk Noel down, and they’re only ten minutes behind schedule by the time that the brothers have reluctantly agreed to do the show, which is pretty good going for them. They trail to the stage to the sound of screaming and cheering, which makes Calum’s head spin a little bit as he picks up his unplugged bass. They’re really fucking making it now, he thinks in awe, as he looks out at the sea of excited faces and spots a few white Oasis shirts. They’re really fucking doing this. 

They get set up and pretend to play Shakermaker, and Liam sounds fucking gorgeous, like he’s making a point to the producers, and Noel slings his arm around Liam as they walk off, a protective, proud gesture that Liam grins at and leans into. They’re fucking unstoppable, Calum thinks, as he trails after them, Noel’s arm tight around Liam and Liam stumbling over his own feet as he tries to press as close to Noel as possible. The two of them on the same side is a fucking sight to behold.

They’re at a hotel that night, and Liam and Bonehead decide they want to go out but Tony and Noel want to stay in, and Calum decides he’s too tired to stay up for the length of time it’s going to take him to find someone willing to fuck him. 

(“What d’you think coke’s for?” Liam says to him, and Calum rolls his eyes.) 

Calum falls asleep almost as soon as his head touches the pillow, and he wakes up early to the sound of Liam stumbling into the room, high and drunk and probably something else, bruises blooming all over his throat and grinning giddily. 

“Good night?” Calum says. 

“The best,” Liam declares, and then passes out on his bed. 

They have to drive back to Manchester that day, though, because they’ve got a show in Leeds tomorrow, so Liam only gets about four hours of rest before Alan’s banging on the door and yelling at them to get the fuck up, lazy fuckers, didn’t I fucking tell you bus call’s at twelve? To his credit, though, he only complains about a hundred times, and stops when Noel rolls his eyes, holds his arms open and lets Liam snuggle into him and have a nap while Noel chats to Alan about the setlist for America. 

Calum tunes most of it out, because he’s not fussed about what’s on the setlist and he trusts Noel to pick the best of his own songs, and spends two hours getting absolutely thrashed at chess by Tony. By the time they’re back in Manchester, Calum’s lost a game of chess to literally everybody on the bus, including Liam, who's being taught the rules of chess by Noel and Bonehead as they play, and Calum decides he’s never fucking playing chess ever again. 

(“We’re fucking buying some new games,” he says moodily, when Liam flicks his king over nonchalantly. 

“No need to get so mardy,” Bonehead says, stretching out and grinning at Calum. 

“Fuck you,” Calum grumbles, sweeping all the pieces off the chess board. “We’re getting a game that I can fucking win.” 

“Alright,” Noel says, grinning. “How about Frustration?”)

Calum’s mum has dinner ready for him when he drags himself up the path and into the house, and she fusses over the state of his hair and his clothes and says really, Calum in a disapproving voice whenever Calum uses colourful language to describe exactly what he thinks about the production team of Top of the Pops. Calum rolls his eyes, but he’s smiling when she tuts at him for fondly calling Liam a silly cunt for the fourth time that evening, because it’s nice. It makes him feel like a kid again, but in the best possible way; warm, protected, like someone’s still looking out for him. 

His dad gets back from work around seven, and they sit down to watch the Top of the Pops performance together. Calum’s heart swells with pride when it’s their turn to play, because they look fucking cool. The staging’s still shite, granted, but Liam looks every inch the rock ‘n’ roll star he claims to be, and the rest of them look lazily and effortlessly cool, helped enormously by the fact they’re half in the shadows, lights focused on the Gallaghers. 

Calum’s parents are polite about the song, and he can see they’re beaming with pride, but he can also tell they don’t really get it. It’s okay, he thinks, unable to help the smile that creeps onto his face as he watches his parents watch him on TV. They like jazz. It’s probably for the best that they don’t think it’s good music. 

Calum’s mum switches to some soap opera after Top of the Pops, and his dad grumbles not this again and pulls out his newspaper, but Calum can see his face popping over the top of the paper every two seconds. After three minutes he comments wasn’t Sheila dating Mark last week? She’s not having an affair with Bertie, is she? Calum snorts, and his dad glares at him, opening his mouth to make a defensive remark about how he doesn’t follow this show, it’s absolute rubbish, but then the phone rings. 

“I’ll get it,” Calum says, before anyone has the chance to say anything, mostly to avoid having to listen to his dad’s I’m not watching this, Calum, don’t be cheeky spiel, and his mum just nods absent-mindedly, waving a dismissive hand at him, eyes glued to the TV. Calum heads for the phone in the kitchen, just because it’s the closest, jogging to get there before it rings out. 

“Hello?” he says, when he picks up. There’s silence at the other end of the line, and he frowns. “Hello?” he tries again. 

“Hi.” Calum’s stomach drops. 

“ Michael? ” 

“Yeah.” 

“What the f- how the- what? What? ” Calum’s heart is beating out of his fucking chest, almost covering the embarrassment that’s flaring up as foggy memories of their last conversation drag themselves to the forefront of his mind. 

“Sorry,” Michael says, and he sighs, and Calum can just imagine him running his fingers through his hair, a small crease between his brows. “Fuck, I- sorry. I shouldn’t’ve-”

“No,” Calum says abruptly, clutching the receiver, dreading the fucking dial tone. “No, I just- how did you get this number?” There’s a moment of silence. 

“Only so many Joy Hoods in the book,” Michael says, and Calum exhales, hoping the crackling static of the phone line will hide how shaky it is. 

“Oh,” he says. Michael had sought him out. Michael wants to talk. Michael still remembers his mum’s name. 

“I saw you,” Michael says suddenly, into the uncomfortable silence that’s blossomed between them, neither of them knowing what to say next. “On Top of the Pops.” 

“Yeah?” Calum doesn’t trust himself to say any more, but the question on the tip of his tongue is evident in the eagerness in his tone, anyway. 

“Yeah.” There’s a pause. “Sounded good.” 

“That’s because it’s a backing track.” Michael huffs out a laugh, sounding a little surprised, like he wasn’t expecting it to come out.

“I guess,” he allows. They lapse into silence again, loud and uncomfortable, before Michael sighs. 

“I’m sorry,” he says, and he sounds a little regretful.  “I shouldn’t’ve called.” 

“No,” Calum blurts. “I’m glad you did.” The phone’s warm against his fingers, slippery from his hot, sweaty hands, and he’s clasping it so hard he thinks it might break. He tries to focus on that rather than on what he’s just said, on the knife-edge he feels like they’re poised on, each word a weight that could unbalance them. 

“Are you?” Michael sounds a little doubtful, and a little sceptical. 

“Yeah.” Michael hums, like he’s mulling something over. 

“Do your bandmates know?” Calum’s heart skips a beat. 

“Know what?” 

“That we talked.” At Glastonbury, while you were drunk and high and out of your fucking mind. You called me pretty, by the way. He doesn’t say any of that, but Calum’s mind tacks it on helpfully anyway. 

“Do yours?” Calum says, deflecting, because his stomach’s bottoming out with the sheer weight of the guilt, of the broken promise. Or was it broken? Calum barely remembers, just remembers the look on Michael’s face, the tiny microexpressions, the glassiness of his eyes. 

“No.” Calum inhales sharply, can’t fucking help himself - Michael’s talking to Calum, and the rest of Blur don’t know. That's got to mean something, even if Calum isn't entirely sure what.

“Oh.” 

“Do they know?” Michael asks again. Calum stares at the hob opposite him, weighing up his answer. 

If he says yes, he’ll be lying, and whatever the fuck him and Michael have going on right now is so fragile that one lie like that will send it all crumbling down, pulverise it so thoroughly that it’ll never be able to be built back up again. If he says no, though, he’ll be doing the same to Oasis, to his best mates, to his career.  There's no right answer.

“Not yet,” he settles on eventually, straddling the line between Oasis and Michael. It’s the truth - he hasn’t told them, but they might find out at some point. 

“Are you going to tell them?” Fucking hell. Trust Michael to pick at the loose thread.

“Maybe. I don’t know.” It’s true, and that’s the best Calum can offer him. 

There’s a moment of silence, neither of them really knowing what to say, and it’s fucking gut-wrenching because Calum’s never had that with Michael. He’d never even had to think about what to say with Michael - he’d just existed, just been, and that was always enough. 

“Luke and Ashton asked about you,” Michael says, and Calum’s breath hitches. 

“Oh?” he says. “How are they?”

“Good,” Michael says. “They’re good.” He pauses for a moment, and then adds: “Luke’s a pilot, now. Or training to be, I think. I don’t know. Ashton’s a teacher.” 

“Oh,” Calum says, voice small. Two of his best mates, in an earlier life; two spotty blonde teenage boys laughing on the beach at Calum splashing Michael in the water, shooting each other furtive glances across crowded rooms, getting high just for an excuse to shotgun. A fucking pilot and a teacher. 

“Yeah,” Michael says. 

“Did they ever get their shit together?” Calum asks. 

“What? Oh, yeah. Fuck, has it been that long?” Michael exhales heavily. “They’ve been together for years.” 

“Oh.” Calum doesn’t know what else to say to that. He’s trying to imagine it; a pilot and a teacher, fucking hell. Maybe Luke brings Ashton little gifts from his trips abroad. Maybe Ashton writes Luke postcards while his pupils work. Who does the cooking? Luke definitely doesn’t clean. Or maybe he does. If Michael’s changed this much, maybe Luke has, too. 

“What about you?” Michael asks. 

“What about me?” Calum’s not sure what Michael’s asking. Michael knows what he’s up to - he’s in Oasis, spending all his money on intoxicants, trying to exist alongside the supernova that’s the Gallagher brothers. 

“Y’know.” Calum doesn’t know. 

“I have no id-” 

“Are you seeing anyone?” Michael says it all in a rush, like it’s taken a lot of courage to say it. It probably has, Calum thinks. He wouldn’t have asked Michael. It’s sort of reassuring, actually, makes something a little warm blossom in his chest, because that’s still so Michael . Michael always blurted out questions, always demanded answers, always kept social etiquette and politeness as an afterthought.

“No,” Calum says. He swallows, and then adds: “Are you?” 

“No.” Good, Calum wants to say, but he doesn’t. He doesn’t have Michael like that anymore; he doesn’t have the right. 

“Why did you call?” he says instead. Michael hesitates. 

“I saw you on TV,” he says eventually. That’s not a reason. 

“Why did you call?” Calum presses. Michael inhales, and doesn’t exhale for a moment.  

“I don’t know,” he admits eventually, on a long, heavy  exhale. Calum doesn’t blame him. None of this really makes sense to him either; the fact he feels like this after five years of not seeing Michael, after four years of not speaking to him, after three years of not thinking about him. He’s not sure why he wants this, whatever this is, not sure why he wants more of Michael, not sure why his heart feels drawn to Michael like it’s north and Michael’s south. 

“Yeah,” Calum says, hoping it conveys I understand. 

“I almost reached out,” Michael says suddenly. “A few times. Over the past year, I mean.”

“Why didn’t you?” 

“Didn’t want to.” 

“Why didn’t you tell your band?” 

“Didn’t know how,” Michael says. Calum gets that too; he’d thought about it as well, entertained the idea, turned it over and over in his mind, but he’d never known what to say. I fucked the guitarist from Blur - I was in love with him actually - and I don’t know why I can’t get him off my mind would probably have sparked even worse reactions than the way it had come out did.

“They seem really protective of you,” Calum says. 

“They are,” Michael says, and there’s a small smile evident in his tone. “Not like yours, though. I don’t think all the money in the world could get Graham to start a fight on my behalf.” Calum can’t help the startled laugh that escapes him. 

“I don’t think all the money in the would could get Liam not to start a fight on my behalf,” Calum says, and Michael huffs out a soft laugh. 

"I'm glad you found such good friends," he says, and the smile is ripped off Calum's face at the jarring reminder that they don't know each other anymore. It sounds so distant, like Michael's content with this arm's-length distance between them, two people who used to know everything about each other and are now making polite small talk.

“Yeah,” Calum says. “I’m glad, too.” He can’t bring himself to say what he really means - I’m sorry it was good enough to take me from you. He doesn’t know if he’ll ever be able to say it. 

“I should go,” Michael says after a minute. Calum wants to say no, don’t, stay, but he forces the words back down and nods, still staring blankly at the hob. 

“Yeah,” Calum says. “Me too.” 

“It was-”

“Don’t,” Calum says abruptly, as his stomach twists. It was nice talking to you. It was nice catching up. He doesn’t want to hear the finality of the words, the forced politeness, the jarring dissonance that is the boy he’d known and loved for so long and the man he is now.  

Michael doesn’t say anything for a moment, and then he sighs. 

“Look,” he says. “I- you don’t-” he cuts himself off, takes a deep breath, and starts again. “D’you want my number?” 

“Do I- uh, yeah,” Calum says, a little stupidly, glancing around wildly for something to write on. 

“I’m on tour for the next few months,” Michael says, as Calum snatches up a recipe his mum had left lying out, and an incredibly unsharpened pencil. “But I’ll- y’know. When I’m home.” I’ll call you. He can’t bring himself to say it, and Calum doesn’t blame him. 

“Okay,” Calum says. 

“You got a pen?”

“Yeah.” Michael rattles off a number, some area code Calum doesn’t recognise, something starting 071. He writes it down hastily, hoping he’s heard it right because he doesn’t want to ask is that five like hive or nine like fine , and then rips the corner of the recipe off and tucks it into his pocket. 

“Got it,” Calum says, dropping the pencil onto the counter with a clatter. “071, where’s that?” 

“London.”

“Oh. Uh. Cool,” Calum says. 

“Well,” Michael says, a touch awkwardly. “See you around, then, yeah?” 

“Yeah,” Calum echoes. There’s one more moment, the two of them listening to each other breathing, a second suspended in time, and then it’s broken by a click and a dial tone. 

Calum puts the phone down a little dazedly, just as his mum wanders into the kitchen. 

“Who was it?” she asks. Calum hesitates, and she raises an eyebrow, which means he’s lost the opportunity to say oh, just a cold call. 

“Michael,” he says, and her eyes widen. 

“Clifford?” she says. He nods. Who the fuck else is it going to be, Michael the sound engineer that had mixed two fucking tracks in Cornwall? “I didn’t know you two still spoke.” 

“We don’t.” Her face softens. 

“Oh, honey,” she says gently, and Calum swallows. He hasn’t told her yet, hasn’t told her about the awards ceremony and Glastonbury, and somehow, he doesn’t quite want to. She seems to sense it, though, because she just sighs and pulls him into a warm, tight hug. Calum wraps his arms around her, closes his eyes and buries his face in her shoulder. Even though he’s half a foot taller than her, even though she only comes up to his collarbone, it still feels like she’s the one protecting him, like he’s small and cocooned in her arms. 

She lets go after a minute, fussing over him messing up his hair, and he groans at her and ducks out of the way of her meddling fingers, but the warm feeling stays, and when she smiles at him and tells him she’s going to bake him his favourite biscuits tomorrow, he feels seventeen again. 

(Or maybe that’s just Michael.) 

  -------

 July and August pass in the blink of an eye.

After Leeds, they have three weeks off. Calum finally fixes the garden wall, and for the first few days, he finds himself jumping every time the phone rings. It’s never Michael though - most of the time it’s one of the brothers, asking whether Calum wants to go to the pub or get high or go out on the pull, and sometimes it’s Alan, reminding him that he’s got to be here on this day at this time and there on that day at that time and is he writing all this down because he’s going to be responsible for getting Liam there too since Noel’s going ahead this time. 

They go down to London for a few days, record a few new versions of songs and one demo of a new song that Noel’s written but isn’t sure about yet. As soon as he’s heard Liam’s vocals on it, though, his eyes light up, and Calum files the bassline away, because he knows it’s going to be on the next album now, no matter how much Noel’s pretending to hum and haw about it. He can’t fucking let Liam have anything, though, so when Liam comes out of the live room, bright-eyed and desperate for Noel’s affirmation, Noel curls his lip and tells him that sounded fucking shite, Christ, you’re almost as useless as Tony. It culminates in a huge fight that Calum and Bonehead manage to duck out of before it begins, only finding out about it when they get woken by a sombre-looking Alan in the middle of the night and informed they’re all being kicked out of the hotel because Liam’s trashed the bar and Noel’s chucked a TV out of the window of his room that landed on the hotel manager’s car.

They play their first show in America on the 21st - their first show outside of Europe - and it goes well. Noel’s not impressed by the country, having toured there with the Inspirals half a decade earlier, but the rest of them are in fucking awe, and Calum catches tiny, fond smiles playing on Noel’s lips when he sees Liam staring at the Statue of Liberty or the Empire State Building, lips parted and eyes wide. 

Noel’s finally managed to get his way on Live Forever too, it seems, because they’re shepherded into Central Park a few days later, half of them hungover and half of them still blind drunk, to film a video. The director seems to be even fucking higher than they are, because he comes up with ideas like Liam singing while sitting on a chair nailed to a wall, and the band take it upon themselves to start suggesting ever more ludicrous ideas, just to see what sticks. Liam throws in chucking a bucket of water over Bonehead, and Calum suggests burying the drum kit, and Noel goes why don’t we just bury the fucking drummer? The director thinks that’s a fucking brilliant idea, inspired, creative, and Noel shoots Calum a look and says wow, is that how easy this is? You just fucking randomly suggest nonsense and people just go and film it?  

(He doesn’t bother showing up for most of the second day of filming, and Calum can’t really blame him.) 

They fly back to the UK and play another festival on the 31st of July, and as Calum passes by one of the posters on the way to the stage he does a double take, because Blur are on there. Liam sees him looking, though, and taps the top of the poster wordlessly as he walks past - Sat 30th July. Calum can’t help the way his stomach sinks at that. Michael was here yesterday, and Calum’s here today. Maybe that’s a sign, he thinks. Maybe fate is trying to tell him something.

Live Forever comes out in early August, and people fucking love it. Calum’s getting stopped in the street in fucking Wolverhampton - Wolverhampton - and asked to sign autographs, which makes his head spin. They’re really fucking making it now, he thinks, when he calls his mum from a payphone and she tells him that they’ve had people turning up at the door asking for interviews. This is what the rise to the top feels like, powered by coke and booze and Noel's guitar. 

They play a festival in Sweden which sees Noel, Liam and Bonehead smashing up a hotel bar with the guys from Primal Scream, who they’d met at T in the Park, and Richard Ashcroft, who they’ve known for years, and once again Calum’s woken up in the middle of the night and informed that they’ve been asked to leave - not just the hotel this time, but the country. He’s driven to the police station where Bonehead, Liam and Noel are being held, and has to stand with the harsh lights hurting his eyes while Alan tries to hash things out with the Swedish police, and then the three fucking delinquents come stumbling out, grinning and reeking of alcohol. 

("Are you trying to get arrested in every single fucking country we visit?" Calum asks Liam, as they make their way to the car.

"No," Liam says, "but that's a fucking mega idea, that." 

Shit.)

They have to film another music video in August, but since it’s for Cigarettes & Alcohol Marcus at the record label lets them bargain the video down from a full on shoot to the filming of a live gig at the Borderline in London and hiring a few pretty faces to mingle with them backstage. It’s not bad, Calum thinks, as Liam hands him a beer and grins drunkenly for the cameras. Slap a fucking black and white filter on it and it’ll look almost intentionally dingy. 

A week after that, the album comes out. 

Calum hadn’t really realised what album releases would entail, but apparently, it’s a lot of fucking interviews. The first few are quite exciting - they’re still not that used to interviews; a few radio shows, a few TV shows, the odd magazine - but after days on end of answering the same questions hour after hour, Calum starts joining Liam for his hourly smoke breaks, just for something to liven the mood. 

They play a show in London the day the album comes out, and Calum finds himself scanning the screaming crowd for blonde hair, pale skin, sea-green eyes, a pretty smile, but Michael’s not there. Calum hadn’t really expected him to be - it’s a small venue, and apparently it’s been sold out for weeks - but it doesn’t stop him feeling disappointed all the same, having to turn to the back of the stage for a minute to collect himself. Tony shoots him a strange look over his hi-hat, but doesn’t say anything, and Calum sends up a quick prayer of thanks that it was Tony and not Noel that had noticed. 

The album goes gold in three days - the fastest-selling debut album in British history - but they barely even have time to celebrate because they’re heading to Sweden again the next day and Alan tells them with an unusually stern expression that he’s had to twist a lot of arms to get them back in and they’re absolutely fucking not allowed to get drunk or high or fight anybody until they’ve been in and out of Sweden. Liam moans and bitches about it but accepts reluctantly, spending the entire journey to Sweden yawning and rubbing his eyes and making sleepy conversation until he falls asleep on Noel’s shoulder. 

The show in Sweden goes off without a hitch, and they’re in Dublin the next day - their first Irish show - and the brothers go fucking mental. Calum joins in for a bit but can’t keep up; two Irish Mancunians in Dublin is far too much for his Australian stomach to handle. Belfast is no better, and the day after that they play the Haçienda in Manchester - one of the most famous clubs in their hometown - and after the three-day-binge even the Gallaghers are worn out and sleep for the majority of the two days they have off before heading to Europe and then to Japan. 

Japan is fucking insane. Fans are swarming around them the minute they step off the plane, drunk off the free little bottles of booze, and the crowd sings their songs back at them louder than any English fans ever have done. Calum’s glad he’s not singing, because he gets choked up when Liam steps away from the microphone for a second during Live Forever and the crowd scream did you ever feel the pain in the morning rain as it soaks you to the bone? He sees Liam’s eyes widen, sees the way he swallows before starting the chorus, sees the way his gaze flits to Noel and they hold each other’s gazes for a split second, something that only the two of them can read in it, and his heart swells with pride and love. God, he fucking loves his job, he loves the music, he loves his band, he loves the fans, he fucking loves it all. 

They’re riding off the high of Japan when they get to America again, due to play a whole host of shows throughout the rest of September until the end of October, when it all goes wrong. 

They’re not made for America, Calum thinks. They gets thrown out of a radio show for swearing live on-air; they get in a fight with the bouncers at some famous club in Hollywood; and one night in LA they even get a visit from the police, who arrive with their guns drawn, because Bonehead won’t stop playing Supersonic with his amp on full volume at six in the morning. Noel cackles when he sees them and tells them to fucking go ahead, shoot the cunt, and Maggie, their poor, overworked, underpaid tour manager, rushes out in her pyjamas and bargains with the police, tries to smooth things over. Calum thinks that’ll be it, that’ll be the big story of the tour, but it’s all overshadowed when they get to the Whisky a Go Go, some famous club that they’re told repeatedly it’s an honour to be playing. 

Oasis being Oasis, they’re looking for coke. Someone procures a bag of white powder at soundcheck, and Liam grabs it greedily and starts cutting it into lines as the rest of the band circle around it like vultures, and as it goes up Calum’s nose he thinks fucking hell, this feels a bit fucking different. He shrugs it off, though, and hands the rolled up dollar bill to Bonehead - maybe American coke’s just stronger.  

It hits him like a fucking train. He’s buzzing with the kind of energy that he’s never had from coke before, higher than he’s ever been before, more euphoric, feels fucking unstoppable, but there’s a dirty edge to it, something gritty and nasty that he just doesn’t like. It’s too late, though, because it’s gone down, and he thinks fucking hell - well, at least it’ll wear off in about half an hour.  

It doesn’t. 

He’s sweating, heart pounding in his chest, vision sharp and blurry at the same time when they get on stage. Everyone else seems to be in a similar situation - Bonehead’s eyes are wide and flitting left to right, right to left, and Liam’s jittery and bouncing on his heels. Noel’s somewhere else completely - he starts playing fucking Bring It On Down when the rest of them start up with Fade Away, and he plays the solo of Supersonic during Cigarettes & Alcohol. They have to play Roll With It one-and-a-half times, because Calum’s bass amp explodes a minute in, and Liam starts shouting at the audience after a crowdsurfer knocks his mic stand over, and then starts shouting at Noel for fucking God knows what, yelling at him to fuck off, until he launches his tambourine at Noel, hitting him on the shoulder, and storms offstage as the set ends. 

Calum heads off dazedly, trying to slow his pounding heart and thinking fucking hell, what the fuck was in that coke? The brothers are still yelling at each other backstage, pupils dilated and faces red, and don’t stop yelling as they’re herded into a car to get back to the hotel, are still screaming at each other as Maggie ushers them up the stairs and into their separate hotel rooms. They each shout a venomous fuck you, you fucking cunt at each other before slamming their doors, and Calum, who’s due to room with Liam that night, decides he’d rather sleep on Bonehead and Tony’s floor than brave that. 

He can’t fucking sleep, though. The high just doesn’t stop. He’s so wired, feels so fucking strung out and awful, barely cognisant of what’s going on around him but hyperaware at the same time and he just wants to fucking sleep, just wants to rest. He can’t, though, and neither can Bonehead or Tony, and they just pace around the room, vibrating with energy, muttering what the fuck do they do to the coke over here, eh? every few minutes. 

Time passes so fucking slowly, every minute inching by painfully, and by the time it’s morning Calum’s starting to finally, finally come down. He feels semi-human by the time the knock on their door for breakfast comes, and wrenches it open, still dressed in last night’s clothes, to find a serious-looking Maggie, a crease between her brows. 

“What?” he says, because he knows, he just knows something’s happened. 

“Noel’s left,” she says. Oh. Well. That’s hardly grounds for a face like that. 

“Will he be back for soundcheck?” Calum asks. 

“He’s gone, Calum.” 

“What d’you mean, he’s gone?” Calum’s not quite getting it.

“He asked for his passport and some money,” Maggie says. “And he’s gone.” Calum stares at her. Noel can’t be gone. He might have left, sure, but he can’t have gone.

“Wha’s tha’?” Bonehead calls groggily, from across the room. He’d come down a few hours ago, managed to force himself to sleep, and he sits up in bed, rubbing his eyes with the heels of his hands. 

“Noel’s gone,” Maggie repeats, a little louder. Tony turns from where he’s sat in the corner of the room, twisting his fingers this way and that, eyes wide. 

“Gone where?” Bonehead asks.

“I don’t know,” Maggie says. 

“What d’you mean, you don’t know?” 

“He’s gone, Bonehead. Took his passport, took some money, and left.” There’s a moment of stunned silence. 

“Does Liam know?” Tony asks. Maggie bites her lip, and shakes her head. 

“I thought I’d tell you first.” 

“Shit,” Bonehead breathes. “He’s gone? ” Maggie nods. 

“Yeah,” she says. “Suitcase and all.” 

Fuck. 

Fuck.  

“Oh, fuck,” Calum mutters, and sits down on the bed. “He’ll come back, though, won’t he?” 

“I don’t know,” Maggie admits. “He sounded pretty certain about it.” 

“Why the fuck did you let him go?” Bonehead demands. 

“I can’t hold him hostage, can I?” Maggie says. “He’s fucking twenty-seven years old.” 

“Shit,” Tony says. “Oh, God. Shit. ” 

“I’m going to tell Liam,” Maggie says, sounding a little nervous about it. She probably should be, Calum thinks distantly, staring unblinkingly at the carpet. Noel’s gone.  

“I’ll come with you,” he finds himself saying, more for Liam’s sake than Maggie’s. He stands up robotically, completely on autopilot, and follows her out of the room, leaving Bonehead and Tony in shocked silence. 

Liam answers his door on the first knock, already awake and showered, and his face falls when he sees it’s not Noel. Oh, God. The kid’s going to be fucking beside himself. 

“Can we come in?” Maggie says, aiming for sweet. Liam’s eyes narrow. 

“What’s happened?” he says. Maggie hesitates. 

“Noel’s gone,” she says softly, after a moment. 

“Where to?” 

“He’s gone, Liam,” Calum says. The words feel strange on his lips. Noel can’t be gone, not now, not when they’re finally getting somewhere. Not without fucking saying anything to them. 

“Where?” 

“We don’t know,” Maggie says, still gentle, still kind, still trying to soften the blow. Liam looks about five years old, damp hair plastered to his face, eyes wide and shining with something that looks like fear, maybe, or loss, or rejection. Or maybe all of them with a sheen of anxiety. 

“Fuck,” he says, but he doesn’t sound angry. “Is he going to be okay? Is he alright? Did you speak to him?” 

“He just asked for his passport and some money,” Maggie says. 

“But he’s okay?” 

“I- he seemed okay, yeah, but-”

“Okay,” Liam says, like he’s trying to steady himself. “When’s he coming back?” 

“I-” Maggie cuts herself off, and takes a deep breath. “I think he’s gone for good, Liam.” 

Calum can see it, the moment it registers in Liam’s mind, sees it in the way his eyes widen and his lips part, in the panic that rises in his eyes. 

“He’s not,” Liam says, like he’s trying to convince himself. “He wouldn’t fucking do that.” 

“He’s gone,” Maggie says again, softer than before, and then reaches inside her coat pocket. “He left you a letter.” Liam stares down at the folded envelope in her hand, and then snatches it and shuts the door in both of their faces. 

They stand there for a moment, and then Maggie turns to Calum. 

“Well,” she says, like she’s bracing herself. “That could’ve gone worse.” 

“Yeah,” Calum says vaguely, still staring at the door. 

It couldn’t be worse, though. 

  -------

  Alan tells them not to worry, for the first few days. Noel’s disappeared before, and he’s quit before, and he always comes back. 

So they try not to worry. Bonehead starts drinking at eleven in the morning, and Calum tries not to worry. Tony and Maggie have hushed conversations under their breath, and Calum tries not to worry. Liam doesn’t leave his room, and Calum tries not to worry. 

They get a fucking bollocking about the gig from Alan, from Marcus, from fucking Maggie, even, but it feels hollow because they all know they’re not going to get the only bollocking that really matters - the one from Noel. They sit there silently while Alan rages about how embarrassing it was, while Marcus runs through numbers and statistics about sales and how they’re going to be affected, while Maggie gives them disappointed looks and says really, snorting meth hours before a concert, what were you thinking?  

Yeah. They’d snorted fucking meth. Some absolute fucking idiot - William John Paul Gallagher - had mistaken meth for coke. It’s why they were absolutely out of their fucking minds, why Calum hadn’t been able to sleep that night, and why Liam and Noel’s argument had been more ferocious than usual. It might also explain why all of this feels even more overwhelming than usual, why the comedown feels like it’s just not going away, why whenever Calum walks past Noel’s empty hotel room he feels like he’s suffocating. 

By the third day, even Calum’s at a loss. He’s been getting out of the hotel, going for long walks and getting lost and having to ask for directions to get back, standing by the sea and breathing in the salty air to try and clear his mind. He’s worried about Noel, more than anything - Noel doesn’t usually leave without saying anything, without getting the last word in, which is what makes this feel all the more real, like this is the time it’s going to stick. 

Although, Calum thinks, maybe Noel did get the last word. He’d written a letter to Liam, after all; maybe he’d said something in there about where he was going, what he was doing, something that makes this whole situation make any sort of sense. Maybe Liam knows something the rest of them don’t. 

He knocks on Liam’s door after he doesn’t show up for lunch again, and Liam answers, looking a little dishevelled, and a lot drunk. 

“What?” he says dully. 

“What did the letter say?” Calum asks. Liam stares at him for a minute, and then opens the door enough to let Calum walk in. 

The room’s a fucking tip. Liam’s clothes are strewn all over the floor - which, granted, isn’t exactly new - and Calum can see white powder residue on the coffee table, the desk, even the fucking bedside table. Next to the smudges of powder on the bedside table is the letter Noel had left, rolled up tightly, but creased all over. Liam’s been reading it, using it to snort drugs, smoothing it out and reading it again, rinse and repeat. 

Calum sighs, and sits down on the chair next to Liam’s bed, throwing him a doleful look. Noel’s Calum’s best friend, sure, and Calum’s not got a clue what to do without him, but he’s Liam’s brother. His flesh and blood, the boy who held Liam’s hand while he crossed the road, who nursed him through his first black eye, who writes songs with lyrics like please, brother, let it be, after a fight. Liam's never not had Noel looking out for him - through exasperation and curses and fists connecting with jaws, but there nonetheless.  Liam hasn’t got a chance without Noel.

Liam throws himself down on the bed and stares up at the ceiling, and Calum puts his hand on Liam’s shin, fingers resting lightly against rough denim. I’m here, he’s trying to say, but it feels hollow to the both of them, because he’s not Noel. 

“What did he say?” Calum asks again. Liam stares up at the ceiling, blinks once, and then opens his mouth. 

“He told me he loved me,” he says. Calum’s stomach twists. That’s not a good thing, not from Noel. He’d never say that, least of all to Liam, unless what he was trying to say was goodbye. 

“Oh,” Calum says, and tries not to let the panic seep into his voice. “Did he say where he was going?” Liam shakes his head. 

“Just a bunch of shite about how can we be brothers anymore, blah blah blah,” he says, voice rising mockingly on Noel’s words. Anger works for Liam, especially where Noel’s concerned. It’s the only way he knows how to feel about Noel. “Can’t do this anymore, it’s not me it’s you, all that breakup bullshit.” 

“What about your mum?” Calum says, even though he knows the answer to that, because Alan’s been calling Peggy pretty much every hour. Liam shakes his head. 

“She’s fucking beside herself,” he says, fury licking at the edges of his tone. “I get doing it to me, up and leaving like that, because that’s us, innit, but to mam? I’ll fucking kill the prick myself if I ever see him again.” He doesn’t mean it, but Calum lets him pretend that they both believe it. 

“You should eat,” Calum says, after a moment of silence.

“Probably,” Liam says, to the ceiling. He blinks up at it one more time, and then rolls onto his side. 

“He’s a fucking cunt,” he announces, but he doesn’t sound convinced, and his voice wavers a little. Calum sighs and reaches his hand out, and Liam extends his own to lace his fingers with Calum’s, blinking at him with glassy, tired eyes. 

“I didn’t mean to,” he says, and his voice is definitely wobbly now. “I didn’t mean to push him away. I love him.”

“I know,” Calum says, and squeezes Liam’s hand in what he hopes is a reassuring manner. “He knows, too.”

“I wouldn’t’ve said it if I knew,” Liam says, swallowing hard. “I wouldn’t’ve been such a cunt.” 

“Yeah, you would’ve,” Calum says, but it’s not unkind. “That’s how you two are.” 

“Cain and Abel.” 

“Doesn’t Cain kill Abel?” 

“Isn’t Noel killing me?” Calum’s not really sure what to say to that. He supposes, in a way, Liam’s right. One of them’s got to fall off the tightrope at some point, and Liam’s never going to push Noel. And Liam would be all too happy to fall off, if it were for Noel.

“He needs you,” he says eventually. “He’s always needed you.” 

“Does he fuck,” Liam says flatly. 

“He’d never let anyone but you sing his songs,” Calum says. “That’s the highest praise you can get from Noel.” Liam’s silent for a moment, because he knows Calum’s right, and then he sighs again, loud and heavy.

“I’m hungry,” he says, and Calum closes his eyes in relief. "I want fish and chips."

“Order room service,” Calum suggests. Liam blinks at him. 

"Do they do fish and chips?"

"They will if you offer them enough money." Liam hums, like he's thinking about it.

“Will you stay?” he asks lowly. Calum hesitates, and then nods. 

“‘Course I will,” he says, and gives Liam’s hand another squeeze. Liam smiles at him, small but genuine. 

“Love you,” he says. Calum smiles back, soft and fond. 

“Love you too,” he says. 

“Enough to find me good fish and chips in LA?” Liam says hopefully, and Calum laughs. 

“Nowhere near enough for that,” he says, and Liam sighs dramatically, but he’s smiling too, which is the best Calum can hope for.

  -------

 A few hours later, while searching for a pack of cigarettes, Calum comes across the spare room key to Noel’s room that Noel had pressed in his hand wordlessly on their first night. Calum hadn’t really been sure what to make of it - was it an invitation for late-night songwriting, or the first acknowledgement of that night a few years ago either of them have ever made? - but it hadn’t even mattered, because Noel had left so soon anyway. 

He’s heading to the room before he’s even really thought about it, unlocking the door and taking in the too-empty, too-clean room. The bed’s been perfectly made by the staff, nothing like the slapdash job Noel usually does, and there’s no suitcase with clothes spilling out of it kicked in the corner of the room, no shoes strewn across the floor as Noel had kicked them off on his way to the bed. It’s almost overwhelming, to know that this room housed the decision that could end Calum’s career, and that this is the last connection he could ever have to Noel. It feels almost suffocating, like the walls are too big and too white for Calum, and he finds himself sitting down on the bed and reaching for the phone before he’s really thought through what he’s doing. 

He’d memorised the number, of course. He hadn’t really meant to; he’d just read the little scrap of paper so often that it had stuck. He barely even hesitates as he dials, chest so heavy with the crushing weight of the empty room, of the silence Noel's left in his wake. 

The phone rings four times and Calum doesn’t even realise his fist is clenched until there’s a click and a shuffling sound, and his fingers relax.

“Hello?” Michael sounds casual, relaxed, a little sleepy. Calum clutches the receiver to his ear. “Hello?” Michael repeats. 

“Michael.” He hears a sharp intake of breath. 

“Calum?” Michael says. “Aren’t you in America?” 

“Yeah.” 

“Fucking hell. You’d better make this quick, then.” He doesn’t hang up, though, which is something. Calum just listens to him breathing for a minute, not really sure what he actually wants to say, or if he wants to say anything at all. 

“Calum?” Michael says, jolting him back to reality. 

“Noel’s gone,” Calum says. 

“What d’you mean, he’s gone? Where?”

“Dunno.” There’s a pause.

“You lost your songwriter?” 

“He’s gone. Left.” Michael inhales deeply. 

“Where? Where’d he go?” 

“We don’t know.” Michael exhales. 

“Oh, Calum,” he says, and he sounds sorry and sad. Calum’s eyes flutter shut, trying to soak in the sound of his voice. 

“I-” Calum cuts himself off, because he doesn’t actually know what he’s trying to say. 

“I’m sorry,” Michael says, and he sounds like he means it. 

“Are you?” Calum can’t help but ask, a little bitterly. If Michael rang him and said Damon had left Blur, Calum would probably feel honour-bound to tell Noel. Or, he wouldn’t, now. Fuck. 

“Are you seriously asking me that?” Michael says, tone a little hard. Calum puts his head in his hands. 

“I don’t know,” he mumbles. 

“Why did you call me if you think that?” 

“I don’t know,” Calum says again, hearing the hopelessness in his own voice. “I just- I don’t know.” Michael sighs. 

“How’s Liam taking it?” he says. He’s trying, Calum can tell. He’s trying, for Calum’s sake. 

“Fucking terribly,” Calum admits. “Noel wrote him a letter.” 

“A letter?” 

“Yeah. A- a fucking, like, goodbye note, I don’t know. He’s a mess.” 

“Jesus.” Michael hesitates for a moment, and then adds: “What happened?” 

“Him and Liam had a fight,” Calum says. “And we played a fucking awful gig in LA.” 

“Don’t they fight all the time?” 

“Yeah.” 

“Why this time, then?” Calum shrugs. 

“We did meth,” he says. 

“You- you did meth? ” Michael sounds horrified. “ Calum, fucking-” 

“We thought it was coke,” Calum says. 

“How the fuck- ” 

“I don’t fucking know, Liam’s a fucking idiot,” Calum says, even though he’d put the stuff up his nose too. 

“Fucking hell,” Michael breathes. “Alright. Jesus. And Noel just- just, what, took off?” 

“Yeah,” Calum says, gut twisting at the words. “Took his passport and some money and left.” 

“Passport?” Michael says. “Did he go home?” 

“No.” There’s a pause. 

“Fuck.” 

“Yeah,” Calum agrees, and it sounds listless, but he means it with every fibre of his fucking being. 

“I’m sorry, Calum,” Michael says softly. Calum blinks at the wall. 

“Yeah,” he says again. “Thanks.” Michael sighs. 

“What are you going to do now?” he says. 

“I have no fucking idea,” Calum says, the words acrid in his mouth. What the fuck are they going to do now? None of the rest of them can fucking write, can they? Not like Noel, at least. 

“Are you going to finish the tour?” 

“I don’t know, Michael,” Calum says. All the questions are making his head hurt. He hasn’t even thought that far ahead, hasn’t really considered anything beyond where the fuck is Noel, I hope Noel’s alright, I’m going to fucking kill Noel. He doesn’t even know if they’d be allowed to play Noel’s songs - there’s got to be some kind of legal bullshit about royalties involved, hasn’t there? God, Noel’s always handled that stuff. Calum’s never read a fucking contract in his life, just signed where Noel told him to sign. Noel had been the one to sort out their management, to negotiate the record deal, to get the contracts for the tours. Who the fuck are Oasis without him? 

“Hey,” Michael says gently. “It’ll be alright.” 

“Will it?” 

“Yeah.” Michael has nothing to back his words up, no events or facts he can point to and say see, it’ll be fine, but somehow, Calum believes him. Maybe because he wants to believe him, with every scrap of his soul, or maybe just because it’s Michael. 

“Thanks,” Calum says, and it comes out tired. Michael just hums in response, and they lapse into silence. It’s not uncomfortable, though, not like the last time Michael had been at the other end of a phone line. They’re existing in tandem, and it feels like something slotting into a place that Calum didn’t know was empty.

“I can’t believe you did meth ,” Michael says after a while, in disbelief, and Calum can’t help the way his lips hitch up in a faint smile. 

“I didn’t mean to,” he says. 

“Y’know, the tabloids aren’t wrong about you,” Michael says, and there’s a smile in his voice too. He’s teasing Calum. “Always calling you a bunch of hooligans. Taking meth because you think it’s coke, fucking hell.” 

Calum huffs out a laugh, fingers curling around the receiver as his heart flips in his chest. Michael reads about him in the papers. 

“That’s just Liam,” he says. 

“So you weren’t deported from Sweden?” 

“Well-”

“Exactly,” Michael says, and Calum can hear him grinning.

“That was because of Liam,” Calum says. He pauses, and then adds: “And Noel. And Bonehead.” Michael laughs, soft and melodic, and for one split, giddy second Calum thinks fuck, I want to spend the rest of my life hearing you laugh. He’s sure he doesn’t mean it, though. It’s probably the fucking days-long comedown, and the fact he’s feeling Noel’s absence like nothing else. It's the first time he's heard someone laugh since Noel left, after all.

“I can’t believe that’s what I’m up against,” Michael says, and it’s still soft and amused, but Calum can hear the slight tinge of sadness to it. 

“Yeah,” Calum says, smile fading. “That’s your competition.” Michael exhales heavily, and Calum thinks they might be thinking the same thing. How did we go from us to competition?

“Why did you call me?” Michael asks. Calum’s fingers twitch against the phone. 

“I don’t know,” he says. “I just- I don’t know.” He hesitates, and then adds: “Why did you call me? After Top of the Pops, I mean.”

“I don’t know,” Michael says. He’d said the same thing two months ago. But, two months ago he hadn’t added what he does this time: “D’you really want to do this now?” 

“Do what?” Calum says. 

“Talk about this. Us. Now.” Calum swallows. 

“No,” he says. He never wants to talk about it. He wants to walk the edge of this precipice forever, doesn’t ever want Michael to say c’mon, let’s jump, because he doesn’t know what he’ll find at the bottom. He doesn’t know whether Michael’s just biding his time, waiting until they can have their big what happened to us? talk to say everything that he’s thought for the past five years, get it all off his chest, and then fuck off and leave. He’d be well within his rights to, Calum thinks, but that doesn’t stop the mere thought of it from making his heart ache. 

“Okay,” Michael says. “But we-” he’s interrupted by Calum and Liam’s door slamming open. Calum starts in surprise, phone slipping out of his fingers, and whips around to see Bonehead standing in the doorway.

“We’ve found him,” Bonehead says breathlessly. “He’s in San Diego.” 

“You’ve found him?” Calum repeats. “What? How?”

“Maggie got his phone bills and traced all the numbers,” Bonehead says. “Found one in San Diego. Remember that girl, whatsherface, Leah? Dunno, doesn’t matter, we’ve found him. ” 

“And?” Calum says, heart in his mouth. “Did you talk to him? Is he okay? Is he coming back?” 

“Yeah,” Bonehead says, grinning widely. “He’s coming back.” 

“Oh, thank fuck,” Calum mutters, stomach somersaulting. “Does Liam know?” Bonehead’s smile falters. 

“Yeah,” he says. Oh. Noel’s going to have fucking hell to pay. 

“Oh,” Calum says. Bonehead looks at him for a moment, both of them thinking the same thing - there’s going to be fucking fireworks - and then he grins again.

“Well,” he says, “at least we’ve got our fucking songwriter back, eh?” 

“Yeah,” Calum says, and laughs, a little lightheaded. Fucking hell. Noel’s coming back. 

“Bonehead!” he hears someone yell - Liam, he thinks - and Bonehead sticks his head back out of the door. 

“Aye?” 

“...go out...fish and chips...you ask Calum?” is all he can make out. Bonehead casts a glance over at Calum. 

“Fancy going out for tea?” he says. “Liam reckons he’s found a chippy.” Calum raises his eyebrows. Fucking hell. Might as well have one last supper before Noel gets back and all hell breaks loose. 

“Alright,” he says, and gets up to leave, making the phone clatter to the floor. He picks it up hastily, and Bonehead frowns at him. 

“Who’ve you been talking to?” he says. Calum clutches the receiver to his chest. 

“No one,” he says. “Was going to ring my mum.” Bonehead’s face doesn’t clear, and his eyes narrow, like he’s trying to work something out. Shit, it’s fucking three in the morning in England, isn’t it? Fuck. 

“Bonehead!” Calum hears Liam yell again, sounding more aggravated this time, and Bonehead sighs in exasperation and turns back around. 

“Fucking hell, who the fuck are you, my missus?” Bonehead yells back. “I”m fucking coming, don’t get your knickers in a twist.” 

“I’ll just-” Calum motions at the bed vaguely, hoping it’ll come across like he’s got some final organising to do - fucking make the already-pristine bed, or something, anything to make Bonehead leave so he can hang up on Michael - and Bonehead just nods, already halfway out of the door and on his way to Liam. 

Calum brings the receiver back up to his ear, ready to make some excuse to Michael, but all he hears is a dial tone. 

Michael’s already gone. 

taglist: @callmeboatboy @sadistmichael @clumsyclifford @angel-cal @tirednotflirting @cthofficial @tigerteeff @haikucal @queer-5sos @i-am-wierd-always @stupidfuckimgspam @bloodyoathcal @pixiegrl @pxrxmoore @currentlyupcalsass @clumthood

if you’d like to be added to my taglist pls fill in this form! 

chapter five

[anyu-blue]

~

I'm just venting here cuz I don't have anyone to really vent to right now.

I know I'm being 'too much' and 'over the top' again... I know I'm throwing a hissy fit I don't need to, and I recognize I'm hurting at least one person with it.

But God damn I'm pissed and I guess I want to be pissed.

There's so much I want to do and so much I feel obligated to do and more... A lot of what I want to do... I just don't have the energy for. I wanted to make all these custom cards for my family since I should be able to ship stuff out this week... But I pulled Everything out and found... I just really didn't want to put that effort in..I mean I REALLY do... But just... Everything was turning out terrible. I'm honestly shocked I managed the 14 for my ex's family for Christmas... I want to do it... But at the same time I don't.

Cuz what's the point? All that effort.. all that care.. when I could just buy them a stupid card instead. So I'll go buy them a card... Because my eldest and younger sister decided to head to the grocery store without me and now I have to steal the car right when I'm off work to do my own necessary shopping anyway (or risk not being able to go at all this week). All because they were nearly out of toilet paper and Tevie wanted to get me cash for her car insurance bill...

Now I wouldn't be so mad except... They didn't even ask if I had extra toilet paper in my bathroom, which I do. AND I told Tevie that she didn't have to worry- I have enough to cover the insurance for her car.

But no. She just HAD to go today so I could have the money by tomorrow when it pulls!!! Um... Tomorrow (technically today, now) is SUNDAY. How the FUCK am I supposed to deposit the $ into my account like she wants when it's a freaking Sunday?! Or or at all when uh.. she has the car until like... 7pm every day anyway?!

Uuuugh... I already told her too, I'm not depositing Anything unless I absolutely need to either. Which I don't cuz I just got paid. AND I told her her insurance will be a part of what she pays me (if she does) for all her other bills!! If I got it I got it. What part of that is so hard to understand?

Apparently all of it...

Or none of it, but it doesn't matter because she doesn't pay attention to stuff like that anyway. Literally just does whatever she wants.. and you know what? I know that's absolutely fine. Sure it inconveniences me because, well, I needed to go to the store too (and told her as such), and had nothing for dinner while they fed themselves again (didn't even ask me AND used a service I have/can get free stuff with if they use my account like I've asked EVERY SINGLE TIME we've EVER used it!!!). (Why did I EVER cook and feed them so much? I was 100% right in that they have no interest in doing the same. They BARELY cook for themselves!! And you can probably already guess what I'm going to say about it... It's all JUNK!!! Cheeto mac and cheese, ramen, air fried chicken and fries, microwaved meals- you should see our pantry right now. Almost entirely instant meals and it makes me want to vomit. What's not instant is the stuff I picked out/ingredients that have just sat since I stopped cooking.. you should see our FRIDGE right now!! Not a vegetable or fruit in sight!! It's all warm fruit cups for Tevie and idek what W0lfie eats to get her vitamins and nutrients- cuz the vitamins I bought haven't been touched except for by me, Though I told them it would be a good idea of they took some each week too.. I'd wager she doesn't!! And that's partly why she's so gd MISERABLE all the time!! She doesn't take care of herself!!)

But in reality it's whatever. Technically Tevie did nothing wrong. She's just living her life how she wants to live it. Who cares about wasting more gas? Apparently not Tevie even though she told me she did... Apparently that's out the window. Who cares about my needs? Apparently not Tevie Though I've been fighting with our property managers and walking her through every gd adulting problem she has (I'm even supposed to help her with her taxes AGAIN cuz she can't do it) and taking care of the house and all the paperwork and all the phonecalls and everything... So it's not like I've been looking out for her and our little sister at all 🙄 or thinking of them and trying to make THEIR lives easier or nothing.

They don't owe me anything obviously... Not even the requests I made of them to do particular adulting tasks on their own (like put in a simple maintenance request, or cover up the open window downstairs, or even buy the materials so I could take care of that stupid problem better than I already have with the shit we had on hand).... It's up to them if they want to follow through. And they don't. Like ever. Because it'll just be done by me because I actually DO care about how much our power bill is.. Tevie sait she does and then pulls that shit. W0lfie says she does and then pulls the shit like letting her room get ULTRA cold- which guess what happens when she opens her door for the day? You guessed it. The temp of the house goes down and the heat/furnace churns and chugs to make up for it.

I'm so FUCKING DONE.. but guess what? I CAN'T be. I'm not even supposed to be pissed about this stuff!! I'm the bad guy!! Because I'm mad!! Because I can't just let it go or deal with it quietly. Or not be a bother.

GOD DAMN IT I AM SO SICK OF BEING/GOING QUIETLY

I HAVE BEEN QUIET AND CALM AND SWEET AND WORKED MY ASS OFF IN THE WAYS I CAN FOR SO FUCKING LONG

I AM THE REASON THEY HAVE THE SHIT THEY DO!! THE ROOF OVER THEIR HEADS, TEVIE'S CAR, LOWER BILLS (not just because I pay my part, but because I literally put in all the work to make sure stuff is taken care of and that I don't use excess/as much as I want or need sometimes), PAID BILLS (EVERYTHING comes out of my account. I've asked Tevie to do it. Several times. To set it up or to even just pay it once or twice... Has she ever? No. Not even when I showed her how and offered to write it all down for the future- and still she comes back at me like 'well you put them in your name' like, bitch... The water bill HAD to be in my name because at the time they only set it up in person!! Doesn't mean you can't pay it!! All the information is RIGHT THERE!!! You have my permission!!! In fact I've ASKED you to!! And the internet- we switched it to my name so it would lower AND give us a better speed!! And autopay gives us a discount anyway- Something YOU approved of!! And GUESS WHAT? The power ISN'T in my name!! It's in yours!!! Why on EARTH do you still expect me to pay it every single time?! It's not even on autopay!!! And the car insurance.. well SORRY if you have a wreck on your record that would make the premium double or triple what it is now!!! I did that for you!! I even called and asked and compared and did EVERYTHING FOR YOU YOU WOULDN'T/COULDN'T!!! And the cellphones are in my name because years ago when we GOT the plan you didn't have a credit score which was REQUIRED... Guess who did?! ME!! So guess who did all that and set up autopay so we wouldn't get charged $20 more a month?! It's not like we COULDN'T change these things, YOU just DON'T want to deal with it OR you want those discounts and agreed to it in the first place- so your 'well they're all you're responsibility Because they're in your name' is BULLSHIT), EXTRA MONEY EVERY MONTH, EVEN TEVIE'S BANK ACCOUNT, EVERY DOCTOR/DENTIST/SPECIALIST SHE HAS EVER SEEN AFTER OUR MOTHER WAS KICKED TO THE CURB... Even W0lfie is not exempt... Because what I don't do for her, she goes to her mom to take care of. And she's told me things and I've had to ask why she hasn't taken care of it. Well. She either doesn't know how (and in some instances refused to learn cuz it happens again), or was just going to suffer through it because she assumed that was what was right (without asking anyone or even GOOGLING the information)... Gods... Half my 'knowledge' comes from google and checking at least two or three sights and sources before I act... I feel like I'm the only one in my house who has that skill despite the top-notch cellphones and computers and shit laying around everywhere. Despite my little sister literally building her computer... Can't adult life at ALL...

And I just... I just...

I'm so mad and upset.

I want to have the carefree lives they have some days... But then I realize someone wild have to be doing all the shit I do for them for me... And then I get depressed Because literally no one would or will. Even Lon didn't... He took care of his bills sure... But everything else? Well.. unless I asked him to step up, he never would.. and he to never would more than the day I asked. Another red flag I shouldn't have let slide...

No matter how sick I get. No matter how crazy I go... It's still all up to me. I don't have people I can go to to ask to do these things and know they will... I have tos er Everything up and do all the work or it never happens. Especially not more than once.

I hate nagging... And I'm just the bad guy if I try anyway.

Idk what the point even is anymore. I hate my life.

I want so badly to love it and be happy to be around... But I just want to disappear and see what happens when that happens. Would they step up? I mean they'd HAVE to and then I'd be the bad guy again... But ugh...

None of this is easy. None of this is easy especially when all alone.

Few people reach out to me... The ones that do are just as overburdened as I am and can barely talk too because they're so busy... But we try...

I appreciate every one of them/you and I feel awful I'm so drained I can barely say thank you or reply.

I know what it's like... I do... Maybe I don't 100% know the specifics of the reasons behind what you're feeling, but I can feel it with you.

I'm trying. I'm angry. I'm tired... But I'm trying my best.

[shianhygge-imagines]

Silver Rose [Vergil/Reader] {Devil May Cry} Gifts

AN: Been a little more than a while since I posted the last part to this. It’s a bit long... so I hope it makes up for my slight absence. The personal assistant gig is pretty sweet, although commuting so early in the morning is a pain the ass.

Basic summary: The background behind Reader’s gun, the Silver Rose

|Masterlist Link|    |First Chapter|    |Prev. Ch.| --- |Next Ch.|

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The gifts started arriving to your Red Grave City residence nearly three years after Vergil disappeared into the Underworld. You’d returned to your home after Dante had convinced you to take a break to find a single rose on your bed pillow. It was a beautiful, unassuming rose with all the thorns carefully cut off, though your gaze found interest in the royal blue ribbon tied to its stem.

At the time, you’d darted out of the room to seek out Dante, who was busy taking a sip of water from a clean glass. “Dante? You didn’t… leave anything in my room, right?”

“Hm?” Dante hummed, slowly swallowing the mouthful of water, “Uh, no. I actually didn’t know you decided to have a home in Red Grave.”

“Well, while I love the house, I didn’t pick it. Ver-” your breathe hitched as you darted out of the room, “Vergil!”

“Wait! Y/N!” Dante called after you, following close behind in worry. “What about Vergil?”

“This!” you answered as you made the last few steps towards the bed, picking up rose and gingerly touching the ribbon. “The color seemed familiar, and Vergil’s the only one besides you and I who know about this house.”

“So you think he’s out of Hell?” Dante guessed, tipping his head to the side in question.

“Either that… or someone’s playing a very cruel joke on me.” You whispered, gingerly clutching the rose to your chest. “And maybe I’m being naive or purposefully dense, but I don’t want to think that someone could be so cruel.”

“I hate to break it to you, Y/N. But if Vergil’s back, I think he needs to stay away for a while.” Dante’s ocean blue eyes glanced down to stare at your abdomen. “Even if you still love him, what he did to you was just wrong. If you love someone, you don’t hurt them.”

“Vergil is…” you wanted to give an excuse for you husband’s behavior, but found that the words felt bitter on your tongue. Resigned, you gave a heavy sigh and sat back on the bed. “You’re right. I can’t keep making up excuses for his actions. And I have to hold him accountable for his actions.”

“So… what are you going to do? Are you going to go look for whoever left you that rose?”

You shook your head, though held the rose to you possessively, “No… If they wanted to talk to me, then they have to come here and wait for me. Maybe I won’t move on from loving Vergil, but I’m not just going to sit here and wait.”

True to your word, you’d moved on with life, taking up several demon hunting jobs alongside Dante to varying degrees of success. When Vergil… or your admirer didn’t show their face, you’d simply pushed the gift to the back of your mind, hoping that it was just a one time thing.

In hindsight, you should have known better.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A year after the first gift, you’d returned home to find another gift waiting for you. This time, it was a neatly wrapped box placed upon your bedroom vanity. It was an unassuming thing, the size of a small pot, but wrapped in tasteful silver parchment with a royal blue bow as decoration.

At the time, you’d glanced at Dante in suspicion since he’d been the one to escort you home, but your brother in law had merely shrugged, “It wasn’t from me, I swear!”

Puzzled, you’d continued to stare at the present until Dante asked, “So… are you going to open it?”

Dante seemed to have been bursting with excitement for you, though you didn’t share his enthusiasm. “It’s a strange package on my vanity, Dante. What if it’s booby trapped?”

The younger twin snorted in amusement, “You said ‘booby,’’’

You weren’t impressed and you made it known. “Dante… please? Don’t you find this a little strange?”

“We hunt demons for a living, Y/N. Our whole life is considered strange.” Dante scoffed before pouting when you settled a stern gaze on him. “Oh, fine. My keen devil ears don’t hear any mechanic inside, so it’s not a bomb. As for a demon trap… well,” he quickly summoned Rebellion, “If something happens, I’ll take care of it. Now come on! I wanna see what’s inside.”

Apprehensively, you picked the delicate package up, hoping that it wouldn’t explode. It was heavier than expected, though still light enough where you could comfortably toss it in your hand. You could hear Dante shift in anxiousness as you pulled on the ribbon holding the bow together, tossing it back onto your vanity before peeling away the layer of silver paper. The box underneath the paper was equally as unassuming with its matte black coloring and cloth. It was almost like it was… when you flipped the lip open, you gasped in surprise at the sapphire necklace nestled in the box.

“Holy shit.” Dante whistled lowly.

“Umhnnn.” You agreed, speechless at the size of the main jewel and of the diamonds decorating the sides.

“You have a rich admirer.”

“…” Y/N.exe has stopped working

“Y/N?”

“Yahuh?”

“I think it’s from the same person that left you the rose.”

“… Me, too.”

You needed better security in your home.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

After the last gift, you’d sat down with Dante to figure out who or what kept breaking into your home to leave gifts. It was impossible to try and figure out who or what they were as all the detective work in the world didn’t make a difference when your admirer left no trace of themselves. With no clue on narrowing down a person, Dante suggested looking at the dates that the two gifts appeared.

You were always gone on jobs when it was your birthday, so you’d never put two and two together. That the gifts always seemed to appear after your birthdays.

Against Dante’s wishes, you’d resolved to confront your admirer, making sure to have Lady drag him off on a mission so that your brother in law wouldn’t suddenly appear on your doorstep. Still, Dante couldn’t help but worry, making you promise to call him every day so that he could check up on you.

So, you did what you had to.

For a whole year, you prepped for your twenty-fifth birthday, knowing that the truth might be a disappointment… might be a mistake.

But you were going to risk it.

You simply had to know.

Eleven months seemed to fly by so quickly, and then it was a month before your birthday. True to your word, you’d taken a break from your work, opting to stay in Red Grave City and wait.

“Yeah… I’m doing fine, Dante… no… still no sign of anything.” You muttered the answers as you stared outside your bedroom window, watching the rain pour down and lightning crackle in the sky. “I’m starting to get a bit on edge from the waiting, though.”

Your birthday was a few minutes away, but you were tired and weary, having psyched yourself out the entire day.

“I think you should get some shut eye, Y/N. I get that Mr. Mystery might pop in and stuff, but you should dead on your feet.” From the other end of the line, you could hear Dante firing off Ebony and Ivory, not even bothering to give the fight much of his attention. “Sleep with Tostsuka beside you, okay? Just in case…”

“Just in case I get pounced on in my sleep?”

“Don’t even joke about that, Y/N.” Dante growled, not wanting to think about such a situation.

“…sorry.” You apologized, bashfully lowering your head even though you knew that Dante couldn’t see it.

“…I just want you to be safe, Y/N. So, please… just… exercise some caution.” Dante pleaded, and you could hear the desperation in his tone.

“Okay. I won’t do anything reckless.”

“Good. I better hang up now. Gotta practice what I preach and all that.” Dante laughed before whispering affectionately, “Happy Birthday, Y/N. I’ll see you soon.”

The line hung up before you could reply, though you still smiled and whispered to yourself, crawling into bed. “Be safe, you dingus.” Eyes getting heavier, you used the last of your energy to switch the bedside lamp off before falling asleep, bringing a peaceful darkness with the calming sounds of a thunderstorm.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Patter patter pat pat patter

It was well into the night, and the rain still pelted the world outside the safety of your lonely home, when a figure seemed to materialize into your bedroom out of nowhere. There was silence in the room aside from the rain and thunder. There was no light except for the flashes of lightning from the storm. And for the longest while, the figure simply stood at the center of your room, watching your peacefully dreaming face as if enchanted.

Ba-BoOM

A particularly loud crack of thunder bellowed outside, and you jolted in your sleep, eyes opening in annoyance as you turned to your side, wanting to settle back into the peaceful darkness. When you turned, however, your eyes met the dark form stood in the middle of your room, and you froze. Holy shit.

Hidden under Vergil’s pillow, your hand gripped the handle of your blade just in case the figure moved to harm. But minutes passed, and the figure had yet to make any movements, just standing there and, despite the fact that the helm betrayed nothing about them, you could tell that it was staring at you.

“W-who-?”

You weren’t given a chance to finish the question when the figure moved forward, as if awakened by your voice. It was fast despite the clanking of its armor, and before you could even sit up, it was knelt at the side of your bed, its hands reaching forward to present a gift, this time the size of a shoe box, but still wrapped in tasteful wrapping paper and a blue ribbon.

“You’re the one leaving the gifts for me?” The question was out of your lips without so much as a stutter.

The figure… the man, did not so much as utter a reply, only continuing to stare and offer the gift, patiently waiting. Strange as it was, you allowed a moment of weakness to shine through, gingerly taking the gift and unwrapping it in front of your… admirer.

Inside the box was a beautifully crafted six-shooter with silver roses decorating the black and white aesthetic of the revolver. You gasped in awe as you pulled the weapon out, admiring the black barrel and ivory grip. The metal was light, but seemingly dense, as you’d never seen such a metal before.

“A silver rose made of Gilgamesh metal.” The voice coming from the armored man sounded hollow, as if they weren’t really there with you.

Reaching out a hand, you tried to grasp the man’s helm, only for it to pass right through his form. “You’re not… really here?”

“I do not have to be to leave gifts.” The man’s helm snapped to the side, as if listening to something, before he stood with a subtle nod. “This will be the last. I have been found out.”

The mysterious figure turned to walk away and into the darkness, but you found yourself leaping out of bed to stand in front of the man, stopping him as questions tumbled from your mouth. “Who are you? Why did you give me a gun? And what do you mean that this will be the last!”

The man stood and stared at your confused expression before reaching out as if to touch your hair. “My will may not be mine for much longer. To keep you safe, I must never come back. I am one that is lost. One whose name was written over. The silver rose… a promise made long ago, and a symbol of hope. I can’t be here to protect you, but I can give you a tool to protect yourself with. Y/N… One day soon, I hope that I can fixe what wrong I’ve done.”

A shocked tear rolled down your check. You knew this man.

“Vergil?”

And before your eyes, the man’s figure started to disappear in wisps.

Transparent fingers reached out to attempt a caress, and your love was only able to utter one more thing before he disappeared from your life again. “Happy Birthday, Y/N.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Thank you for reading! If you enjoyed my work, please consider buying me a Ko-fi!

[lalainajanes]

kc + we promised to stay friends but we’re doing the same stuff we did when we were a couple and i don’t wanna point it out because i don’t want it to stop

Five seconds after walking into the courtyard, Carolinerealizes she’s miscalculated.

Super annoying because planning on being nearly late hasbeen making her anxious all freaking day.

It looks like her neighbors are all present and accountedfor, which she should haveanticipated. Last quarter’s tenants meeting had resulted in a screaming matchand Mrs. Bolton’s carefully frosted cupcakes being used as projectiles – such awaste of the fluffiest buttercream Caroline’s ever had the pleasure of tasting.Obviously, no one wants to miss this little shindig and the possibility of highdrama.

The folding chairs are all filled. Except one.

The one next to Klaus.

Damn it.

They’d shared the usual meaningless break up platitudes. Theones about how they really liked each other as people and should still stayfriends and blah blah blah. Caroline’s never been in quite this situation, atleast as an adult. She’d known falling for a neighbor was a gamble but Klaushad seemed like a risk she needed to take. Since they’d fizzled she’s beencarefully avoiding him.

If only Klaus would have the courtesy to follow her lead.

She’s held her breath and checked the peephole every timeshe’s left her apartment. A Klaus-free hallway means she can bolt for thestaircase. She’s gotten some odd looks from her neighbors on the instances heroutfits had required heels. She’s ignored them, slipped the shoes on in thelobby, because the last thing she needs is a broken ankle.

Knowing Klaus he’d take such an opportunity and run with it.She’d need help if she were injured, with groceries and laundry and gettingmeals together. He’d be charming and helpful, all in the name of beingneighborly. He’d make her laugh and she’d see him in her apartment again, lounging on her couch and messing with her knick knacks, and Caroline can’tallow that. Not until she’sover him.

Any day now.

Their friend groups are pretty solidly intertwined and sheknows he’s been asking about her. Caroline’s not entirely sure why, since he’d been the one to backoff.

She’d been super pissed two months ago. Now she’s justconfused. She doesn’t trust the Klaus-shields she’s got in place just yet,can’t risk him slithering passed.

Klaus smiles at her, lifts his hand in a cheery little wave.Tips his head in the direction of the single empty seat tucked cozily betweenhim and the wall.

He’s probably done the intimidating murder eyes thing he’s sogood at to save it.

Caroline pastes on a bright smile – because she’s so notwilling to let him win the breakup –and makes her way over to him. He stands to let her pass. “Hey, Klaus,” shegreets. She keeps it warm, casual. Hopes it sounds natural. She scans the roomto avoid looking at him, holds her breath. Meeting his eyes with his body soclose, smelling the cologne that used to linger on her sheets, is dangerous.

“Caroline,” hemurmurs. When he sits his thigh presses to hers and she hurriedly crosses herlegs to cut odd the contact. “It seems you’ve been busy lately. I haven’t seenyou in what, two weeks?”

Clearly, Klaus had missed the post-breakup etiquette day atadulting school. He’s not supposed to call her out like that.

Caroline manages to laugh, “Has it been that long? One of mycoworkers broke her leg so I’ve been covering for her.”

That’s a big fat lie and she crosses her fingers Klaus won’task a follow up question. Luckily, Alaric Saltzman stands calls the meeting toorder. He starts talking about the meeting’s agenda. Caroline holds in a huffof annoyance. He’s talking slowly, probably already a few drinks in, and that’sonly going to prolong her torment. She’dread the materials that had been circulated already but, having lived in this buildingfor three years now, she knows that few other people would have bothered toprepare.

She stiffens when she feels Klaus lean in, his breathruffling the curls that have come loose from her top knot. “Care to liven thismeeting up with a wager, love?”

Her eyes widen and she almost chokes. A few people glanceover and Caroline hopes she hasn’t turned visibly red. “That would be highlyinappropriate,” she hisses and oh god she sounds like one of the Mystic Fallschurch busybodies who’d sniffed about the unladylike length of Caroline’sskirts in high school.

A sound of amusement comes from Klaus and she resists theurge to dig a sharp elbow into his ribcage. Mostly because touching him is a terrible idea. “My, someone’s thinkingimpure thoughts.”

“Gee, I wonder why,” she mutters. They’d bet sexual favorslast time (and Caroline has very fondmemories or collecting her winnings).

“As delightful as such bets would be,” Klaus says, soundinglike he in no way objects to the concept, “I was thinking cash. Five dollarssays Damon Salvatore’s once again behind on his recycling dues.”

Does he think she’s an amateur? She’s lived here longer thanhe has. “Please. That’s a sucker’s bet. You’re going to have to do better.”

She catches a hint of a smile, distinctly triumphant, beforeKlaus sobers, his head tipping back like he’s thinking deeply.

His next proposal is far more reasonable. She counters withanother. She finds herself relaxing, biting her lip to keep from giggling atKlaus’ more pointed observations about their neighbors.

She walks out of the meeting with an extra seven dollars inher pocket wondering if maybe, just maybe, she can stop with the ninjaavoidance moves.

A few days later, Caroline’s staring blankly at the fourtrays of cookies cooling on her kitchen island. She’d had a moderately crappyday at work and when she’d stopped at the grocery store on the way home anendcap of chocolate chips had caught her eye.

Hence the stress baking. She’s done it on autopilot,doubling the recipe, and now she’s got 64 cookies to deal with.

She’ll take some to work but her office is small and two ofher coworkers have been on health kicks. She’ll get serious evil eyes if shebrings in more than a dozen. She’s gotten used to Klaus taking baked goods offher hands. The man has an impressive sweet tooth but doesn’t even own a cookiesheet and he’s never had any qualms with storing the leftovers in his freezerand whipping them out whenever his agent calls him in for a meeting.

Apparently, he’s significantly better liked by the variouseditors and admins at his publishing company now.

Maybe she could just pop over and see if he still wantsthem. Just because he’s not her boyfriend anymore doesn’t mean Caroline doesn’twish him success.

Mentally patting herself on the back for her emotionalmaturity, Caroline grabs a Tupperware container and loads it up.

And then she runs to her room to put on something cuter thanan old Whitmore hoodie and flour dusted leggings. She switches out her sportsbra for something with more lift but draws the line at makeup. She isn’t tryingto impress Klaus, or anything. She’sjust making herself presentable.

She grabs her keys and exits her apartment. She takes thefew steps to Klaus’ door at an abnormally fast pace, raps sharply before shecan chicken out.

She can hear him on the other side, knows he must bechecking the peephole and it’s a struggle not to fidget or let her face dosomething weird. The locks scrape and Klaus looks pleased when he appears. Abit shocked too, but Caroline can’t blame him considering the lengths she’sgone to lately to avoid seeing his face.

“Caroline,” he says slowly, glancing down the hall like heexpects hidden cameras. “To what do I…”

He’s being stiff, a little formal, a tell that he’s notentirely confident. It makes Caroline feel a little better about her ownnerves. She jiggles the container a bit. “I baked. Kind of excessively.”

“Bad day?” he asks knowingly.

It’s tempting to say yes. To sigh and let her rigid postureloosen and unload like she used to. Klaus had never minded listening to her,not even when she got off track and rambled about issues that were onlytangentially related. He used to sit at her kitchen island and listen to hervent, calmly making his way through a stack of cookies while she’d eliminatedall traces of flour from her countertops and scrubbed down her mixer.

He’d ask questions and scoff at stupid things her clientshad done. The few times he’d stopped by her office he’d been cool anddismissive of the coworkers she didn’t like and Caroline had kind of enjoyedit. Petty? Yes. But she liked the proof that he’d paid attention.

She wonders if it would be so bad to be honest. To try totalk to him.

He’s watching her, waiting patiently for an answer andCaroline notes a smudge of ink on his neck. That his hair’s mussed and he’swearing worn jeans and a t-shirt that’s grey now but was probably blue of blackonce upon a time.

She knows that shirt, remembers how soft it was against hercheek as she’d laid draped over Klaus on his couch. It’s got a hole on the leftside, directly over a spot that Klaus lies and claims isn’t ticklish. Herfinger had always found it, wormed inside to stroke his skin, and whatever TVshow they’d been watching would quickly be forgotten.

The memories are too vivid. The times she’d managed to pinhim and dig her fingers into his skin, until he’d shaken with silent laughter,his eyes squeezed shut and jaw clenched to keep the sounds in. Sometimes he’dbeen faster, had flipped her over and gotten revenge, until she’d been gaspingfor breath and pleading for mercy, sides aching but so freaking happy.

They can’t be friends, not when she can’t forget what it waslike to be more.

“Kind of,” Caroline snaps, angrier than she’d meant to be.She shoves the cookies in his direction and Klaus barely has a hold on thembefore she’s backing away. The container wobbles and he steps forward, pullingit closer. “I just didn’t want them to go to waste. I’ve got dinner on thestove, so…”

Another lie. She was going to order a pizza but she’s goingto have to scrounge something edible from her cupboards now.

“Wait,” he calls, “Caroline…”

She ignores him, turning, yanking her keys out of herpocket. She’s laser focused, jams the key into the lock.

“Caroline, can’t we just…”

He’s closer and she shakes her head, getting the door openand stepping in, “Maybe another time. Have a good night!”

She’s got the door closed before she’s finished speaking.Caroline presses back against it, sorely tempted to give her head a coupleknocks against it.

What had she been thinking?

She can hear Klaus, faintly, in the hallway. Can’t quitemake out what he says.

It’s at least two minutes before she hears his door shut.

“Caroline, darling, is that a new dress? You look positivelyedible.”

Huh. That’s suspicious.

Caroline’s used to Kol’s lavish compliments, knows to be onguard when he whips them out because it usually means he’s done something she’sgoing to hate. Or needs a favor. She drops her purse on the table by his door,takes the very large glass of red wine he hands her. Takes a healthy sipbecause she might need it. “What do you want, Kol?”

Kol’s got his most contrite expression on though Carolinesees a tiny bit of something else in his eyes. Glee, maybe. Anticipation,definitely. “There’s been a bit of a mix up,” he explains.

Well, that’s barely helpful.

“And…” she prompts.

He sighs, drapes his arm over her shoulder. “Bekah didn’tknow that you had custody of the group tonight. Nik stopped by her place todrop off something he’d borrowed and she dragged him along to dinner.”

“So Klaus is…” Kol’s steered her to face the kitchen andthere’s the answer to her question. Klaus is in the living room, talking toMarcel, his back to her. “Here,” Caroline finishes. “Does he know…?”

“That you’re here? We told him you’d be along shortly. Hesaid he didn’t mind though he’d leave if you did. I assured him that I thought we could all be adults.” Helooks at her, disapproving, and Caroline cannot believe that she is being judged by Kol Mikaelson ofall people.

“Are you seriously attempting to use reverse psychology onme right now?”

Kol grins, “Depends. Is it working?”

She takes another sip of wine that might technically be moreof a gulp. Kol’s brows rise but he’s smart enough not to comment. “I don’t seewhy I have to be the bigger person,”Caroline complains. “He got weird. And he broke up with me.”

Kol’s kind enough not to comment on her sulkiness, draws hertighter to his side. It’s almost a hug, something she’d sure he’d deny. “Mybrother can be massively thick headed.”

Ugh, how is it that there’s still a tiny part of her brainthat’s offended at the insult?

“That’s one way of putting it,” Caroline mutters.

“I’m sure you’ll be ever so creative and verbose once we getmore liquor into you. Assuming you’re staying?” Caroline nods, drains her wine.She hands Kol the glass. “And Niklaus?” he asks.

Caroline takes a deep breath, her hands coming up to smoothdown her dress. Part of her wants to leave but that would be cowardly. Asmaller, more childish, part of her wants Klaus to leave. He’d do it, Kol hadsaid, probably with a minimum of fuss. There’d be no hiding the reason,however, and she’d hate for Enzo and Kol’s gathering to get awkward.

An evening like this had been inevitable. Two of her veryfavorite people are in love with Mikaelsons (though Katherine’s still super indenial) and it’s kind of a miracle Caroline’s managed to avoid Klaus sociallyfor this long.

She can do this. Hopefully.

She surveys the room. Only a few people have noted herarrival. Kat’s perched on the arm of a chair, and she raises a questioning browwhen Caroline meets her eyes. Klaus is watching her too but he’s wary. Shemanages a smile in his direction, faint and only passingly polite. “He canstay,” she says. “Just don’t expect me to sit next to him at dinner.”

“What kind of host do you think I am?” Kol asks, some of hisoffense genuine.

She smiles sunnily, ducking out from under his arm, “Thekind that’s quick with the refills, I hope.”

Kol heads to the kitchen and Caroline makes her way towardsKatherine. She might be a mature adult but that doesn’t mean she’s not gratefulfor an ally.

Fingers crossed Kol keeps up the heavy pours.

Caroline’s still in the habit of checking to see if thehallway is a Klaus free zone. She does it automatically now, even late on aSunday evening, a bag of trash clutched in her hand.

The coast had seemedclear.

She nearly has a heart attack when she spots Klaus on thefloor, halfway between her doorway and his. He’s sitting down, leaning againstthe wall. His eyes are closed and he’s listing to one side.

She freezes, but only for a second. Then she’s moving, garbagedropped, forgotten, as she lurches over to kneel next to him. She checks hishead first, her hands gentle. “Klaus? Klaus, wake up.” He doesn’t even twitch,slipping further to the left.

Caroline runs one hand over his body, checking for injuries,her other going to his neck. “Please,be okay. I need you to be okay,” she mutters. Feeling around, she finds asteady pulse. “Thank god.”

She’s shaking and she regrets not bothering with any firstaid refreshers after college. Her panic eases slightly when she realizesthere’s no blood, that he’s warm to the touch. She manages to take a shakybreath in. “Klaus, open your eyes.” No response. She shuffles closer, raisingher voice, shaking his shoulder gently. “Klaus, please. Wake up. Tell me whathappened. What do you need?” Caroline leans closer, tipping his head in herdirection and he groans.

Caroline gets a strong whiff of bourbon.

Oh, she’s going to killhim.

“You’re drunk?” she shrieks. “I practically have a heartattack because I think you were freaking deadand you’re…”

His face creases in pain and she presses her lips together,still fuming. His lashes flutter and when he manages to open his eyes they’rehazy, confused. “Sweetheart,” he slurs, “Why’re you…”

He blinks, looking passed her, “Hallway,” he manages, aftera long moment. “Where’s my…”

Klaus’ hands go to pat at his pockets. One of them had beenkeeping him upright-ish and Caroline grabs him before he can hit to floor, tugginguntil he’s propped against the wall. “Careful!” she scolds.

Klaus is either unconcerned or unaware that he’d just nearlyface planted. “Couldn’t find my keys. I think I left them in the car.”

She considers leaving him. He’s a grown up who’d chosen topickle his liver without bothering to ensure he’d get to bed safely. He’s sonot her problem.

She can’t make herself stand up and walk away.

Caroline squeezes her eyes shut, sucks in a breath through herteeth. She’s a little calmer when she opens her eyes again. Klaus is slumpedwhere she left him, sleepy eyed and watching her raptly. “Okay,” she saysbriskly. “Who dropped you off?” She’s got most of Klaus’ usual drinking buddiesin her phone.

“Blonde girl. Pretty, but not as pretty as you.”

The compliment doesn’t land as Klaus had intended. Sheshoves his shoulder, forgetting his lack of balance, has to yank at his shirtto keep him from going down. “You were on a date?” she hisses. She shouldprobably try to keep her lid on her outrage, doesn’t want Klaus to know how herstubborn stupid feelings linger, but maybe he’ll be too out of it to remember.

A girl can dream.

“Pro tip, maybe don’t get falling down drunk on a date.You’re probably not going to get a second.”

He laughs, louder than he usually does, his head tippingback against the wall. She hates herself for it but she studies him moreclosely, looking for a lipstick smudge or a mouth shaped bruise, checking tosee if the buttons of his shirt line up.

When he quiets he reaches for her, his hand circling herwrist. “Don’t want a second. Or even a first. Don’t want her.”

That doesn’t make awhole lot of sense but he’s clearly had an awful lot of bourbon. Carolineignores the jealousy that’s still making her a little sick, does her best to bebusiness like. Once she’s solved this Klaus situation she’ll retreat to thebath tub with her emergency Haagen Daaz. She tries to tug her arm away butKlaus’ is unwilling to be shaken off. “Can you text your new pretty blonde friendand get her to swing back with your keys? Or does Rebekah or Kol have a spareset?” Elijah’s out of town, Caroline knows, won’t be back until Tuesday. They’dchatted about his business trip at Kol and Enzo’s.

“Phone’s dead.”

“Of course it is,” Caroline grumbles. Klaus had availedhimself of the backup charger she carries in her purse way more than she everhad. “I’ll text Kol.”

She pulls back enough to snap a pic of Klaus, sends it off.

Caroline [11:23 PM]:Found: 1 drunk brother.

Caroline [11:23 PM]:Please bring keys and take him off my hands.

Kol [11:24 PM]: Heleft them in the Uber. I found them.

Caroline [11:24 PM]:Awesome.

Caroline [11:24 PM]:Did you have a fun double date?

Caroline [11:24 PM]:I heard Klaus’ new lady friend is pretty.

She regrets the text as soon as she sends it. It’s not herbusiness and Kol will read way toomuch into the statement. Not that it’ll be hard when, even via text, it drips with how pissed she is. Klaus’thumb traces circles on her skin. It’s distracting so she’ll blame him for herimpulsiveness.

Kol [11:25 PM]:What? It was strictly boys only, darling. Marcel got a new job.

She’s not owed an explanation. That doesn’t mean she canresist fishing for one.

Caroline [11:26 PM]:He’s not my boyfriend anymore. You don’t have to cover for him. It’s not likehe’s cheating.

Kol [11:26 PM]:Like I’d have covered for him if he’d have been dumb enough to cheat on you.

Kol [11:27 PM]:The only women he talked to tonight were the waitress and the Uber driver.

Kol [11:27 PM]: Ioffered my world class wingman skills and a red head in a scandalous top madesex eyes but Nik was more interested in his glass.

Kol [11:27 PM]:His many glasses, I should say.

She’s probably a terrible person but she’s pleased. She’llnever admit as much, however.

Caroline [11:28 PM]:I’m confused.

Kol [11:28 PM]:Me too. I’m going to text our Uber driver your number. I gave her $40 to dropNik’s keys off. Will you grab them from her?

Caroline [11:29 PM]:I should make him sleep it off in the hallway.

Kol [11:29 PM]:Probably. But you won’t.

He’s totally right and it’s super annoying.

Caroline [11:29 PM]:Fine.

Caroline [11:30 PM]:I will get him safely inside his apartment but that’s it. I’m not tucking himin, I’m not making sure he’s hydrated. I might steal all the painkillers fromhis medicine cabinet.

Kol [11:31 PM]:Hell hath no fury.

Caroline [11:31 PM]:Shut up.

She’s not scorned, damn it. Klaus hadn’t technically wrongedher in any way. As much as she’d like to she can’t blame him for the lingeringsoft spot she has for him. That’s all on her.

Caroline makes sure her ringer is on, turns the sound wayup, and shoves her phone into her pocket. She debates getting Klaus to stand,hauling him into her place. She suspects he’d make himself at home on her couchand that getting him into his place would be more of a struggle. Instead, shesits next to him, resigns herself to waiting. She turns her head so she canlook at him, “Do you have to puke or anything?”

He makes a noise of denial, his palm slipping over hers. Hemoves closer, his head tipping down to watch as his fingers tangle with hers.She probably shouldn’t be allowing the touching, definitely shouldn’t beenjoying it, but if it keeps Klaus in this quiet and cooperative stage ofdrunkenness she’ll let it happen.

He’d never been particularly fond of PDA. Except when he wasdrunk.

In private he’d always been touching her, would pull herclose and tangle his hands in her hair when they watched TV. She’d usuallywoken up in the middle of the bed, Klaus pressed against her. He’d liked itwhen she wore his clothes, used his shampoo and soap. Liked leaving marks onher skin even more, scraped her with his stubble until her skin was red andsensitive, left little bites that would become bruises, hints of pain as aprecursor to pleasure.

She tries to pull away again, feels the back of her neck gettinghot. Klaus’ grip remains firm.

He flips her palm over, presses the back of her hand to histhigh. Traces the lines he finds delicately.

She sinks her teeth into the inside of her lip when shewants to shiver.

“Did you at least have fun?” she asks.

The shake of his head is slow. “Not particularly. Tried tobeg off but Marcel says I’ve been too much of a hermit recently.”

“Didn’t think you were susceptible to a guilt trip.”

“There might have been some threats too.”

She considers pressing. Drunk as he is, he might be pliantand Caroline’s always liked to new information. But Klaus’ secrets shouldn’t beof any concern to her. She’s struggling to let go of him, knowing more mightmake that harder. She keeps her reply disinterested, “That sounds about right.”

“Did you have fun the other night? At Kol’s? You seemed to.”

She’s still half-turned to face him, watches his expressiongrow darker. She’d kept a room between them at all times, had waited untiltheir various mutual friends had wandered into her orbit before talking tothem. Had excused herself to use the restroom whenever it looked like Klausmight get close, or a topic that might draw him in was brought up. She’d beenextra bubbly to try to cover any weirdness, had made jokes and laughed loudlyand steered all conversations away from her and how she’d been doing.

Honestly? It had been exhausting.

“I always enjoy myself at Kol’s,” she says. “He makes thedip I like.”

“You barely ate.”

She bristles and the idle patterns he’d been drawing on herpalm halt. Would it kill him to just make polite small talk here? She’s trying. “Well, that’s a littlestalker-y.”

Klaus doesn’t seem to take offense. “Guilty, love. I’dresolved myself to asking you to talk to me in private but you thwarted myefforts.”

She manages to yank her hand away, puts a few extra inchesbetween them. “We don’t need to talk privately.”

“I made a mistake.

Would he be saying this sober? Caroline’s not sure. “Klaus,stop.”

He doesn’t listen. “I thought… well, I was wrong aboutsomething. And then I realized what an idiot I was for…”

“Stop,” she repeats, more forcefully. “You’re drunk. Thisisn’t the time.”

“Would you talk to me if I was sober?”

She keeps her eyes on her lap. His tone is distinctlywheedling and she doesn’t trust herself not to cave if she looks over.

“You seemed awfully reluctant the other night.”

Her phone rings and she heaves herself to her feet, sends asilent thank you to the Uber driver with flawless timing. She pats Klaus’shoulder, makes sure he’ll stay upright. “You’ll just have to ask nicely andfind out.

Caroline takes the stairs, not willing to wait for the elevator,to give Klaus the time to formulate a reply.

The last twenty minutes have been an emotional whirlwind.Klaus can give her a little time to recover before he throws her into another.

Caroline doesn’t sleep. At all. She’s not happy about it.

When 6 AM rolls around she knows she should make a pot ofcoffee and hop in the shower, resign herself to going heavy on the under eyeconcealer. Instead, she grabs her phone, emails her boss, and takes a sick day.Something she never does so it won’tbe questioned.

She throws a robe on – her least cute one – and marches overto Klaus’ place. She knocks. And knocks, and knocks. Until her knucklesprotest.

He looks awful when he throws the door open (and a tiny bitmurderous but that evaporates when he sees her) his shirt wrinkled and skinpale. His hair is flat on the left, where an odd pattern from whatever surfacehe’d been sleeping on is pressed into his cheek, and a snarl of curls on theright. Caroline crosses her arms, “Invite me in.”

He wants to talk? They’re going to get this over with.Otherwise she’s going to dwell and Klaus has been occupying far too much of hermental energy lately. She figures there are two possible outcomes. First, theyresolve whatever’s lingering between them, for real this time, and he fadesinto the background of her life, a friend of a friend who happens to live downthe hall. In the other option, the one she’s kind of rooting for, he continuesto take up a ton of space in her brain and buys her dinner and provides regularorgasms for her trouble. Along with good conversations, cute drawings, andregular arguments about the merits of reality television.

Klaus steps back, pulling the door open wider, and Carolinebrushes passed him. She heads to his kitchen, goes directly for the cupboardwhere he keeps the coffee. “If we don’t do this now I’m going to be thinkingabout it all day. I won’t get anything on my goals list accomplished and I’llbe cranky. So I thought we could just… I don’t know, rip off the band aid.”

Klaus still hasn’t said anything but when she twists herhead to check his reaction he’s smiling. “Let me grab a couple painkillers andwe’ll have coffee.”

Caroline winces, reaching into her pocket. She sets theTylenol bottle on the island between them. “I was kind of pissed last night. Istole these.”

He laughs, opens his fridge. Pulls out a bottle of applejuice. Drinks directly from it like some kind of heathen. Caroline wrinkles hernose, “Gross. What if someone else wants some and doesn’t want your cooties?”

“I haven’t had anyone over in ages.”

It’s not surprising information, Caroline had gleaned asmuch from his comments last night. Still, she finds the confirmation that Klaushasn’t been having company welcome.

She turns her attention back to brewing the coffee. Onceeverything is set she flicks the button, takes a deep breath, turns to faceKlaus fully. “I don’t understand what happened.”

He sighs, all traces of amusement fleeing. “I know.”

“I thought things were good. We’d exchanged keys. We’d talkedabout me moving in when my lease was up. You didn’t seem freaked out about that.”

“I wasn’t. Honestly.” Klaus runs a hand through the flatside of his hair, making it slightly more symmetrical. “I heard that you turneddown a promotion.”

She stares at him and it takes her a second to realize whathe’s talking about. “What, the Seattle thing? I never even considered takingit. It was barely a move up. Andmoving across the country? I can barely get my mom to come here.”

He looks down, leans against the counter behind him. Klausisn’t one for embarrassment but she thinks his ears might be turning pink. “Ididn’t realize that at the time. Katerina kindly explained it to me a few weeksago.”

Yeah, Caroline would bet Kat hadn’t been especially kind.

“How did you even know about it?”

“I had to send my laptop away, remember? Borrowed yours afew times. You left a few of the emails open.”

Caroline groans, crossing her arms. “You broke up with mebecause you snooped?” She’d used theoffer to leverage a bit of a pay raise. Her boss had been only too willing tokeep Caroline around. She hadn’t told Klaus, had wanted it to be settledbecause she’d been pricing out winter getaways in St. Lucia.

“I feel as if snoopedimplies a bit of effort,” Klaus mutters. “An ulterior motive.” He’s lucky there’snothing she can throw at him.

“So not the point,” she snaps.

Caroline whirls, intending to get a bit of distance, but hegrabs her arm, steps in front of her. “Wait a minute, don’t leave.”

“I’m not leaving,geez. I wouldn’t have invaded your place this early if I wasn’t committed togetting all the gory details.”

He’s not entirely convinced, ducking down to catch her eyes,his pleading. “I didn’t want to hold you back.”

She snorts, claps a hand over her mouth. “Sorry, but that’sawfully conceited of you. Also, reallyarrogant. Kind of on brand, I guess.”

She’s only half teasing.

Annoyance flickers across Klaus’ features. “Funny. I thoughtI was being selfless.”

She swallows back the reply that wants to shoot out – she’sfairly certain he’d been scared butit she uses that against him flippantly he’ll be the one storming out and they’llnever get anywhere. “Klaus. I’m notselfless. Had I really wanted Seattle I would have asked you to come with me.”

That shocks him. His eyes widen, mouth falling open and hestruggles for words.

Her hearts started pounding, nerves tightening her stomachbut Caroline continues, flipping her hair over her shoulder and striving fornonchalance. “You work from home like 95% of the time anyway. You’d just haveto fly back once a month. And we’d need to get an extra bedroom or two becauseI’m pretty sure at least one of your siblings would be visiting every weekendbecause you’re co-dependant weirdos. But, since they all have excellent tastein significant others, I was prepared to deal.”

Klaus seems to be having trouble processing. “Why… why wouldyou…”

She knots her hands together because they’re shaking. Hervoice isn’t steady either, “Because I loved you, duh. And I was pretty surethat you loved me too.” He’d never said it but then, neither had she. Klaus isgood at actions – showing up with dinner when she’d texted that her day hadbeen busy, not complaining when she got his shirt all wet during the sad moviesthat he hated, keeping the scented candles she liked in his apartment. There’dbeen dozens upon dozens of tiny little things that showed he paid attention,that he wanted her to be comfortable and happy.

She’d found she hadn’t really needed the words.

He reaches for her, his hands settling on her hips. Carolinelets herself be pulled, fits her body to his. It’s just as right as sheremembers. When his head dips she dodges, resting her head against his shoulder.She tightens her arms around him, just in case he gets any silly, wrong, ideasabout pulling away. “I’m gonna need a little grovelling before I consent tomake up sex.”

She feels him laugh, hears the low husk of it against her ear.“How about I make you breakfast?”

Caroline thinks that’s a great start.

[a-splash-of-stucky]

how long will i love you?

Pairings: Artist!Steve Rogers x Artist!Reader

Summary: Nothing lasts forever, except, perhaps, your love for him.

Warnings: So much angst. Major character death/grieving. Language.

Notes: Written for @barnesrogersvstheworld’s writing challenge using the prompt ‘paint tubes’. Kisses are featured, though how ‘significant’ they are is up for debate (sorry y’all, I tried)

Some inspiration taken from the ‘Over and Over Again’ music video, and title is from ‘How Long Will I Love You’ by Ellie Goulding. Sorry in advance for the heartbreak, but on a separate note: I’m really proud of how this turned out.

My Masterlist | Want to be added to my taglists? See here

“You need to clean it out,” Wanda says, for the dozenth time in probably as many minutes.

“I don’t need to do anything—”

“It’ll be cathartic,” she says, “You’ll find closure, you’ll...I dunno, you’ll find those pizza socks that you’ve lost, maybe?”

“I do miss those socks,” you say forlornly.

“So, you’ll clean it out?” she presses.

“I’ll...think about it.”

—

The art studio is exactly how you’d left it, albeit with a thin film of dust clinging to every surface. That is to be expected, given that you haven’t set foot in this room for over two years. As you step into it now, you feel as if you’ve just gone back in time, to a point in your life when things were brighter, easier.

You sigh heavily as you flick on the light switch.

It’s a small, square room, with an enormous corner window. When the blinds are drawn open, sunlight floods into the place, making the studio seem much bigger than it really is. You cross the room quickly to do just that.

You rest your back against the cool glass of the window as you carefully survey the place. The room is in a state of organised chaos, with some semblance of order built into the messiness. An eclectic collection of DIY shelves and IKEA storage units housing your art equipment line the wall beside the door. Some of the drawers are practically overflowing with their contents.

A large desk has been pushed against the wall to your left and on it, there are glass mason jars with paint brushes still inside them. You know that if you were to open the drawers of that desk, you’d find all of your old sketchbooks and a few unfinished pieces of art. Larger equipment like tripods, a drying rack and easels are arranged against the wall opposite the desk. The window takes up most of the fourth wall, so you’ve put no furniture in front of it, in order to not block out the light.

It’s bittersweet, being in here.

You slowly make a circuit around the room, trailing your fingers over the paint-stained and pencil-marked surfaces. His presence fills the room, despite the fact that he has not been in here for the last two years, either. The stuff in here is as much tied to him as it is to you; both of you shared this studio, both of you used these brushes and those easels, both of you used to blast your music as you painted into the wee hours of the night.

It’s difficult enough, having to live in the home that you once shared with him without having to come in here and be harshly reminded of his absence. Nearly eighteen months ago, you moved into a studio-office downtown, so that you could work in a space whose every square inch had not been infused with the essence of his being.

You remember the times when you would open the door to this studio and see him hunched over the desk, new splatters of paint decorating his apron. His tongue would be sticking out of the corner of his mouth and his brows would be furrowed in concentration as he worked on his latest piece. Music would fill the air — something mellow and old-school, something that reminded you of jazz bars and speakeasies.

You’re torn between the urge to preserve the room exactly as it is, and clearing everything out, giving you the opportunity to start afresh.

As you perch yourself on one of the stools, your eyes land on a cardboard box balancing precariously on top of one of the smaller drawer units. You dimly remember dumping it there ages ago, fully intending on coming back to it in a couple of days’ time.

Funny how two days can so suddenly turn into two years.

You cross the room to examine it more closely. The box is exactly how you remember it, black, with the brand name written across the front in simple, clean white text. Hesitantly, like you’re afraid that something might leap out and bite you, you lift up the lid with a single index finger. The paint tubes are still inside, untouched — pristine as the day they came. There are ten of them in all.

In the grief and darkness of the last two years, you’d forgotten about them.

He would not want them to go to waste.

In a sudden burst of motivation, you drag an easel, a small table and a stool over to the window, before rooting around the storage units for a pre-stretched canvas. You grab all the utensils you think you’ll need and don your old, paint-stained apron before sitting down.

You have not put a brush to canvas for a long time, but perhaps, it is time to revisit your roots.

—

You scrub the back of your hand over your face, groaning in frustration when you realise that you’ve probably just smeared blue acrylic across your cheek.

It’s a Friday night and, while most people are ushering in the weekend with booze and parties, you’re stuck in the art department, frantically trying to finish your coursework piece in time for the Monday morning submission deadline. You’re lowkey hating your past-self for being so ambitious and/or being really shitty at time-management, but what’s done is done and your present-self must now deal with the consequences of your own incompetence.

It is at this precise moment that the door to the art studio creaks open and a broad-shouldered, blonde-haired hunk of a man walks in. It takes a moment for you to clock him as Steve Rogers, otherwise known as the guy that you’ve been crushing on for the better part of the last academic year.

He’s wearing a light-grey t-shirt, dark blue jeans and a black bomber that hugs him just right. He’s got a canvas backpack slung casually over one shoulder, and big, square-rimmed glasses perched on his nose. He does a double-take when he notices you, like he’s surprised to find anyone else here, on a Friday night.

“Uh...hey,” he says, waving a hand in greeting.

“Hey yourself,” you reply, straightening up in your seat.

Of all the times for your crush to see you, it had to be when you were wearing your least-flattering pair of sweats and had paint smeared across your cheek, right?

“You’re, uh...you’re Y/N, right?” he asks, as he slowly walks over to you.

“Yep, that’s me. And you’re Steve?”

“Steve Rogers, that’s me,” he says, stuffing his hands into his pockets. He stops beside your table and gives a cursory glance over the mess you’ve got spread across it.

“Coursework?” he guesses, jerking his chin towards your painting-in-progress.

“Yeah,” you sigh.

“Same, I got some things I needed to finish up before I can hand it in,” Steve says. “I gotta admit though, I didn’t think anyone would be in here this late.”

You frown in confusion. “It’s not that late, it’s only like...oh,” you murmur, as you look at the clock hanging over the door.

Steve chuckles. “What time did you think it was?”

“Like...maybe almost nine o’clock?”

“Yeah, and then somehow, you find out that it’s five past midnight, huh?” Steve says, nodding sagely. “Yeah, I’ve been there before.”

You smile wryly. “The struggles of being a student artist, huh?”

“You can say that again,” Steve says, shooting you one of those disarming, carefree grins. “But hey—at least you’re not alone anymore, how much longer are you planning to stay?”

“Uh…” you mumble, as you assess your work and quickly estimate how much more time you’ll need before you can pack up. “I need to get the painting done by tonight, ‘cause I need to go over some of the parts with pencil tomorrow, so...maybe another couple hours?”

“Cool,” he says, as he dumps his stuff onto the table to your left. “I’m probably staying that long too.”

“Cool,” you mutter, despite the fact that internally, you are anything but cool. You’re a nervous wreck, praying to the heavens above that you don’t make a fool of yourself in Steve’s presence.

Eh, you’ve already got paint on your face — how much worse can it get?

You covertly watch Steve out of the corner of your eye as he pulls out a set of drawing pencils and a sketchpad from his drawer and gets to work. It’s nice, having him there to keep you company. The two of you make small talk every now and then, but for the most part, you’re both focused on getting your work done as fast as possible.

Sometime after the one-hour mark, Steve brings up his Spotify account and puts some music on in the background, to keep you going for the home stretch. You’re unfamiliar with the artist, but the music is calming and bluesy, enough to occupy the silence, but not too much to make you lose your focus.

You hunker down and finish off the rest of your painting in record time, sitting back triumphantly as you appraise the nearly-completed piece. You need to let it dry before you can add in the last bits of pencil shading, and you still need to mount it into a proper frame, but you’re confident that you can get all of that done by Monday morning.

Steve finishes his work just as you start cleaning off your brushes and palettes in the sink. He comes over and dumps his stuff into the sink beside yours, before turning on his faucet.

“Productive?” he asks, raising his voice slightly to be heard over the running water.

“Yeah. But I’m really tired now.”

“Yeah, well — it’s almost 2AM, that’s kinda expected,” he says, laughing gently. “You live far from here?”

You shake your head. “Nah, just on the other side of campus.”

“Oh really? I’m near there too, I can walk you home, if you’d like.” he offers.

“No, it’s fine, I don’t wanna bother you.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah! I’m just gonna walk through all the campus buildings, I’ll be okay.”

He opens his mouth, about to press his point further, but winds up shrugging his shoulders and dropping the topic instead. You finish cleaning your brushes, then place them and your mixing palettes into the appropriate drying racks. When you turn around, you find Steve’s eyes staring directly at you. He startles and turns around quickly, the slight flush on his cheeks making it obvious that he was just checking you out.

Wait — he was checking you out?

Are you imagining things? Could it be? Holy shit.

Steve is resolutely ignoring you, focusing intently on making his brushes as clean as physically possible. You could either confront him, or live with the agony of not knowing what happens next for the rest of your life.

You decide to bite the bullet.

You clear your throat loudly to get his attention. “Is something wrong?” you ask.

He frowns. “Uh, no? Why would anything be wrong?”

“Well...you were just looking at me funny...did I forget something?”

Steve’s eyes widen in panic. “Oh! Oh, that — no, nothing’s wrong, you just...you got something on your face,” he says, gesturing vaguely with one hand. He clears his throat. “I uh...I can get it for you? If you’d like?”

“Sure,” you reply, rolling one shoulder in a nonchalant shrug.

You watch, strangely nervous, as Steve turns the faucet off, dumps his brushes into a holder to dry and wipes his palms on his jeans before stepping closer. Your breathing hitches in your throat as he gently cups your chin and brushes his thumb over your cheek in a featherlight caress. He’s close enough that you can feel the heat radiating off his body, and the warmth of his breath on your skin.

Quick as a flash, he ducks down and presses his lips to yours — a touch that is gone as suddenly as it came.

His cheeks are flushed a scarlet red when he pulls away.

“Um...sorry, I — yeah,” he mumbles.

You blink rapidly, trying to get your thoughts in order. Did—did that just happen?

“Did you just kiss me?”

His blush deepens, if that were possible. It spreads down his neck and disappears beneath the collar of his shirt — a part of you is curious to find out if he’s a full-body blusher.

“Yeah,” he mumbles. “Sorry ‘bout that.”

You chew on your bottom lip as you take in the situation. Steve’s body is still curled towards yours, and the faint, pleasant scent of his cologne fills your nostrils, making it hard to think. He hasn’t taken his hand off your cheek; beneath his palm, your skin tingles with anticipation.

It’s now or never. Carpe diem, and all that crap.

“That was...something,” you murmur, as your tongue darts out to wet your bottom lip.

“Yeah,” Steve breathes, his gaze flicking from your lips to your eyes, and back again. “It was.”

“I—uh, I think we might need to do that again. So that I can figure out what the ‘something’ was. For science,” you add hastily, as the corner of your lips quirk up into a half-smile.

His lips pull into a grin, one that threatens to outshine the sun and makes your heart do an excited little flutter. It’s a smile filled with hope and promise, and it’s taking everything in you not to lean over and kiss him stupid.  

“The start of something new, maybe?” he suggests.

You bark out a surprised laugh. “Oh, do not start quoting High School Musical at me, or this’ll turn into an impromptu sing-and-dance number real quick, I promise you that.”

Steve throws his head back and laughs, even as he leans in closer, curling one hand around your jaw and the other around the back of your neck.

“Anything can happen,” he sings, softly, and horribly off-key, his eyes sparkling with mirth. “When you take a chance.”

“You’re such a dork,” you breathe, as you surge forward and crush your lips together.

—

You’re painting aimlessly, putting paint on canvas merely for the sake of it.

Since his passing, you’ve tried to keep your distance from any and all types of paints; there are just too many memories associated with him. Painting doesn’t have the same allure to you as it once did. Instead, you’ve developed your skills in the world of digital art, favouring Photoshop and cameras and high-tech gadgets over traditional media. Between the two of you, he’d always been the more-skilled painter, anyway. Now, with you being so out-of-practice, a brush has never felt more foreign in your hands.

The colours on your canvas are disjointed and discordant, bold splashes of red juxtaposed by sickly greens and dark expanses of blue. You feel as if you’ve forgotten everything you’ve learnt; how to mix colours, how to dilute the paint to get lighter washes, which colours work well together.

You have no direction in mind, with this piece.

You’re not happy with where things are going, but at least you’re reacquainting yourself with your brushes. You hadn’t realised how much you missed their weight in your fingers, the satisfying give of the bristles as you press them to the canvas. Surprisingly enough, the muscles in your arm and hand still remember how they should move to best lay down the colour. Your fingers are covered in specks of paint and similar flecks of colour now adorn your light-wash jeans.

Despite your best efforts, this piece is becoming increasingly unsalvageable. Layer after layer of colour simply adds to the dissonance in front of you.

A part of you just wants to quit.

You can hear his voice in the back of your head, reassuring and encouraging and comforting in a way that only he could be.

Stop over thinking it, sweetheart. You’re good, you know how to paint. Don’t use your head, just...listen to your heart, paint what you love.

It clicks, then.

He’s been kept alive in your memory for so long, perhaps it is time to share his greatness with the rest of the world.

You stand up, hurrying across the room to get a fresh canvas and a new jar of water. You can see the painting taking form in your mind, with its golden tones, simple brushwork and muted palette. You push your unfinished piece to the side and position your new canvas on the easel, before dragging your stool closer and picking up a clean brush.

You have a portrait to paint.

—

You and Steve are walking down the street hand-in-hand, weaving through the throng of last-minute Christmas shoppers. It is the first holiday season you’re celebrating as a couple, and you’re excited to spend a cosy weekend at home, trading little presents and gentle kisses under the warmth of the covers.

“I fucking hate crowds,” Steve grumbles, “Everyone’s so goddamn rude.”

You laugh, threading your arm around his and pressing your cheek to his bicep, still warm despite the chilly winter air. “Let’s hurry up and get you your hot chocolate, then, before we get crushed to death by all these people.”

He grins, patting your hand affectionately. “You’re filled with great ideas, aren’t you?”

Just then, a store that you’ve never seen before catches your eye. Eager to investigate further, you tug Steve over to the shop window, making him yelp in surprise.

It’s an art supply store — a fancy one, if the decor is anything to go by. The display boasts an impressive array of beautifully-crafted easels, handmade brushes, premium colour pencils and, most notably, a Winsor and Newton 10-colour gouache paint set.

The sleek box is front-and-centre of the display. Your eyes are immediately drawn to the elegant white tubes, with the simple Winsor and Newton logo emblazoned across them. A sheet of paper beside the box holds a swatch of each colour; they look positively dreamy.

“They’re gorgeous, aren’t they?” Steve murmurs appreciatively.

You hum in agreement. “Shame you’d need to drop nearly 90 bucks to get them.”

“I’ll buy them for you,” Steve promises, turning to face you. “I mean—not now, obviously, but one day.”

You smile as you wind your arms around his torso and tip your head back to look up at him. “Yeah? Once your pieces have made it into the Guggenheim and the Tate, you mean?”

“Exactly,” he says, grinning as he bends down to press a kiss to your chilly, slightly-chapped lips.

“I’m fucking freezing,” you mumble, as he pulls away.

In response, he wraps his arms around your shoulders, smushing your face into his torso in an effort to warm you up.

“My little icicle,” he says fondly.

“That...that sounds vaguely sexual,” you say, your voice slightly muffled.

Steve snorts, gently pushing you back so that he can tuck you under his arm. “Get your mind out of the goddamn gutter, please.”

“Fine,” you grumble, giving one last longing look at the set of paint tubes before the two of you resume walking. “Hot chocolate?” you prompt.

“Hot chocolate,” Steve agrees.

—

It is strangely bittersweet, using these paint tubes.

In your mind’s eye, you see his slim, strong fingers wielding a brush expertly, the backs of his hand and knuckles covered in splotches of paint. He was so confident whenever he mixed his colours, knowing instinctively how much he needed from each tube to create the exact shade he was looking for. He had an intuition, a deep-seated knowledge that you’ve always admired.

You personally had never reached quite the same level of skill that he had attained, but you never envied him for it. He had his strengths, he had his weakness and you, likewise.

With this piece, you have a much clearer idea of where you’re going. The painting is taking shape before your very eyes, a creation that is coming straight from your heart. You are literally pouring a part of your soul onto the canvas, exposed and vulnerable, for all the world to see.

As the brush glides across the canvas and deposits streaks of colour in its wake, you feel as if you’re functioning on autopilot. Your brain has taken a backseat and your heart is now running the show, painting what it loves dearly and longs to see. You have no reference besides the memories in your head, the ones that have been your sweetest grief in the most difficult period of your life.

You might not have the same knowledge of colours and composition that he had, but what you lack in skill you make up for through sheer force of will. You don’t allow yourself to question your actions or second-guess your decisions; you know how to mix the exact shade of golden amber for his hair, the precise colour of blue for his eyes, the perfect shade of pink for his lips.

You’re moving on instinct. Your hand and arm and fingers map out the planes and curves of his face, the slope of his shoulders, the breadth of his torso. His image is burnished into your memory, just as his name has etched itself onto your heart.

He may be gone from this world, but you promise yourself that you’ll never let him fade from your memory.

—

“Happy birthday, sweetheart,” Steve says, as he drops a package wrapped in brown paper into your lap.

“What’s this?” you ask, examining it in your hands as you sit up straighter. Steve bites his lip and shrugs as he comes to sit beside you on the couch.

“Open it,” he says simply. His hands are clasped in his lap and he is twisting his wedding ring around his finger with his right hand — a nervous tick that he’s recently developed.  

“But—Stevie, you’ve already got me a birthday present!” you protest.

“I know, I know...this is like...an early Christmas present. Or a late Christmas present, however you wanna call it.”

You narrow your eyes in suspicion. “I thought we don’t do Christmas presents?”

“Then, well—this is…oh, for fuck’s sake, just open it, will you?”

“Okay, okay,” you mutter, hastily peeling the tape off.

As the wrapper falls away, your eyes are met with a plain black cardboard box, with Winsor and Newton written across the top in simple white font. From the weight and size of the box, you have a feeling you know what this present might be.

“Steve,” you breathe, as you turn to face your husband. “Is this—”

“Just open it!” he begs, “I’m literally dying from the suspense.”

You laugh, despite yourself, rushing to peel away the protective plastic wrapping that encases the box. Tentatively, you lift up the lid to peek inside, gasping when you set eyes on ten tubes of gouache paint, each one pristine and elegant and so bloody beautiful, just waiting for you to use them.

“Holy shit,” you breathe, putting the lid to one side before running your fingers over the tubes reverently, lips parted in awe. These paints are the stuff of legends; your hands are itching to play around with them.

“Stevie,” you whisper, at a loss for words.

“Do you like them?” he asks, voice heartbreakingly timid.

You nod your head vigorously as you lean towards him, clumsily wrapping an arm around the back of his neck as you crush your lips together, all whilst trying to balance the box on your laps, so that the tubes of paint don’t tumble to the floor. The kiss is clumsy and uncoordinated and you accidentally nip his bottom lip too hard, but that only makes it more perfect.

“I love it,” you whisper fervently, as tears of joy prick at the corner of your eyes. “I love them so much, thank you, honey, I love you.”

“I love you too,” he says breathlessly, strong arms snaking around your body to tug you closer. “God, honey, I love you so much. “

As amazing and unexpected as the paints are, what’s more significant — what’s making tears stream from your eyes — is that, after all these years, Steve still remembers how much you’ve been wanting them.

These paint tubes — yeah, okay, they’re paint tubes, but they’re also more than that. Your heart is on the verge of bursting from all the meaning and significance behind this gift. Painting — and art more broadly — has been a cornerstone of your relationship from the outset, weaving its way into every single significant occasion that you’ve shared, and all the little moments in between. These paint tubes symbolise how far you’ve come as a couple and hopefully, how far you have yet to go.

—

Who would’ve thought that just two days later, he’d be caught in a freak car accident that would ultimately steal him from your grasp? Who would’ve thought that you’d be left a widow, before you’ve even hit your fifties? Who would’ve thought that you’d turn into a shell of the person you used to be, passing through day after bleak, monotonous day without a purpose to guide you?

Life is achingly brief. The things that we take for granted can be taken away in the blink of an eye, leaving us bereft and lost.

Nothing lasts forever; that is the cruel, unfair truth.

You’re allowed to curse and sob and scream with anger, frustration and sadness, but you can’t change the rulings of fate. What’s done is done, and you can either let the subsequent current of sorrow drown you, or rise above it, stronger than who you were before.

For the past two years, you’ve been drowning under the weight of your heartbreak, which has been a crushing burden on your shoulders. It’s been a struggle, just to survive.

But maybe—

Maybe it’s time you tried kicking a little harder, tried to break the surface of these dark and murky waters, to see if you truly are strong enough to rise above.

It’s what he would’ve wanted from you.

You put the final few finishing touches on your painting before setting down your brush and standing up, groaning as you stretch your arms over your head. Your bones crack and pop as you move your body around, your muscles stiff from being in the same position for so long. Outside, the last rays of the dying sun paint the sky in vivid shades of red, pink and orange. You grimace — the fact that the sun is setting tells you that you’ve been working on this painting for at least three hours.

The loud rumble in your stomach serves to reinforce your conclusion.

You take a step back to study your finished piece: a painting of him, from the torso up.

Despite the fact that you’re a little rusty, the resemblance of the portrait to his likeness is striking. It is a painting of him as he has been immortalised in your mind, an image of him as you’d loved him best.

You’ve painted him with his head angled slightly to the right, frozen in mid-turn. His rosy pink lips are parted, the corners pulling up in the beginnings of one of his pure, tender smiles. His bright blue eyes are glinting with mischief, the corners crinkling with joy.

You’re proud to have been able to capture the sharp lines of his cheekbones and jaw, the dusting of freckles across his nose, the ever-present flush of pink that sits high on his cheeks. His blonde hair is slightly tousled and falling over his forehead, the way it used to look like in the early mornings, when his skin was still sleep-warmed and his voice was low and throaty.

You’ve painted him in one of those plain white t-shirts that he used to love, the material hugging his broad shoulders and ridiculously perky chest.

To emphasise the golden shine of his hair, you’ve kept the background dark and simple, abstract strokes of brown slapped onto the canvas with a dry brush. It had been one of his favourite techniques to use to achieve texture whenever he was making expanses of flat colours, and you’re pleased to have incorporated it into your work; it makes it more Steve, somehow.

As a final touch, you’ve used some amber and white paint to make a thin ring behind his head, feathering the paint slightly with a small offset spatula. The end result is that you’ve created a pale, ghostly halo.

Angel boy, you think absentmindedly.

You gaze upon the fruits of your labour with wistful nostalgia hanging heavy in your heart. Though it saddens you to have been made acutely aware of his absence in your life, the process has been strangely therapeutic. You haven’t cleaned out the room as you’d promised Wanda, but maybe, you’ve done something better with your time, and found closure in your own roundabout way.

You still miss him terribly and you’ll probably continue to miss him, for the rest of your days, but—

To miss someone is to have loved someone and that, surely, is better than to not have loved at all. Nothing lasts forever, except, perhaps, your love for him.

[harry8673-blog]

Peter Philips, Creative And Image Director, Dior Beauty

A little something to add to your “answers to questions you never asked” file: When I was six, I was obsessed with baloney. Not metaphorical baloney—not trying to be cute here—but actual baloney. Loved it, couldn’t get enough of it. I declared my deep appreciation of this true mystery meat to my parents nearly every day, and lo, just like that, it got promoted to “lunchbox regular.” Something about the tangy harmony of salt and nitrates really whet my appetite. And then after a few months of this demanding behavior, I got sick of it—the smell alone made me want to hurl. So I stopped eating it, and haven’t eaten it since (although I hear that hotdogs are, in fact, simply baloney in a tube).

Bet you’re wondering what this has to do with beauty—good question, thanks for keeping me honest. The thought I had about my sudden aversion to baloney plays out in a similar way when it comes to beauty. The beauty version of “Did I eat so much baloney that my body rejected it?” sounds like this: “Have I used the same moisturizer for so long that my face no longer accepts it as valid?” Or, “If I don’t switch up my shampoo and conditioner every once in a while, my hair looks dull and sad.” The product switch-up notion is a tale as old as time. And while it may have been good for scamming your mom to load her Sephora cart with a little something for you when you were in high school, it's not clear if the argument holds any water at all. Fact or fiction? That’s the question. So, after years of watching MythBusters with my brother (who, by the way, conveniently could never find the remote control when that guy with the beret emerged within view), I’m ready to do a little myth-busting of my own.

Myth: Other than the products mentioned above, I can use the same beauty products forever. False. Let’s not get crazy here. You can’t go through life using the same stuff forever. Sometimes a seasonal change will force your hand—that heavy duty moisturizer for the winter is probably better left on your shelf in the summer. And then there’s the matter of expiration dates… Flip over your serums, creams, and cleansers. Every single one of ‘em should have a cylinder with a number inside printed on the label. That number is how long your product is meant to last. Just keep in mind that we’re not talking spoiled eggs here. That number has a bit of give, but just don’t get too crazy and use it way beyond the expiration date. Use your very wise judgment!

So explain to me why my favorite cream in the whole wide world isn’t cutting it anymore!

It is! It’s just that you’ve gotten used to the results. When you first try something new, your skin reacts to how it would with any new experience—it changes. Ideally for the better, and if not then it’s time to move on. But when you’ve been doing the same thing every day for months...years...after a while it’s easy for your cream and whatnot to start to feel like it’s not doing anything special. Here’s a remedy for that. Stop using the product in question for a month, about the time it takes for your skin cells to turnover. What do you see? An improvement? A decline? If it’s the former, then it really is time for you to switch to something new. But the latter? Eh, you’re fine.

Myth: You need to take a break from a small, select group of products from time to time. True. There are a few products that require a break. Got eczema? Then you probably know a bit about topical steroids, and how prolonged use can build up a resistance to the steroids’ effects. Silicone products are another group you should look out for. Silicones deliver a smoothing effect to hair and skin, and when the creams or conditioners are not thoroughly washed off, the silicones tend to hang around and, in turn, dull your hair or limit your skin’s capacity to look fresh and glowy. The fix? When it comes to your hair, switch out to a clarifying shampoo every month or so (only you can determine the cadence to switch in and out, so experiment a little). And for your face, give your skin a break once a week with an exfoliant. Whether that’s P50, a gentle rice scrub, or a weekly peel, is up to you.

The Gentle Exfoliation “Smooth foundation starts with smooth skin. I always start by doing a light exfoliation. Lately, I’ve been using Pixi Glow Peel Pads—the glycolic acid helps slough off any dead skin cells on the surface. For dryness around the nose and picked-at blemishes, I take a small amount of Homeoplasmine on a cotton swab and gently massage into the scab or flaky skin. In most instances, this is enough to completely remove it and smooth it out. It’s important not to overload the skin before makeup. The more products you’re mixing and matching, the higher the chance certain ingredients won’t get along with each other. This is what causes that weird rolling of product you often see. Focus on skincare that absorbs, and doesn’t sit on top of the skin—I almost always use Eminence Facial Recovery Oil.” —Dana Delaney

The Winter Skin Fix “Super hydrating moisturizer is the best base for any foundation, as healthy, moisturized skin always gives that extra beautiful luster—it’s a glow that lasts all day. You’ll end up using less actual makeup when your skin looks this good. Models come in super dehydrated in the winter, so I have a few creams in the rotation. One that works on everyone is Avène Crème For Intolerant Skin. It’s super hydrating and soothing, and it has very few ingredients, so it works on even the most sensitive skin. For those who love a traditional primer, you can’t get any better than Laura Mercier’s classic Foundation Primer. It’s the smoothest, most lightweight primer that never pills and doesn’t set the foundation too fast.” —Ingeborg

There are many dimensions to makeup application—precisely three, in fact. Makeup in the 2-D world is reserved for your screen, and in the 1-D world, it’ll cost you $7.80 or best available offer. But make up for real life is three dimensional, and skin in real life has pores, bumps, and wrinkles. There’s no way around it! A great makeup application takes that texture into account—makeup won’t look smooth if the surface under it isn’t smooth. The right prep routine for you could be an AHA, a dewy moisturizer, or a mattifying primer—makeup artists use them all. Here’s how seven take dry, winter skin and make it smooth, plump, and makeup-ready. You’ll probably need less coverage, and your makeup will last longer without flaking. Here’s to looking good, from all angles.

The Gentle Exfoliation “Smooth foundation starts with smooth skin. I always start by doing a light exfoliation. Lately, I’ve been using Pixi Glow Peel Pads—the glycolic acid helps slough off any dead skin cells on the surface. For dryness around the nose and picked-at blemishes, I take a small amount of Homeoplasmine on a cotton swab and gently massage into the scab or flaky skin. In most instances, this is enough to completely remove it and smooth it out. It’s important not to overload the skin before makeup. The more products you’re mixing and matching, the higher the chance certain ingredients won’t get along with each other. This is what causes that weird rolling of product you often see. Focus on skincare that absorbs, and doesn’t sit on top of the skin—I almost always use Eminence Facial Recovery Oil.” —Dana Delaney

The Winter Skin Fix “Super hydrating moisturizer is the best base for any foundation, as healthy, moisturized skin always gives that extra beautiful luster—it’s a glow that lasts all day. You’ll end up using less actual makeup when your skin looks this good. Models come in super dehydrated in the winter, so I have a few creams in a rotation. One that works on everyone is Avène Crème For Intolerant Skin. It’s super hydrating and soothing, and it has very few ingredients, so it works on even the most sensitive skin. For those who love a traditional primer, you can’t get any better than Laura Mercier’s classic Foundation Primer. It’s the smoothest, most lightweight primer that never pills and doesn’t set the foundation too fast.” —Ingeborg

The Hot Tip “I start by cleansing the skin with Aveda Botanical Kinetics Radiant Skin Refiner to smooth everything out. I then apply Hydro-Plumping Re-Texturizing Serum Concentrate from Kiehl’s, which plumps the skin and helps it retain moisture. I finish with Dr. Hauschka Rose Day Cream, a rich cream with minimal ingredients. Using my fingertips, I work in Laura Mercier Radiance Primer. The warmth from your fingers works well to evenly apply the product and helps melt the product to your skin. You don’t want it to feel like it's hovering above the surface. I also do this with makeup—I warm the product on the back of my hands before applying.” —Mimi Quique

The One-Two Punch “The key to flawless smooth foundation is what you prep with underneath. I am a big fan of adding moisture and tackling excess shine before applying the base. I use a hydrating primer like Hourglass' hydrating serum all over, and then a mattifying serum like MAC Refined Zone down the T-zone. This ensures that no areas grab and look too heavy or dry—it will also give up to 24-hour wear.” —Lynsey Alexander

The Sensitive Solution “The most important step in my makeup routine is actually skincare. I tend to have dry, sensitive skin so I have to make sure that the products I'm using will not only last for 12 hours a day but also not strip my skin of its natural moisture. I'll apply a small amount of hyaluronic acid—I use Vichy Aqualia Thermal Face Serum—because it helps my skin absorb the cream better. I'll finish my skincare prep with a light but powerful moisturizer like Youth To The People Adaptogen Deep Moisture Cream. I love this moisturizer because it doesn't pill up under my foundation, and contains pentapeptides that calm the skin and reduce irritation. Next, I'll warm up a dime-size amount of liquid foundation along with a small dot of moisturizer in my palms—the moisturizer helps thin the foundation out so it’s not as heavy. The heat of my hands helps to ensure an even blend and smoother finish.”—Jenn Collins

The Poppin’ Lock “What I would do is exfoliate and make sure that the skin has had adequate moisturizing. I'll sometimes even use a jade or rose quartz roller to stimulate collagen or do a light facial massage while applying moisturizer. When using makeup you want to stay away from things that are too active—wrinkle creams and things that are great for nighttime. In the daytime, a mattifying moisturizer is almost like a primer. Stippling with a wet Beautyblender is the best way to layer on the foundation. I like the Alleven Hyaluronic Airbrush Foundation or L'Oréal Freshwater Foundation, which are lightweight. If you apply your foundation while your skin is slightly damp from your moisturizer, it will blend together in a really organic way. As your moisturizer dries, your foundation locks in. ” —Sir John

The Full Shebang “I love to do a multi-step regimen to prep the skin for a smooth, long-lasting makeup application. I apply Nars Hydrating Toner on clean skin to gently exfoliate dead skin cells. Then, I restore moisture and radiance with Caudalie Beauty Elixir spray and Sisley Ecological Compound massaged into the skin. I use a facial tissue sheet to blot off excess skincare that hasn’t absorbed. To smooth out any texture or larger pores, I tap a small amount of MAC Skin Refined Zone Treatment with fingers. I prime the skin with Le Maquillage Pro Makeup Mixer which helps makes any foundation malleable and looking just like skin.” —Alana Wright Read More...

[konnoutagoewa]

The Big O

Early 2018.

By order of President Trump (aka "Big Orange"), American server owners were allowed to charge money for access to their servers - an action which became famous as "the death of net neutrality". Soon, prices sky-rocketed, making the Web a place exclusively for the richest of the rich. The rest of the population rebelled against the loss of their freedom, but were suppressed by armed forces, resulting in a large-scale rebellion against the government that quickly spread around the globe's World-Wide-Web citizens forced to emigrate to the darker ends of the Internet. "Nerds", previously bullied for their interest in automated technologies, quickly rose as national heroes, being the only ones with the knowledge to oppose the orange forces.

Years later . . .

Trin didn't need her eyes to type. In fact, with the speed her fingers were moving over the keyboard, no eyes could help her do it any better. Thus her eyes were glued to the screen, dashing over the numerous data that flowed over it, with her glasses reflecting it in the otherwise mostly dark room where her keyboard resounded. A faint light seemed to dare that reflection from the other end of the room, flickering brighter from time to time, showing how much data passed the little computer it was attached to. But Trin didn't need to look at it - amongst the tons of information that were on her display, she could fish out the state of the Raspberry Pi in less than a moment. Yet her interest was dedicated to a completely different server - one far away from her, and one that she was not precisely expected to have access to. That surely made it significantly harder for her to access it and get the information she wanted, but ust because she wasn't expected to do so didn't mean she didn't have the right to - or the abilities.

Her fingers stopped moving.

"They are using UNIX?!" she shouted in the small, dark room. "What the hell . . ." she added on to it with a whisper and a grin. The system she turned out to be faced with was a spinoff of her favorite system that used to be made through the efforts of many, many freelancer coders and, with the downfall of internet freedom, went crashing as well - soon becoming illegal and replaced by the much more monolithic and useless Windows system, made off the money they gained from forcing people to use it. Nonetheless, most of her computers ran a very similar Linux system, in its core elements the same as every other Unix - it was flexible, it was fast, it had all the tools she could ever need, and most of all, it allowed her to remain quiet and unnoticed - quite vital traits for someone with her way of life.

Knowing what she was working with, the rest became fairly easy: she knew every bug, every backdoor, every little hole in her favorite system and, with a version of it made specifically for forcing such holes open, she proceeded to force her way into the much wankier distro that ran the server she was attacking. Considering her economical status, she would have needed to wait for 50 years before she could access it, but such numbers meant little if you weren't following the law.

Grinning from the thrill of breaking the law, which Trin did daily anyway, she passed a few more arguments into the black rectangle on her screen. A few moments later, the prompt changed. She snickered and started navigating the server, which was now completely under her control. After going around a bit it occurred to her it might be too bothersome to download data from a server via bash, the default language of both computers, while the server was still running, so with a few keystrokes, she switched to SQL and, now in a fitting environment, needed less than a minute to find the files she was ordered for.

Because yes, despite being a hacker and an anarchist, she still had to work, yet she did so with pleasure. Her current job was to publicly release data on molesters from the old times when there were still poor people on the Web to be molested. She didn't have an account for the social network she was hacking, but she had heard of it - after all, "Tumblr" was one of the social networks most influenced by Big Orange's actions. Yet that didn't matter - she did her job, she got paid, and that's all she needed to know. Not that she didn't keep records of all her jobs - it had saved her life a few times already, and why change a bad habit?

The good thing was that the data she was looking for was stuff like IP addresses, user names, etc - the kind of information saved in metadata, which was pretty much everywhere. And Trin had asked for a sample post when receiving the job, so searching for that and exploiting the return value was such a simple approach that she nearly felt like she had scammed off her customer - not that she would give the money back just because the job was easy . . .

Contemplating on the low security of the server, she piped the data download to multiple dedicated servers (read raspies-in-trash-cans-that-she-connected-to-the-internet-beforehand-just-in-case-you-know). It meant that the data would be downloaded on the raspberries instead of her main computer, which in turn meant she couldn't be tracked that easily. It took a while, during which she stared at the screen blankly - if something was going to fuck up, that was the time for it.

Nothing fucked up.

Proud, she disconnected her main computer she had been using so far from the server, deleting her traces in the process, switched to the raspi that was still blinking shyly in the corner of the room and ran the same process backwards - yet this time, instead of random metadata about assholes from the last age, she made her little minions send little packages of scrambled code - every single one of them completely useless, yet put together they made a powerful killcode for the server. She liked the approach. Code golfing had always been a hobby of hers, and let's just say, she also just enjoyed wrecking servers. She originally set up the raspies for DDOS attacks (every single one of them annoying the server until it can't keep up and crashes), but it turned out these could be easily tracked and her home system could do it better anyway, so she started using scrambled killcodes instead. And she was quite proud of the results.

With the server wrecked, she connected to her raspies instead, downloaded the data for the catalogue from there instead, and disconnected again. Job well done, now she just had to wait a bit and find a place to publish it, then get paid - and hope the little ones weren't discovered beforehand. The police had managed to get a few of her minions in the past, but after running apt update, it became too hard for the rather dumb Informatics Technologies Crime Department to keep up with the rather old updates. Still, as someone living on the edge, she had to consider all possibilities, even if all she could do against them was to pray. Not that she wasn't an atheist . . .

Trin stood up from her chair and stretched. It had been a long day she had spent on her computer, and she hurt all over. "God, I might just go by foot tomorrow . . . " she said to the empty room. Tomorrow was Thursday, her day for making deals in real life. Years ago, when she was still burning with a fire for rebellion, she had bought herself a motorbike and, despite it being quite old and rusty now, it helped her move around from place to place when she had to - for example, on Thursdays.

"Oh. Fuck . . . ", she whispered to herself. Thinking of Thursdays, she remembered she had another job to do. Quickly going through some of the drawers on her table, she found an empty memory card and put it in her computer, turning the chair around so that she could just lean on it instead of sitting down again. This job was much easier - she just had to find some files and deliver them directly, no hacking, no DDOSing, no onion routing. Even better - the "files" were one of her favorite series that she even occasionally rewatched, so she didn't even need to find them - she had already down loaded them years ago. In fact, Trin really wanted to talk about it with the customer - there weren't many people she could relate to and spend time with - but again, work politics were important when living like her. She sighed - being an outlaw hacker was cool and all, but it had some drawbacks. How did she wish that she could one day just meet up with someone for a coffee and chat about books and banned Internet series and politics and Linux kernels and bot networks and homemade ISAs and how often she forgot that memory cards were pretty much instantaneous but she forgets it so she keeps waiting for them and then dozes off thinking about coffee dates. Like now, for example. She ejected the card ("Don't want to ruin the goods now, do we?"), put it in her bag with thingies, and after a moment of contemplation about whether she had forgotten something again, put the computer to sleep again.

Again, she stretched, with a considerably deeper sigh this time. "I need a fucking shower," she decided after a short pause, and proceeded to take her tank top and shorts off. She liked hot showers to relax her muscles after a long sitting in front of her machinery, so we will leave her to relax for the night.

~~~

"Aaargh!", she shouted, first thing in the morning, and punched her alarm clock which had just been "brought to life". She had been considering setting the alarm to something else than Evanescence for quite a while, but had never bothered doing it. Until now. She coded at night, for Turing's sake, she couldn't just wake up at eight o'clo- "Fuck?!", she shouted at the clock, and jumped out of her bed immediately. Changing the song was one thing, forgetting to set the timer a completely different one. She rarely cared about waking up early or other such saintly narcissities, but she had one job this time, and she kinda failed at it.

She pulled up a map on her computer. Another good habit of hers was to never uselessly shut it down completely. "Okay so twenty minutes away, I won't make it, but it'll take about five with Bumbs, so what the FUCK AM I WASTING TIME FOR!", she shouted at her screen before hurrying off into the bathroom. Deciding teethbrushing was for losers who had the time for it, she tied her hair a bit more properly than usual - in other words, she did it - and hurried back to put some proper clothes on. Luckily, she wasn't very creative when it came to outfits, which meant she had been wearing the same outfit on Thursdays for a few years now so she didn't waste much time on that. Ready, she took her bag of thingies, dug out her keys, unlocked the front door, ran out, came back, put her fancy shoes on - a pair of punk army boots -, ran out again, then came back again, turned her computer off since she wouldn't need it all day, then went out for the last and final time that morning, and didn't forget to close and lock the door behind her.

"Bumbs," as she playingly referred to her motorbike, was still chained in the common garage where she had last left it. For an anarchaic district, it was better kept than most people would expect - if only because "anarchaic" had acquired the meaning of "moral". She unchained it, swung the chain around the steering bar, took herself a precious minute to put her headphones and the "N2-BMB" playlist on, then pulled her helmet over her (still surprisingly neatly arranged) hair, swung herself over the relatively thin frame of the bike (even after the death of net neutrality, making stuff from carbon fibers remained popular), pushed the key in and, after turning it with a roar, dusted off down the dark, dirty street in the foggy morning light.

~~~

Eva was getting worried. It was already past the time she had expected to be done by, but her contractor still hadn't shown up. She was planning on going - it would be pretty bad if she was late for work - but on the other hand, she was dealing with an underground business, so she wasn't sure what were the consequences for not keeping her end of the deal. She looked at her watch and decided to wait another five minutes before leaving the old, loud, plastic-smelling room that had once been a university's cantina, but was now used as a meeting place for underground deals. Even with the orange forces doing anything to oppose them, nerds had still managed to secure some places for themselves. This university, for example, had been a meeting place for them back in the times when internet was free, and it had remained one.

From the few noises that came from the neighboring street, one separated itself by getting much louder and then ending in an unpleasant squeaking. Less than a minute later, a very chaotically looking individual came in, with a camouflage jacket and their helm still on. With everyone's eyes on them (except maybe for a pair in the corner that was meant for dealing more erotic material), they took their helmet off to unleash a wild, long, curly hair over their freckled, round face. Some whistles were heard, but she ignored them and headed towards the desk. Since it was an anonymous meeting place, the middleman was important, yet he just looked at the card the wildly haired woman showed him and pointed her in the direction of Eva.

Eva sighed. It was about time. The woman approached her, digging for something in an overly big black bag that seemed to consist of countless belts and pockets and a large flap, seemingly made from an old sail (surprisingly, it actually used to be a sail once), that covered them whenever the owner of the bag wasn't digging in its pockets. As Eva watched it, it was flipped back over the bag, as the owner had found what she had been looking for. The woman stopped in front of Eva, took a second to get used to her client being half a head shorter, and reached out her hand, a small card laying in it.

"The goods. Sorry for being late."

~~~

Ping was from China. Most of his customers often assumed Ping was his real name, yet he had just chosen it because he found the bash command to fit the purpose of a middleman that connected Internet junkies in a dystopian world. He had been working with Trin for years, and had long grown accustomed to her frequent latecomings. Otherwise, he liked working with her - she was one of the best at what she did, and still had a sense of humor that was rarely seen in their world. He might have started hitting on her if he had been straight.

As usual, she came at the latest possible time. She showed him the card that was supposed to tell him who he was supposed to connect her to, and without even looking at it, he pointed at the blonde girl at the end of the hall - the person who had been waiting the longest. Trin looked at her and blushed.

"I ain't arranging dates, you'll have to ask her out yourself."

Trin shushed him and went away from the desk. They had met in a gay bar, shortly after Big Orange's idiotic order and a while before gay clubs ended up being forbidden as well. He knew her well enough to know what was going through her head.

The following was going through her head:

"For Bell's sake, I'm late again. I hope they haven't gone away. So, who am I- fuck is she cute. I wonder if . . . Ah, better concentrate on the job, I'm late enough as it is. She's probably straight anyway. Still, no harm in asking her out on a- wait! The card! Yea, I better find that card. Dear, I really have a lot in my bag. Where did I put it again? I think it was here . . . Yup. Funny how such a small thing was still so easy to find. Anyway, let's just hand it over and be done with- oh dear Torvalds, she's shorter than me. So cute! I'd totally have that coffee date with her . . . But dah, that's not my job. Give her the- wait, I should say something. What should I say? WHAT SHOULD I SAY?!"

"The goods. Sorry for being late."

Hesitantly, the short, fair-skinned woman reached for the little chip in the hacker's hand and picked it up with her pinkishly lacquered nails. "Well, you are pretty late . . . it's very small, are you sure that's all I asked for?"

Trin shrugged with a jolting movement. "It's 32 gigs, you know. You could write the soundtrack once more onto it. And you'll still have space left over." Eva pouted her lips, colored to fit her nails. "I didn't ask for the soundtrack . . ." Trin forced herself to a grin. "There was free space?"

For a few moments, the two women looked at each other, slowly blushing. At about the time most people would start sweating furiously, a small LED started blinking on Eva's slim silver wristband, reminding her that she didn't have much more time left to complain in. She jumped slightly, startled by it, tapped it gently, after which a gentle display lit up in the air above it, which she started manipulating with her thin fingers.

Something in Trin's heart twitched. They might have been around for about as long as her, but holographic displays still fascinated her. Such small things, yet graciously bending both light and matter to create elaborate miniatures that disappeared with a blow of the wind . . . yet slowly and surely, her eyes wandered a bit further up from the tiny wonder of engineering.

"So um . . . sorry, but I'm kinda running late, you know, what with you being late and all . . . we settled for 20 dollars, I'll just add another 10 for the soundtrack . . . then, 30 dollars for the first four seasons and their soundtrack, would that be a deal?" Eva looked up to the much taller freckled girl whose hair kept her shaded. Trin just kept staring into her person of interest, still a bit too oblivious to the question.

"Yes?" Eva bowed a bit and looked into Trin's eyes. Trin jumped back with a shout. "D'AAH!"

The eyes of even the shadier corners of the hall were now on them. Trin hid her face behind her hands out of habit, then played it off by combing them through her still wild hair.

"Um. 20 dollars, was it? The soundtrack is on me . . ." she left one hand on her head, just for reassurance. "As I was just saying . . . whatever, twenty be it." With another few quick movements, Eva once more corrected the value on her dial, then reached it out to Trin, who blinked at it, confused.

The hacker knew what a wireless check was, of course. She had had the opportunity to hack them many times, and didn't even really need to be in its proximity to make it work. The hand that the device was on was a different matter, though. Despite her job, she still had trouble with people, and even as a child of the "introverted millennial generation", she was still exceptionally shy when it came to physical contact. She preferred to perform transactions in BitCoin, and to let Ping handle whatever required physical contact. Yet even with modern technology, transferring 20 gigs of data was a bit hard to do, at least if she wished to remain unnoticed. So despite her deepest instincts, she had forced herself to come over physically - and was now faced with an even deeper instinct of hers that got significantly less chances to shine.

"I uh . . . I think I'd prefer it to . . . um . . ."

Eva raised an eyebrow, thinking of the steadily increasing number on the silver ring. "Yes?" She observed as her partner slowly reached a hand out for hers and, impatiently, grabbed it herself- "Aah!" - causing a shreak of surprise in the still unsure hacker. "Look, I don't have all day to loose. Cool, you don't like me, you're weird, I get it, now just take my money because I really have to go!" With each word, the shorter girl's voice had become louder, until she was nearly screaming at her provider. With trembling hands, the hacker was thus forced to face her anxiety and put the lightsaber-like rod she had had in her back pocket for a while on the thin bracelet's dial. If her mind wasn't getting overstressed with anxiety, it might have occurred to her that Eva couldn't possibly know what a lightsaber was.

"Some other weird hacker stuff? "

"Um, yea . . . third party routing . . . otherwise, it can be tracked with much more ease . . . "

"Isn't blockchain based on the idea that everyone can route it?"

"Kinda . . . "

Trin couldn't bring it over herself to tell the girl she found it hard to talk without crying. At least her hacker's reputation gave others the impression that she knew what she was doing (more often than not, she was just winging it while jamming to "Three Days Grace"/"Hollywood Undead"), and thus Eva didn't ask her again what she was doing. The actual reason why Trin was using third party routing was that, while blockchain was indeed the main transaction method nowadays, all state-issued "SilverChain" devices were carefully tracked by that same state. And since Eva was using precisely one of these, Trin knew she could get in a lot of trouble if she didn't go the extra few moments to route it properly. Eva seemed to mind.

"Did I mention I don't have time?"

"I'm . . . it just finished anyway. So um, have fun watching it? Hope you come again . . ."

"Aha." sighed Eva. Without long goodbyes, she nodded at Trin and went away. "And be careful with it!" shouted Trin after her, not receiving a reaction.

~~~

"I mean, you were quite late again . . . maybe actually set your clock next time?"

Trin took another sip from her coffee. She had a Thursday ahead of her, and if she wanted a job, she had to stay away from alcohol. Thanks to Ping's subtle interventions, she hated drinking it anyway, yet he still proved to be a good drinking buddy, even if only for coffee.

"That aside, can I borrow your bots sometime soon?"

"What for?"

"This guy said he needed some routing for some large files, and I thought we could distribute it over your net . . . "

"What files?"

"You know I can't ask for that."

"Can't he just encrypt then and ssh them over?"

"You could try doing that, you know. I'd give you his contacts, but he wanted to remain anonymous, so I'll have to ask before that."

"And gender somehow doesn't count as personal data?"

"I never said he's a guy?" Trin raised an eyebrow. "Fine, you got me. Ain't telling you anything else, though."

"I can hack it myself if I cared."

"And get yourself blacklisted from my bar?"

" . . . eye for an eye, I guess. Assume I take the job - how much would I get?"

"A twentieth, risk factors and transport included." Trin considered it. A tenth of a bitcoin could allow her to renew all her electronics, state-of-the-art computer with at least basic quantum support and hydrogen cooling included, and maybe finally buy herself a bed. She was getting bored of her hammock anyway, she told herself, and assembling a bed would be fun . . .

"I refuse. Too risky."

"Said the girl who times how long she needs to hack the discontinued Oath Inc FreeBSD mainframe in Linkin Park songs?"

"Hey, hey, hey! Keep my gender out of this!"

"Sorry, sorry . . . "

Another hacker, recognizable by his large headphones covering the sides of his head, entered the bar and exchanged a few cards with Ping, who sent him to a nearby table. The "bartender" then spent a few moments on the console hidden behind the plot that had been locked until now.

"There's this girl who's looking for her . . . brother of a kind?"

"DNA sampling?"

"No, just IP7 address . . . "

"His?"

"Have a guess."

"Oh dear . . . "

"Should I tell her?"

"Don't bother, she'll figure it out herself soon enough . . . I kinda feel sorry for her, though."

"If it's important, she'll manage."

"I certainly hope so."

Ping wondered whether there was anything else to say.

"I guess you won't hack my servers to get the girl's data, right?"

"Why would I? It'll only give me her IP, but I could get that otherwise as well . . . "

" . . . I meant today's client."

"Oh."

"I shoudln't be telling you, but she seemed pretty straight."

"Are you telling me that based on her looks or her search history?"

"The latter, plus tests from her job application."

"Oh right, they reintroduced that shit . . . when was it made again? 1950?"

"Well they got the pupil cameras fixed . . . took them long enough . . . "

Another few moments spent looking at a screen and mourning the victims of heteronormative societies..

"Aah. Here's one for you."

"Lemme hear."

"Recovering WhatsApp conversations with ex."

"No way. I hate Erlang."

"Oh come on, it's just a language!"

"So is Malborge . . . "

Trin had long suspected Ping of having tried to learn "that one language" that had been specifically designed to be impossible to use, and his suppressed, choked laughter confirmed her suspicion.

"You gotta admit, though, it makes for completely foolproof programs!"

"Yeah, and I've never used nmap before."

A ping from Ping's computer pinged his attention, interrupting their line of puns. He glanced at it.

"Oh snap."

"What?"

"It's your customer from today, and she's not asking for a date."

"That sounds . . . bad?"

~~~

Eva came in right in time, which was bad. She technically had enough time to dress up and start work in the time given in the job description she signed three months ago, yet with a boss like hers, she had to be ready to start serving at least half an hour before. It wasn't legal to make her work with such a schedule, yes - but "legal" was a very varying term, set according to charisma of the workgiver, his (there were few hers in power) wealth, and last but not least, whose contacts he had on his bracelet. Her boss happened to have the contacts of a few of the more important inspectors at the constitution that was responsible for making sure politicians still had a "law" to refer to.

Long story short, she had to use the back door and dress in the toilets. At least she knew her boss wouldn't look for her there. He had installed cameras there and often misused them, which was the reason her female colleagues and her used the bathroom of the neighboring hotel whenever possible, but she took the risk - the consequences for directly disobeying his tyrant order were worse than having him see her undress. It wasn't right, but "righteousness" and "justice" were things that few believed still applied to women after Big O's rise to power.

Her bobbish haircut held back by a yellow hair band, a thick, uncomfortably sticky lipstick and makeup on her face, and such a revealing outfit that it didn't matter much whether she changed into it in the bathroom or not were the quick changes she had to adjust before going back out into the uncomfortably cold and gray corridors of the fast food building she worked at. She remained silent for a moment, listening for someone who might run into her and tell her boss and, after not hearing anyone close, tiptoed to her locker further down the corridor. Luckily, her boss was too greedy to pay for proper lockers, so there was no pad to register when she came in to work - a useful detail she and her colleagues had learned soon after applying.

Still on tiptoes, she ran past the "meeting room", mainly used by their boss to shout commands and molest his female subordinates, and stopped in front of the kitchen door. Beyond that point, anyone would be able to see her, and she would most certainly get noticed by the cook. So the question was, which cook was on duty? It didn't matter much, since she couldn't change much about it anyway, yet Eva tried to use every chance to calm her throbbing heart.

Leaning against the cold metal door, she was assaulted by all the noise going on early in the morning. Since the shift had already started, the kitchen was already working, and she could barely distinguish a silent whistle, accompanied by a deep hum and roughly following the melody of "Heartbreak Hotel". Eva sighed happily, creaked the door open and entered.

The slightly overweight, balding white man behind the grill who nonetheless still looked like in his thirties stopped turning the steaks and turned to her instead.

"Hi, Elvis." she whispered. Nodding with a smile, he beckoned her closer and whispered in return, "Irene is on the counter, so serve the back for a while first. Table 21 ordered a big coke less than a minute ago, bring that and check it with her. I'll be a witness if she asks when you came."

She gave him a quick hug and dashed off to the drink machine while he continued whistling where he had left off, quickly turning half a dozen steaks that threatened to start burning soon.

~~~

Eva had lost count on how many times she had convinced herself of Elvis' kindness. Most of the tables in the back had to be served, some more than just a coke. Yet from the Neo-nazis that shouted slurs left and right, and the businessmen discussing how to drench their employees of even more money, he had managed to send her to the only table that didn't pose any potential danger to her physical or mental health. Table 21 was occupied by a rather decent looking guy who seemed to be doing something very uncommon for his times - studying. Eva placed his coke down next to him, distracting him from the thick white book he had been engulfed in. "Oh, thanks," he mumbled, taking a sip from it. "Haven't seen you around?" he asked her, making her exchange her anxiety for confusion.

"Wha-, um, do you come here often?"

"Yeah, I study here a lot. I don't live far, but there aren't many fast food places near me, so I come here. The staff is nice."

Eva tried to pull her skirt further down, remembering that she tried that every day and still forgot how futile it was. The only place 'near by' that didn't have fast food restaurants and where you would expect to meet someone wealthy enough to study was the Manhattan - a walled-off downtown district, soaring to the skies where the rich bureaucrats and businessmen lingered in pleasures while the rest of the population had to find their place in the communistically designed slums that composed the rest of the city. While he seemed nice, Eva knew the boy could probably buy her as a dog and treat her as such, and get away with it without anyone batting an eye.

Yet again, her knees were trembling. She didn't have much of a life, yet for someone to be able to change hers at will frightened her. And she had good reason to be frightened, for very few with that ability cared to use it for the good of those whose lives were influenced.

Having noticed her lack of response, the boy turns to her, making it even worse. Threatening to fall, she grabs the table, supporting herself.

"Miss, are you alright?"

"Yes, yes, I'm fine. Just had a little trouble this morning, and it still seems to weaken me . . ."

Politely declining his outstretched hands, she turns to go back to the kitchen, only to see yet another horror. Having been distracted by her contemplation on modern society, she had not noticed the flashing blue and red lights, and only noticed the policeman when he was almost in front of her.

"Where is Brian Naille?"

"Whu, what?" she asked with a trembling voice, too distracted to understand his otherwise rather simple question. The officer, on the other hand, wasn't that understanding, and decided to shout in case it helped her - which it didn't.

"You useless slut, didn't you hear me?! Where! Is! Brian! Naille?!"

Eva had raised her hands over her head. Officially, the police was meant to protect the people, but everyone knew better than to pointlessly trust them and get killed in their own homes. And this specific example didn't seem to think much of her anyway.

She glanced to the kitchen. Elvis had that ability to him to calm people, yet behind the thick glass panels, he hadn't noticed anything yet. Which got Eva thinking: what was his real name again? The officer followed her line of sight and didn't need to think long. He went away from Eva, yet her knees didn't stop trembling. Waving his badge around, he entered the kitchen. Elvis finally saw him, and his peaceful expression was replaced by one of bitterness and hate, one no one knew he knew how to make. With a speed Eva didn't think he was capable of having, he lashed himself towards the officer who, also having not expected such agility or speed, didn't even move when the hot and oil-dripping spatula dug into the flesh of his face. Even behind the isolating glass, his shout was still well audible. Having scarred him for life, Elvis reached for the backdoor that Eva had come in through, yet the officer, having been frequently beaten at his training camp and unusually furious, grabbed for him and lashed him back, bringing him to the floor.

Despite her best attempt, Eva couldn't tear her eyes from the brutal beating that followed. A few lower policemen joined their boss on kicking down on the now defenseless cook, yet still restraining themselves enough to leave him alive - they'd need him alive in order to torture him in prison, they knew in their rather primitive brains. Nonetheless, they kicked for a while. Eventually, he had stopped moving, so they dragged his lump, bloody and disformed body through the corridor and out of the building.

Eva had fallen to her knees, unable to look away. Aside for her little purchase this morning, she had expected to have a normal day - getting shouted at by Irene, spilling a drink or two, getting slapped on her butt by clients who she had never spoken to, the usual abuse. But actually seeing someone getting beaten was too much for her. Sure, it was daily news to hear that someone close got beaten and imprisoned, yet seeing it happen right in front of her was a completely different story.

She looked around. Did it even happen? Or was it just another fantasy of her tortured mind? The clients had been excited, and now seemed content of the little show. Most of them had already gone back to their useless talks. She looked at the now empty grill. Blood still covered the marble white floor panels in front of it. The steaks on it were beginning to raise a cloud of black smoke, yet no one seemed to care much. It was not their job.

"Are you okay?" The boy reached a hand out for her again. "Did you know him?"

"I- . . ." her own voice choked her. She coughed it away, and started again. "I have to go."

~~~

Not bothering to give the employees a proper explanation, the police department had sent their boss the report. Brian Jackson Naille, or Elvis, as they called him, was fired on the spot, his records sent to the police for analysis and then deleted. His drawer was emptied - there were some clothes that got thrown away, and a few electronics got discovered that were also sent to the police. Apparently, he had trafficked illegal data about the new trackers that were soon to be made public, earning him a life sentence in jail - if he managed to even get there. He had earned himself a respectable loan, which ended in their boss' pocket.

Eva was given a half-hour 'break' - after cleaning whatever remained of him, she was free to spend the rest of the time as she pleased. She spent most of it puking in the toilet. She went back to pack the cleaning utensils, and involuntarily eavesdropped as Irene chattered to one of her vultures about why they got him. She went back to the staff room to pack said utensils, and remained in the toilet, playing with her bracelet. If they had caught him for smuggling such data, it would surely be easy to also track her conversation with Ping. The SD card that was still in her bra - she wasn't allowed much privacy - happily glinted when she took it out, innocent of the trouble it could cause her. She stared at it for a while before raising her hand again, activating the display. She had to warn them.

She didn't know anything about RSA - the unbreakable algorithm that her device was supposed to use instead of its way too simple substitution algorithm -, nor did she know much about routing. Yet she had already managed to get in touch with them once and, despite the insecurity of using the same route again, she opened up the chatbox from last time.

"A much needed plea from a silenced drudgess. In the dread of blood, a fleeting hope is all I beg."

She wanted to come up with something smarter, she knew she had to, but her overstressed brain failed to think with something aside for her addiction to poetry from when she was eight. Hoping that it won't be intercepted by the router that her boss was very keen on observing closely for precisely such complaints, she raised her hand again, breathed in, hoping to make it stop trembling, and pressed 'Send'.

~~~

Eva's eyes were closing. It had been at least an hour after her break was over, yet no one had come in to look for her. She had cried, she had crawled herself into a ball on the floor, she had almost started lashing out on the door, but held back, knowing that then someone would have come for sure. Now, she was just lying on the floor in her small gray cabin, not moving, not expecting anyone, just listening to the noises from the corridor - often steps, the occasional trolley, sometimes shouts for oil or another ingredient.

Certain steps grew louder. She could make the difference between most of her colleagues, but she didn't recognize those. They were heavier, sharper. Angry. Unlike the others, they were looking for something, and quickly rushed to the toilets after entering the corridor. The steps threw the door open, confirming her fears, and rushed to her cabin - the only closed one during work time. Eva was trembling again. If her message was intercepted, then even the stupid boss would have guessed why she had sent it, and would have called the police back to get her as well. Her life hadn't been that bad, after all - sure, she didn't go to university and was ditched at a roadside fast food place by her parents, but all things considered, it could have been much worse-

"Your name was Eva, right?"

She jumped up. The voice was slightly hoarse, but she was sure she knew it.

"We um, we have a policy to not look into our clients' personal data, but I kinda had to in your case . . ."

Eva unlocked the door and opened it wide. With the same old army jacket and an even wilder haircut that aerodynamically went down to her shoulders, Trin stood there and was still trying to catch her breath.

"Ping caught your signal, and I rushed here on Bum- uh, my motorbike," she explained briefly. "Get out before they notice-" she began again, but was interrupting by the auburn waitress hanging herself on her neck and starting to cry. "Um." was all she managed to add to it, reddening up again.

"Oh god bless you're here, I was so worried, they got Elvis for some data traffic and I knew they had tracked me too, god I was so worried but you came please please help me, help me . . ." she kept on, but soon her pleas were drowned in tears and snot and she had to sob silently, curled up on Trin's chest while Trin herself was busy caressing her hair and blushing heavily. "I um . . . I jammed the cameras, so we should have a bit of time to get out. I'll let you stay at my place, okay? You'll be save there. I promise."

Eva dragged herself up on her, holding her for another while before standing on her own. "Th- thank you," she managed to mumble. "No problem. We help whomever we can." Nonetheless, she leaned closer. "Honestly though, think before you contact us. You put yourself and all of us in great danger, you know."

"I know . . ."

To her response, Trin covered her face with her hands and thus muffed her shout that she gave off out of nowhere. It was Eva's turn to put on a worried face. "Is everything okay?"

"Stop being so fucking cute, I can't think properly!"

A couple of seconds of silence followed, disturbed only by the steps coming from outside. Trin took her hands off her face and pointed to the door with a serious face, yet her blush betrayed her. "I never said that. Now go pack your things and let's get out of here."

~~~

Eva didn't need much time to get ready. She took her jeans from her locker, pulled them on under the shirt without bothering to go back to the bathroom, took the rest - a jacket that she threw over herself, a notebook, a few cards that she used whenever her wristband couldn't fit, and a shirt that she wrapped them in before stuffing them in the jacket - and turned to the hacker. Trin had politely waited and after she was done, guided the way through the slowly thickening crowd of employees in the corridor towards the exit that Eva had come in through before what seemed like an eternity. The door was open - it had to be left so for "security reasons", yet no one dared to use it during work time. Bumbs was parked a bit further off in the parking slot of the building. Trin took a helm from the baggage compartment and handed it to Eva. "Give me your stuff and put it on." Eva did as told, letting Trin lace her shirtbag over her own portable computer in the box at the back end of the bike. Then Trin put on her own helm that had rested on the driver's seat, swung herself over it, and beckoned Eva to do the same. She had trouble doing so, having never even ridden a bike, but managed with a bit of help. "Name's Trin," her savior remembered to inform her. "Hold tight."

"Hold tight where?"

"Hug me from behind."

Even under her helm and the serious voice, Eva could still tell she was blushing. What an interesting woman, she thought. Not only an outlaw of such degree, but savvy enough with electronics to remain an outlaw for long. And she rode a motorbike. Eva didn't know what it was about motorbikes - they were loud, they were much more polluting than, say, public transport, and they were prone to breaking. But she had somehow always imagined being swept up by a guy with one of those bikes with the high steering bars and the many leather straps and belts. It didn't turn out as she imagined - and to be honest to herself, she had always known that she didn't really like such guys anyway - but having an outlaw friend that rode a motorbike sure looked like an interesting idea.

Her subconsciousness would have had something to say about that vision too, had it not been busy accommodating itself to the fact that Eva just used the word "savvy". It needed a while to process it. Had the day been calmer, it might have brought up a little detail about the outlaw's behavior that Eva had remained oblivious to.

She wrapped her hands around Trin and laid her helm on her army jacket. Seeing as her passenger was secured, Trin turned on the for Eva surprisingly silent engine, pushed the holder aside, and gently steered her bike to the main road. The jammer in the baggage compartment lost contact at about that distance, and Eva's boss was granted a pericular view over the ladies' dressing room and lockers, with no auburn Eva to be found.

~~~

Despite the clouded gray sky, it didn't rain. Trin drove into what was once a parking school lot and shut down the engine. "We're there." she said to her passenger. Eva took her hands off her and let herself be helped down from the machine. Ping had seen them coming, and was jogging towards them from the cantina building, looking mad. He didn't even bother looking at Trin when he reached them, instead he just grabbed Eva by the shoulders and shook her roughly.

"What happened to Brian?!" he shouted without warning. Trin threw her helm aside and grabbed him, pulling him away from the panicking Eva. "What happened, god damn it?!" he shouted again before Trin ripped him off her recently saved friend. "For Snowden's sake, Ping, she's under shock! Think a bit and leave her to calm!"

For a moment, she thought he was going to jump at her dear waitress again, but he bit his teeth together and held back.

"Apparently, the police caught word of Brian's dealings and went to arrest him. He was beat up pretty bad," she rewarded him for his consideration. He didn't like his reward. Instead, he started trembling just like Eva, shaking from anger and helplessness. Trin ignored him again and hugged her auburn companion, holding her tight to stop her shaking. "I know it hurts, and I know you don't want to remember it, but we have to know what happened, or it might get much worse." The now stable girl nodded guiltily and turned to Ping. Her lips trembled, but holding her savior's hand, she managed to speak.

"The . . . A cab had parked outside the door, but I was busy with a customer, so I didn't pay it much attention. The police officer came in and shouted at me, and I thought he would beat me or kidnap me, but he left me alone and went after the cook- "

"What was his name?"

"I, I don't- "

"God damn it, Evelyn, I have customers there!" He pointed at his bar. "And if you don't tell me what those damn officers know, they might die just like your cook! So who was he?!"

The now again shaking waitress looked up at Trin with a worried, questioning look. "He had to get your personal data so I could come to save you," she explained. Eva nodded, even more worried about how much they knew.

Yet one important thing they didn't know. Ping came closer and wiped his face with the sleeve of his shirt - he had tears in his eyes.

"Overweight white man with balding hair?"

"Yes, exactly. We, we used to call him Elvis, he always listened to those old songs . . ."

Ping had feared it and had held back his tears, but now that he knew, he had no reason to. Being the strong and serious man that he was, he didn't have much experience in crying, and it looked sobbier than usual. Nonetheless, he remained silent. Howling wouldn't help anymore.

"What . . . what happened?" asked Eva. "I . . . I will have to evacuate the bar," he managed to mutter. Trin stepped forward from behind Eva, still holding her arm for support - whose she didn't know.

"I'll take care of her."

"First, you will wait. Then you can do what you want."

As he had said it, he turned around and went to the bar. His feet were shaking and he nearly fell down a couple of times, yet he ran - he had to.

Eva wasn't trembling anymore. She had had enough of being worried, and found it increasingly hard to be worried, so she stopped. "How do you intend to take care of me, actually?" Trin was experiencing a similar emotional deficiency and failed to blush. "If you don't mind sleeping in a hammock, I could take you home with me . . ."

Eva raised an eyebrow. She had never been good at raising her eyebrows in any other emotion but fear, but she somehow managed. "You sleep in a hammock?"

"It's comfortable and easy to maintain. I have an extra sleeping mat, so I'll be on the floor." Eva considered the suggestion. Trin was an interesting woman indeed. Leaving aside the issue with loosing her hard-earned flat and earnings, Eva didn't regret having to live with her. "Well, you've read my records, so you know I have anxiety . . ."

"I kinda had to. Sorry."

". . . I don't know if I can do it."

The brunette with the messy hair turned back to face the somewhat shorter auburn. "You can. You've come this far, there's nothing to hold you back anymore." Lowering her head, Eva covered her chests with her hands. It was cold, and her outfit wasn't made for that weather. "That's . . . that's not true. You saved me."

Despite not being good at guessing other's emotions, a stroke of genius lit up Trin's mind. She took off her leather jacket, leaving herself in a pullover over a short-sleeved shirt, and draped her jacket over Eva, hugging her to compensate for what it didn't cover. It was Eva's turn to blush. "I couldn't have done anything if you hadn't called me. I may have a motorbike and sick nerd skills, but the bravery was on your side."

After a short contemplation, Eva decided she really liked that woman. She hugged her closer. "Trin, was it . . . for how long can I stay?"

"Uuummm . . . I lived alone, so I guess for a while . . ."

~~~

The two remained hugging each other for a while. Trin's ever-logical brain wanted to leave, but it knew Ping was coming, so it waited, leaving the emotional part of it to cuddle with her crush. Unsurprisingly, people started pouring out from the cantina and dashed to the parking lot, ignoring the two women and rushing to their vans, cars, motorcycles, bikes - one person even left on roller skaters. Eva had trouble guessing what gender that person was, but Trin knew it was neither of the ones she was thinking of. When everyone was gone, Ping came out as well, carrying a largish black bag towards them. Even from a distance, it was obvious he had cried. He seemed to be done with it, though, having regained his serious composure. He put the bag down next to them and started digging in the surprisingly low-tech tools that it contained. Eventually, he pulled out a largeish wire cutter and pointed it to Eva.

"Hold your hand out."

Eva was, for reasons obvious to everyone but Ping himself, very reluctant to obey. Trin grasped her wrist and pulled her closer to herself. "Your bracelet. I once had the honor to set up quite a complex jammer for Ping, but once we're out of reach, they can track you again."

With a proper explanation, she trusted Trin and let her hold her hand out while Ping cut the thin but surprisingly resilient band of silver away from her wrist. Once the heavy cutter was through, Trin gently peeled it from Eva's wrist, letting her examine the newly acquired blankness on her hand.

"It's so . . . empty? It feels weird."

Ping snorted, taking out a funny-looking baggie from his bag. Trin just grinned. "Kinda ironic how people find freedom weird . . ." Ping handed her the wire-coated baggie, and she put the silver band in it before closing it tightly and stuffing it in her bag. "It's a Faraday bag," she explained for Eva. "It's a small, handy version of my jammer. If we turn your bracelet off, we will loose data we might need later, so instead we'll isolate it until I can hack it safely at home." Then she turned to Ping and switched to a somewhat nerdier English. "You 'dd'ing your servers?"

"I have the data on a HDD stack. I'll have to shut it down and then I can pack it on the van. Can I ask you for a favor?"

"I'll inform the others, don't worry about that. Though to be honest, I think they know already."

"Can't hurt to be save. I'll go finish the setup, you have fun with the lady. I'd stay wary of the Paper Doll if I were you."

Trin gave him an odd, cold look, but still laughs at what seems to be a private joke to the unknowing Eva. After another moment, she lets go of her female friend and gives him a hug instead. "For Neumann's sake, Ping, don't die," she said, choking on tears. "I wouldn't be so worried about that, I know every hideout in this city."

"You know that's not what I meant."

After another moment of silence, he tapped her back. "Take care of her."

"I will."

Turning around and not looking back, he let go of her, took his bag, and went away again. Trin didn't wait either, picking up her helm from where she had thrown it earlier and handing Eva's to her new roommate who had silently waited out the confrontation. "Brian was Ping's boyfriend," she began explaining without being asked, "He was a data trafficker - he was also the one that sent you to us. If-, no, when the police finds the location of this place, they will come to ransack it just like they did your place, and we won't get to save innocents like you."

"What will happen to him?"

Trin seemed to choke. Her voice was certainly hoarser when she whispered "Don't ask."

Skillfully, she swung herself on her motorbike and helped Eva to climb on again. She even put her helmet on for her. "Keep my jacket on."

"Isn't it colder for the driver?"

"Keep it on."

Trin locked her own helmet below her chin and swung her bag in front of her - it was less comfortable for her, but more so for Eva. Having been beckoned, she hugged her driver from behind again. cuddling against her almost bare back.

"Eva . . . is it just me, or are you hugging me a bit more persistently this time?"

"Well you need a bit of warmth, don't you?"

Trin smiled and fired up the engine. Thinking back about it, she had indeed wished to be hugged like that when she first saw her. Sure, a few things turned out different than she had anticipated, but otherwise, she was quite happy with this Thursday.

~~~

Years later . . .

Gentle chants filled the room. Trin would have played something more norsic - there was a half-ancient band she had had in mind - but it wasn't her who chose what got played this time, so instead of her treasured Manowar, she was listening to the soft notes of the sharp Digital Daggers. Not that she didn't like them - as long as she could concentrate, all was fine with her. Her concentration currently had some trouble revealing a hidden solution to the gibberish that was displayed on her screen and that her eyes were captivated by. She had written it herself, and wasn't exceptionally happy with the result.

With a wisdom that had taken her a while to acquire, she leaned back. Straining herself wouldn't help, that she knew well. She stood up, stretched her tired back, and went to the kitchen. Despite what people often thought when seeing her going around with her shaggy clothes and haircut, she loved plants. Every window had at least one vase or can or anything that could hold water sitting in front of it, with plants ranging from bean sprouts to peace lilies to even a cactus that she picked up one winter out of fear it might freeze to death. Leaning herself on the window frame, she enjoyed the sun that came through and gazed on her little assortment of plants in front of it. Besides computers and books, she cared a lot for them.

Oh, and for another thing.

The circle plate in the middle of the iron apartment door turned, gliding the locking bar together and unlocking the door. With a bit of effort, the woman behind it managed to pull it open, bringing in the two bags of supplies she had brought. Trin took them from her and carried them in the kitchen while she was busy closing the door behind her.

"Oh, you brought asperges?"

"You said you liked them?"

With a smile, Trin started putting the food in their fridge. She hadn't been very concerned with eating habits until Eva came, and she could definitely tell her health improved altogether once the food got better.

"I think about boiling them with some potatoes on the side. It would probably be hard to boil them on a grill, but you have nice pots . . ."

While Trin enjoyed the voice, she wasn't precisely listening, so she didn't notice when Eva stopped talking and went over to Trin's computer. Just like Trin, she glanced at the screen for a while, and then started typing. She was still on it when Trin put the empty bags aside and went over to her side.

"What are you . . . doing?"

She stared while Eva finished typing and then proudly put her hands on her hips. "You have never been good with binary trees, were you?" Eva pouted, commenting on the somewhat recursive structure that Trin indeed never managed to use properly. The nerdier of them scratched her head. "I'm more impressed that you are . . ."

"I've practiced. Anyway, now that you're done . . ." She swung her arms around Trin, who lost her balance and started falling, and with Eva's help, the two ended up in the narrow hammock. " . . . we can cuddle, right?"

Trin was red again. "You little rat, abusing my computer like that!" She started tickling Eva, who twisted around in laughter. For yet another time, Trin convinced herself that she couldn't be mad at her auburn roommate for long, even if she tried.

They cuddled for a while. After moving in with her, Eva had had much trouble with panic attacks, and the closeness the hammock created helped her. Eventually, she just decided she liked to be packed close with Trin, and thus they didn't have to buy a proper bed, continuing to sleep in the somewhat overcrowded hammock that Trin had creatively hung on the thin walls with the help of Ping and a few thick logs. Surprisingly, it managed to hold the weight of the two women, in addition to the occasional swings and pulls that occurred whenever Eva played around in it or got tickled. All in all, it was a design worthy of respect that Ping had come up with.

Out of nowhere, Eva squeezed her roommate tighter. "Um . . . Trin?" The hacker patted her head. "What is it, sweetie?"

The auburn girl turned her face, rubbing it against Trin's chest and hiding in from her. "Have you ever . . . you know . . . wanted to . . . "

Her voice, quiet since she began speaking, shrank to a whisper. "Hey, I can't hear you when you speak like that. You can tell me anything, I won't mind."

Eva took a deep breath and started again.

"Do you want to adopt a child?"

~~~

A long silence followed. It was the kind of uncomfortable silence that you could feel sticking to you and choking you. Eva had feared it for a while.

"You know, I've . . . been thinking . . . because you know, I always thought that once I earned enough money to live properly, I'd find a boyfriend and have a family and the such, and . . . well, you aren't a guy, but I won't mind founding a family with you . . . and um . . . you know, I was thinking that, well, since there's no guy, we can't get pregnant, so we could, you know, adopt a kid, since there are many that need a family either way, and we don't necessarily need a child to be, like, biologically ours . . . "

She was interrupted by her friend's hand that she raised to her face. Scared, Eva looked up at her, to see that she was trying to wash away her tears. Still scared, she tried to continue, with even more confusion in her voice.

"I uh . . . I . . . I'm sorry if I brought up something bad . . . it's just that . . . you know, we've been living together for two years now, and I thought we could, like . . . "

Trin put her hand on her partner's shoulder, and she stopped talking. Despite crying, she managed to smile.

"It- it's okay. Sorry."

Eva hugged her girlfriend tightly again. "Don't be sorry, Trin, you did nothing wrong. I . . . kinda thought you've had trouble with your family, so I should have worded it differently-"

"No, Eva. It- it's okay. Really. I've . . . well yeah, they abandoned me when I was very little so I never knew them, but I don't regret it. After all, I got to be with you . . ."

Eva giggled. They were having a nice time indeed. Sure, most of it was spent working on computers and Eva had to use a raspie for a long time before Trin bought her a laptop - a slim white thing with hearts on the cover -, but most of all, they were together.

"So, my little romantic. Wanna go visit my old place tomorrow?"

"To- tomorrow?!"

"Why not? It's a Thursday, we have time, and if I heard right, you've wanted to do it for a while, right?"

Eva buried her head in her partner's chest. When she looked up at her again, she was red with smiling, and Trin went blushing as well.

"We are gonna need a bigger apartment."

"And a bed."

"Right, a hammock is a bad idea . . ." Trin commented through a yawn. As the two drifted asleep and had sweet dreams of each other, the computer kept gently lulling in the back.

" " "

When the moon is in the seventh hour, and Jupiter aligns with Mars, then peace will guide the planets, and love will stir the stars . . .

This is the dawning of the age of Aquarius, the age of Aquarius . . .

" " "

[bitchgoldstrikesagain]

Story time: Cat Lady from Hell

I'm a freelance pet sitter that has been working part time since I got out of college about a year ago. I don't necessarily need the money anymore since I've gotten a job as a full time illustrator at a Ad Agency, but I enjoy it. I've also worked with animals my whole life and worked or volunteered at at least five different shelters as I've moved around. Basically, I'm not stupid when it comes to animals.

So I got a new hit for a pet sitting job on the service site I’m on and so I set up a time to come and talk to them and meet their pets.  Turns out it’s this older woman living in a VERY wealthy part of town in a pent house over a high end shopping center with her single cat. 

Now some red flags did go off here at first. She was very insistent on my replies, and if I didn’t reply right away she would contact me through another venue. But that’s common with older clients, since I feel like most have no clue what Digital Social Etiquette is. Also her messages were super brisk and curt. 

Also at one point I asked for her address to meet her, she snapped back. “Well if you had read my work request you should have it.” 

Red flag one! But I politely explained to her that for safety reasons I only have access to her zip code. 

But when met her it was a completely different story. She was nice, she was clearly concerned about her cat and kept repeating how much she liked me. She also made it clear she was meeting with several different pet sitters since she had difficulty in the past. 

RED FLAG NUMBER TWO. 

I have made it a point, if a customer complains about a pet sitter, ask them specifically what their problem was and if its a bull shit problem DO NOT TAKE THE JOB. 

Now her cat, I should mention this cat. Sweetie. Really is quite a sweetie. But she was a stray, and has one back leg missing. But also is only about five - six years old. So prime of her life cate that other wise is completely healthy and by all accounts happy as far as I could tell. 

But so about a week later, she informs me she would like to hire me and promptly sends over a deposit. I was stupid, and I liked the cat, so I took the job. It was nearly two months out so I didn’t hear from her again for quite some time. 

Till about two weeks before the sitting dates. 

It was a day I was sick in bed, I got a migraine so I had decided to switch off my electronics for the day and recoup so the migraine didn’t last longer than necessary. 

It wasn’t even a full day though, and around 6pm that day I turn my phone back on to find -- 4 messages from her, all through out different platforms. I should point out she didn’t even let five hours pass between one email to the next. So I was expecting an Emergency, because what honestly could be so pressing that int he span of a business day I’m hit with so many messages! 

What did she need? 

To know when I’d be by int he next two weeks to get a key and final rundown on the cat. 

TWO WEEKS AWAY. 

I was getting a bit concerned but when I expressed this to a family member they were like, “ya know, she’s old and there’s just something about seniors that they demand you answer them right away. They don’t get that an email or a text is still waiting there and can be addressed later for some reason.” Which is an assessment I’ve also found true, and besides when I meet her in person she was always kind and nice to me. 

So everything goes well at the meet for the key. Though she is very insistent that I stay for 2 hours a day with her cat. I laughed and said, like I do to all my clients that would like me to stay with their cats, “Oh if I have my laptop I usually stay that amount of time just fine.” 

I apparently took this to mean something different than she did. 

Because let’s fast forward to the first day of sitting. 

That morning I get there -- and her apartment is a complete mess. The counter top is covered in trash and dirty dishes, papers and just so much stuff. There was also quite literally a half eaten banana left in the kitchen, just left out on the counter. . The living room has cat hair everywhere, as well as cat toys every where and over by the litter box is a complete mess. It’s a litter box I can tell has never been washed out past the point of buying it. 

And I’m not gonna lie, I consider that super rude. If you ask me to stay in your home, I don’t expect it to be military spotless, but I would appreciate it to be clean. It makes my stay much more pleasant. 

But so I empty the litter box, feed the cat and play with her for about ten to fifteen minutes before as cats do she gets tired of it and goes up on the couch and goes to sleep. 

Now, every client I ask, to please leave me a DETAILED instruction list. That way I know in their own words what they would like done on a daily basis. 

This client gives me --a mess of post-its, a feeding list that does not match up at all with what i was told in person and to top it all off --It’s completely illegible. Like really I spent fifteen minutes trying it read the scrawled handwritten note. None of it is in complete sentences and its just -- god it was a mess. 

Btw, both what she told me in person, and on her hodgepodge of instructions -- totally over feeding her very small cat. She had 5.5 oz. cans of cat food which wanted one given at night and in the morning AS WELL AS a 2.5 oz. packet of Sheba --basically a gravy smothered cat treats disguised to look like real food and nutrients, cats love them for the same reason we love ice cream -- given every night, in addition to a small bowl she always keeps full of dry food. 

Needless to say, I was throwing away so much food. The cat barely ate half of it. 

So that night I get there for the afternoon visit and I’m setting up outside on the balcony with the kitty snoozing on a cat bed out there when I send over a couple of text messages. This convo is so perfect I’ve gotta give it to you word for word! 

So --I’m not allowed to do anything while I’m there for 2 HOURS a day. I’m watching her cat for a week by the way. And I had fully planned to write and get some website work done while I was in her home. The same as a frequent repeat client I had scheduled directly after her, which had given me the wifi and password, asked me to stay about fifteen minutes with their cat and whom I subsequently stayed there with their cat for about three hours every night, because why not? I have my laptop and i’m doing exactly what i would be doing if I was at home, only with their cat now instead of my own. 

Also I should point out, I don’t think this woman actually knows what Wifi is. From how she’d describing it, t sounds like she things its the webcam she has hooked up. 

Which I didn’t connect the dots to, until several days later when I go this oh boi! kind of text!  

..again. Seniors have no sense of digital etiquette! I have yet to run into a person that thinks this is O-K to send to someone. ..because it isn’t. It’s creepy it’s very VERY creepy. 

It was upon getting this text, I look up from where I am on her cat hair covered floor, to finally register on the mantel of her fireplace is a bright blue light coming from a webcam. 

She never mentioned any form of this to me in person. EVER. 

The only place ti was mentioned was on a post-it, she had scrawled messily that she had acquired a Nanny-cam. 

I’m trying very hard to be o-kay with this, I realize it’s a common practice, though usually not for  a single cat... 

At this point I should admit -- I was not staying 2 hours a day. I was fucking bored, so I was staying the bare minimum and leaving to another clients house that had offered me wifi, supplied me with a case of Vanilla Coke, and told me to and I quote, “Eat anything you find in the fridge, or cupboards, we want you to feel at home while you’re here.” or a client after that, that had as well given me the Wifi even offered me their TV with HBO, Hulu, Showtime and Netflix AND had mixed mimosa, besides a selection of five different beers and three wines in the fridge which they urged me to please feel free to. Oh and that lady adores me so she leaves me a bowl of candy every time too. XD Also! both of which were clean, nice houses, one of which another penthouse overlooking the city... Why in the world would I be hanging out in a stinky cat hair balled home with a crabby ladies cat that because is missing a leg gets exhausted and sleeps 90% of the time with nothing to do when I had that waiting for me as my next scheduled stop?? 

I was though! Staying about 45 minuted every visit, I know because it was the first time in my life I was timing a cat visit. It was about 15 minuted to feed the cat, pet her cat, change her water, clean out the litter box and clean out her food bowl. Then 30 minutes of petting kitty, and playing with her till she got tired and would either make it clear to me she did not want any more attention -- usually with a play bite (Something this cat had a HUGE problem with and I strongly suggest you stop in cats btw! Its very easy to do so and you can train a cat to just put their paw on you when they would like you to stop. But not my cat so honestly not my problem!) -- or she would go to sleep. Then I’d leave. Cause why stay? I’m bored as fuck. 

Now about 3/4 of the way through I find out -- I’m being watched through out all of this. 

I god damn wanted to cry at this point. 

And I probably should have tried to stay longer -- but it creeped me out -- so this made it so I stayed shorter amounts of time, cause i was paranoid. I rushed through the assigned tasks then played with kitty till she was tired and slept -- then got he hell out of dodge! 

I do this job cause I love animals and it’s not that big of a deal for me, but this became that job I just GET. DONE. MOVE. ON! Cause i was stuck in a shitty situation and there was no other way but trudging through it. 

So I only had like two days left, I just had to make it to Wednesday. So like her notes were a mess but she didn't say in any of them that I could tell when she was coming back at all! So middle of the day Wednesday I get this email that's like “Oh I'm home!” And I was like wtf, cause I had planned to make a visit that night, but I was like whatever, at least I don't have to go again.

That is until I get a second email. Because I think she thinks Emails are text messaged... 

"Hey come by after work and we can negotiate on pay/hours."

Middle of the day, while I’m at work and I was so mad I went outside and called my best friend to talk me down from flipping my shit on this lady. Her advice to me by the was was, "dude you just have to get out clean with this crazy bitch."

So I swallowed it all and sent back an email that was like, “Just pay me what ever you think is fair, I’ll be by to drop oft the key after work.” 

Going up to her door, my heart was nearly pounding out of my chest and I think I was the fakest I’ve ever been in my life as she handed me a check, I handed her the key and we went separate ways. 

Also when I talked to her in person same story -- nice and smiling the whole time. I may be having the fakest moment of my life, but I think i just figured out then I was talking to one of the fakest bitches to walk the planet. 

I never wanna hear from her again. 

Her name in my phone is now, ‘Cat Lady from Hell.’ Just to be safe I never forget. 

Btw! I charge $17 for up to two visits a day --she was gone for 10 days, she owed me $170. ...She gave me $110.

So I only got 2/3 of what I had originally quoted her. 

There is a silver lining to this, the job service website she found me through -- yeah. She never marked me as Hired, meaning she can’t review me. I don’t think she’s tech savvy enough to figure that out but if she ever does, she ever does try to mark me as hired I plan to smack that down and unmark myself as hired. 

Lol. as far as I’m concerned its all just a bad memory I’d like to forget! 

[lovebtsfanart]

BTS and the Photographer (Part 2)

A/N: Hey I started writing fanfics just recently on wattpad. Feel free to follow my account Kpop_Fangirl_17 as i post my work there first before here, working on part 3 😊. I am new at this so if any other writers could give me some tips i would appreciate it

Pairing: Jungkook x Y/N. +BTS members

Genre: fluff, smut(Maybe in the future?)

Words: 2k+

Warnings: panic attacks, anxiety, sensitive topics, depression.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5

Synopsis: You are a photographer who lived and studied in London until you are given an opportunity to go to south Korea and work for BigHit Entertainment. You find out that you will be the personal photographer for BTS and will be working with nearly everyday. CEO Bang Si-hyuk had set this up and lets the rest unravel. He hopes the boys learn from the experiences you and them have and that will influence their music as well as help you. You see them all as your older brothers but you can’t deny that you feel something for the youngest, Jungkook. Both of you being shy, neither of you say anything but that does not stop you two from having little moments. Read to find out what adventures you have with the boys and love blossom between you and Jungkook.

As a person who suffers from anxiety and panic attacks I request everyone to be respectful and mature about this. If anyone wants to talk to me feel free to message me.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The mini bus had arrived at the BigHit Entertainment underground car park. The boys were getting all there stuff together but you were still fast asleep, they were looking between each other wondering whether they should wake you. Just then their manager called to them that they should wake you up.

“One of you wake Y/N up! The CEO is calling me. All of you, including Y/N, meet us in the office”

Their manager went ahead of them leaving the boys to it. Before Jungkook realised what was happening all the boys took off saying they were tired or they needed to go to the bathroom etc. The poor kid was left confused as he watched his hyungs walk away. He looked down at your sleeping face and noted how you looked so calm and happy as slept with a small smile on your face. The boy was suffering from inner conflict, he decided to sit in the seat opposite you for a bit. He sat with his resting his head on the head rest, admiring you.

Little did the boy know that his hyungs had all come back to see what was taking him so long. From a distance they stood and watched as the boy was sitting, admiring you.

“It seems our maknae has fallen for her”

Jin was the first to speak up and the rest agreed as they watched and ‘awwwed’ at the sight.

Jungkook decided that he should wake you up before the others come back. He stood up and lightly shook your shoulder. No response. He shook a little harder.

“Mmmhhhh”

“Y/N, Y/N we are here. Wake up”

You felt the gentleness of the voice, it reminded you of your late dad.

“Don’t go dad, don’t leave me!”

You said painfully, grabbing the hand and pulling it towards your cheek and nuzzling into the palm. Jungkook was surprised by the sudden action and nearly fell on you but caught himself on the back of your seat. He was now directly above you staring down at your sleeping figure. He felt a shot of pain to his chest as he saw a single tear fall from your cheek onto his hand. He swiped his thumb across your cheek, wiping the tear away. Just then you started to awake, your eyes fluttering open. You were met by the sparkling eyes that you saw in the image.

“You were crying again”

He said timidly

“Ah”

You let go of his hand and sat up in your seat, trying to fix your hair. Jungkook had stepped back and was now reaching for his huge ruck sack in the back seat and picked up your phone that was still playing music.

“You might need this”

He said passing your phone to you.

“Its still on, you should have switched it off or played something else”

“No, you have great taste in music and I thoroughly enjoyed listening”

You smirked

“Thats because they are your favourites too!”

You could not help but laugh and you found he was laughing just as hard as you were. You had not noticed the rest of the group across the car park watching you two.

“Come on love birds, Bang PD-nim wants to see us”

Namjoon shouted and startled you. They were all laughing, mainly at Jungkook’s embarrassed and now red face. You also turned a dusty pink but not as obvious.

“Leave the rest of your stuff in the bus, we will drop you off at to your apartment after” J-Hope called.

You both got out of the bus and headed towards the group, you caught a glimpse of his red ears as well as a scar on his cheek, it looked kind of cute.

“How’s your headache Y/N?”

“A lot better Jin, thanks for the medicine earlier”

“No problem, its the least I could do. Oh and we don’t mind if you call us oppa or a nickname, saying our names can be a little long” he laughed.

“Umm…..”

You smirked at the names you had come up with

“What! Come on Y/N tell us”

Taehyung said excited.

“Well how about…Jinnie Oppa, Minnie Oppa, Hobi Oppa, Joonie Oppa, Jiminnie Oppa, Taehyungie Oppa and……”

There was a slight pause as you got to Jungkook. You looked peered at him before looking back at the others.

“…Jungkookie Oppa!”

They were all smiling, Jimin with his adorable eye smile, Taehyung’s box grin, Suga with his gummy smile, J-Hope’s blindingly bright smile, Namjoon’s precious grin and of course Jin with his window wiper laugh. You could also see a small bunny smile from Jungkook and you became shy all of a sudden, twiddling your thumbs.

“Guys come on, we are late!

Namjoom said while walking away with Yoongi. The rest of you jogged after them, still smiling and laughing. When you reached the lift you all got in, it was a tight was a little snug as the boys were not exactly small but they made sure you had plenty of room. In the couple of minutes of all of you in the lift, Jin and Jungkook had started bickering about something but you were not interested as you were too nervous. You were meeting your boss for the first time and you wanted to make a good impression, you reminded yourself that you needed to thank him for arranging your flight and accommodation. As the doors opened you were welcomed by a sleek waiting area and a woman behind the desk, who greeted you all as soon as you got out of the lift.

“Hey noona” Hobi called “Is Bang PD-nim waiting for us?”

“He still talking to your manager, he will be done soon. Hi you must be Y/N”

The woman beamed

“You can have a seat and dont be shy to have a drink”

Pointing to the seats and the table with a range of drinks on. You walked over and picked up a bottle of water and took a sip while the boys plopped themselves down. You sat in the single seat across from the boys who were all on their phones scrolling through twitter. They were looking at the comments and mentions of the boys on their return from from their world tour. They were also looking to see it anyone saw you getting into their mini bus and were glad that no one did otherwise there would problems and that was the last thing they wanted for you. You sat there, unconsciously biting your bottom lip, looking blankly into space.

“You don’t have to be nervous Y/N, PD-nim is very nice and really friendly”

At Jin’s reassurance the members all looked up from their phones and agreed with him.

“Thanks Jin. You remind me of my-”

“Mum, right? I get that a lot” Jin interrupted.

“Thats why he is the omma of the group and that one is the destructive appa” Taehyung said bursting out in a fit of laughter as Namjoon dropped his phone.

“Yah! Respect your hyung!”

You could not help but giggle with the rest of them. You thought to yourself that this may just be more fun than you first thought.

“Boys you can go in now and Y/N!” The woman at the desk called.

You all headed into the large office, Namjoon ruffling your hair as he walked past you and in first. You were the last to walk in behind Jungkook.

“Boys its good to see you all”

Bang PD-nim had stood up from behind the desk and came around to hug the boys. One by one they hugged him.

“Wheres Y/N?”

You were stood behind all of them, you were not exactly short but the boys were big enough to cover you. They part slightly so that you could step forward.

“Oh there she is!” He stepped forward and hugged me which caught me by surprise. “Its been so long since I last saw you” he hugged you a little tighter.

He knows me you thought before coming away from his hold.

“Have we met before?” You asked.

“It seems you don’t remember” he said a little disheartened.

This was news for the boys who were also curious about your relationship.

“We first met a few days after you were born, you were so adorable with your chubby cheeks. I was also came to a couple of your birthday parties when you were still little. I gave you a teddy bear that was bigger than you and you would cuddle with it all the time…”

You were slowly remembering things from when you were little

“…I was also at your fathers and little sisters funeral”

His voice had become low and his gaze on you had softened as he saw the realisation on your face. At the same time Jungkook realised why you were calling to your father in your sleep.

“Uncle BamBam?”

“You called me that because you could not say bang” he said laughing.

You went up to him and gave him a big hug as tears formed in your eyes. The boys just stood there watching, looking lost and unsure what to do.

“I missed you uncle! Why did you stop coming to see me? I was lonely”

A few tears rolled down your cheeks as he brought his hands up to cup your face.

“I’m sorry, I got really busy with this lot” he said smiling and motioning with his head towards the boys.

You looked back at them smiling as they all looked apologetic.

“Its okay” you said looking back at him

“How’s mum?”

“Nothings changed. She’s on every pill possible and hooked to that oxygen tank. Doctors say she will be on it for life. All because of that stupid crash dads gone, my little sister is gone and now i feel i have lost my mum too!”

You started to get angry.

“Come on Y/N, don’t say that”

“She does not speak Uncle BamBam! Mum has not spoken since the crash! Do you know hard it is for a six year old to go through losing her dad and sibling and not having her mother comfort her instead having to look after her!!”

You were bawling your eyes out as he pulled you in tight.

“Im really worry Y/N”

Was all he could say. Just then you felt slightly dizzy and you almost fell but Uncle BamBam held on to you as the boys moved closer worried.

“It’s okay i got you” he said holding you tighter.

“Boys take her home for me, she is anemic and needs to take her tablets. The day she has had has worn her out.”

The boys decided that it would be safer if someone carried her. Jungkook being the strongest stepped forward.

“No its okay i can walk” you said letting go of your uncle only to feel dizzy again and falling over. But this time you fell into a pair of strong and muscular arms.

“Just let me carry you Y/N” Jungkook looked straight into your eyes with a worried look.

You nodded your head and Jungkook bent down to allow you to climb onto his back before standing up. The boys wanted to comment but they knew now was not the time, that did not mean that they were gonna let Jungkook off that easily.

Jungkook was about to walk away when Bang PD-nim started talking again.

“Jin, keep an eye on her for me. I will call you tomorrow about the arrangements. The rest of you, I want you to also look after her she is like my daughter. All of you get along and learn from each other. You all have a lot more in common than you think! Now go get some rest”

“Thank you Uncle BamBam!”

“Its okay sweety, i will call tomorrow morning”

They all headed to the door

“Oh and call your brother Y/N! He wont stop calling me!” He shouted after us.

You gave him a little wave as you all left. Just then Bang PD-nim sees his phone light up to show he has a message from your brother.

“Aish that boy! Still annoying and overprotective of his sister” he said to himself.

[defunctblogtobedeleted]

8/9/19 12:34 AM the super update. aka get your shit together Endgame post 1/?

Well. Here I am. It’s hard to even approach this post, to be honest. I’ve been procrastinating for so long. So long that it’s actually the last real thing I have left on my to do list.

Check this out.

I’ve been working hard at doing things lately. And catching up with you is basically the last thing left to do.

I finally spring cleaned all of my clothes and got rid of a ton of stuff that didn’t fit one way or another. 

I started playing guitar again.

I got my shit together with my job, got a bunch of online credits that I’d been procrastinating on. Started doing all the possible work I could every night to make my boss happy and it’s been making me a fuckton more money tbh. 

I’ve bought a bunch of cool shit, and been treating myself right with my food. I gained a bunch of weight back during the past year during my relationship with Andi. It’s not a terrible thing, I was treating myself. She convinced me that I deserved to treat myself and enjoy myself and that’s not a bad thing. But now I’m doing what I call Keto+, which is Keto+Beer lmfao.

I’m still going out drinking whenever I want, but for my meals I’ve stopped eating breads and rice and pasta, mostly just eating chipotle (just graduated to doing salads instead of bowls with light rice, though I wasn’t eating the rice just a bite here and there), sashimi from Hmart, lately once in a while a five guys lettuce wrap burger, back to doing salami and mozzarella at home. 

I’ve taken to fasting once a week on my thursday night shift (tonight), to try to accelerate the weight loss, but it’s not like my pov diets before because I’m still eating nuts.

It’s been a progression of increasing the amount I’ve been running (from one day to two days, to usually two maybe three days a week now, and the distance is a lot longer now), and cutting off more and more little cheats. E.g. the biggest was finally embracing sparkling waters instead of gatorade. I finally got to try Spindrift off a recommendation from a magic the gathering podcast, and it’s incredible. Only like 3 calories a can and it actually tastes good from the real juice and not bitter in the aftertaste. 

But anyway, I’ve got plenty of money now. My debts are paid, I’m ahead on bills, I’ve got all the sweet clothes I wanted, so I finally made the call last week.

It’s time to fix my car’s bumper. I’ll try to remember to get one last picture of lexi before I fix her broken front tooth.

Do you know what that means?

It’s the Endgame.

The Get Your Shit Together List I put together years ago... well let’s take a look at what’s left of it. The sad thing about digital to do lists is you don’t see the progression though. Wish I knew what was on there. I think a lot of it was losing weight, but I skipped the whole being healthy part before.

God damn, man.

Doc last edited Oct 2, 2018. I guess I started writing this plan out Jan 2017. I think my biggest priorities then were to cut down spending and pay off my debts. 

I never started exfoliating lol. I wonder if I should do that for my nose.

I didn’t give ashleigh her plane credit part because fuckit. I did end up using mine though, to take that trip to Hawaii to visit John. Pretty fucking baller. I guess that was another big step towards getting my shit together, too.

Quit melee, but now I’ve been playing again playing jigglypuff just to hang out with my roommates. It’s really neat not grinding falco, even though I lose a lot the game’s a lot more fun again.

OH MY GOD THOSE BLUE STORAGE CUBES. When I fucking talked about spring cleaning clothes? THATS what I meant. I’ve literally had this shit on my to do list for two YEARS hahahahah. About goddamn time. Holy fuck.

Got my deviated septum fixed, didn’t cost nearly that much thank the lawd.

Just went to the dentist, my teeth are doing great. Ironically they mentioned that I need to consider replacing one of the fillings that I mention getting here eventually. 

I did finally get a new laptop and backup the old one, uploaded that info to throw it out about two weeks ago. 

Actually got sweet ass new shoes booya checkem

I’m not vaping anymore, the whole juul pod fad never hit me. I’m doing cigarettes still, for better or for worse. Lol. I’ll take the cancer I know over the one I don’t.

But it’s better than I was when I was writing this list, I used to have to smoke one every single day after work. Maybe that was because I was hungry, but it was always this poignant craving on the back porch that I remember. Now I just like smoking when I drink mostly, but have the occasional one to chat with people or whatever.

Playing guitar again, not frequently, might start at work more since I’m playing the electric since I don’t have an acoustic available. Maybe I’ll even learn these songs. Playing guitar is great though, I kinda wanna be in a band sometime. That’d be fucking neat. Someone invited me to sing for his drunkenly at karaoke lol I should hit him up it’s been a minute. 

Got my nintendo switch, which I think was so far out of consideration that I deleted it from the fun stuff section. 

Who’d have thought I’d ACTUALLY start running and drinking water more. I guess I’m the greatest lmao.

Yeah man, like 15 pounds over the past 2 months. I think a lot of it was easy food weight, but it’s felt really rewarding all the same. Gotta keep it up, this 175 hurdle has been a tough nut to crack, but I’m gonna be really proud of myself once I get into the 160s territory again. I’m doing pullups slightly more, maybe I need to do the whole situps-pushups-pullups regimen right before/after running to really push it. Idk, i’m just glad i’m being good about it.

I’m even flossing once a week now.

Things are really shaping up. 

But with money in my bank account there are three options that I have.

1. Save it by buying stocks

2. Blow it by buying a bunch of dumb shit

3. Finish off the to do list and actually get my bumper fixed.

I wanted to ignore 3 because it feels like a dumb expense for a minor aesthetic, but I guess in view of all these things I’ve accomplished it really does mean quite a bit more than that. So I made a claim on a ding on the side of my car and I’m gonna see if I can get it all fixed up. I’ve actually taken on a few extra days of work lately and made even MORE extra money, so I don’t think it should knock me back financially at all. Which means that it’s time. 

I’m finally doing it.

It feels really cool. I’m a little bit anxious about it in the sense that it’s gonna be annoying if they deny me getting the bumper fixed because of the collision damage that I never reported. But whatever we’ll cross that bridge in a few weeks when I get the damage inspected and see what happens.

This has been my brag post. Hope you were able to tolerate it all. But that’s only the first phase of catching up. It’s only been a half hour of writing! I’ve got a lot of time left at work tonight and I might even spend a lot of this weekend at Darlin’s catching up if I have to. Catching up with this blog is as big a part of getting my shit together as scheduling my appointment with the car insurance was.

So what I mean to say is we’re gonna catch all the way through my greensboro days up to now. I have some saucy tales and some not-so-saucy ones. I’ve got a full relationship to blab about, and honestly one thing that I had promised her and was on a bunch of my old to do lists was to do like a whole pro-con listing about her persona, which felt weird and I kept procrastinating on but god dammit I’m gonna get everything off my to do lists. 

So I looked back a little and it looks like the last posts I made were about sally, Becky,  whatever the hell my dealings with Taylor were, and the beginnings of Mary. Which means that we’re gonna flesh out Mary, and then you’ve got Sophie, Rachel, Olivia, Andi, Jennifer, Heather, and Jill to look forward to.  Whew baby.

[myrle251gaming-blog]

Precisely why Everything You Learn about GAMING Is A Rest

Gaming Blogs UK Leading 10

The Gaming business has been the most influential and profitable organization in rather some time. What Wikipedia is to knowledge, GameSpot is to video games. From video game blogs to critiques to downloads to previews on console games. GameSpot capabilities each nook & cranny of gaming globe. The finest portion of this gaming internet site is it supplies an open platform to customers to share their opinions, blogs & testimonials on their forum. The web-site is quite very good looking and functions section such as: Pc Gaming, PS4, Xbox One, Gametech, 3Ds, Offers & a great deal much more.

The multitude of gaming news internet websites continues to develop as gaming emerges as one thing larger and extra worthwhile than merely a hobby. It would be an understatement to confine the role and purpose of these sites to news and evaluations broadcasting for every day, the legion of geeks and gamers is strengthened by these very gaming news internet websites. In midst of this competition, there are many internet websites like Virteract which are emerging to the scene and putting in some genuinely very good efforts to present you with high quality content.

Lone Wolf Improvement specializes in generating revolutionary digital tools for the tabletop gaming business, allowing players to streamline game preparation, eliminate errors, and spend additional time playing the games they adore. With an ever-expanding suite of tools, such as the award-winning Army Builder, Hero Lab, and Realm Operates products, Lone Wolf's digital tools are the business typical and are in normal use by tens of thousands of gamers, from miniatures games to function-playing games.

It appears like a gadget from an alien civilization that is million light years a lot more advanced than ours. That is what a lot of gamers and ordinary internet customers assume about the NETGEAR Nighthawk S8000 This ethernet switch is made particularly for gaming and streaming, permitting you to experience uninterrupted game plays and movie and music streaming. Its 8-port design, coupled with a exclusive method of network visitors prioritization that comes in three unique levels, offers users the opportunity to handle many connections in a a lot more effective manner. The Nighthawk S8000 also comes with a 1-of-a-type QoS management resolution that guarantees ultra-higher gaming and streaming overall performance. It really is one of the finest gaming routers for a purpose.

SPORT Also Worship Have 4 Things In Common

Did you know that Mobile games now account for 51% of worldwide revenues in the gaming business followed by Console games (25%) and Pc Games (24%) 62% of smartphone owners set up a game within a week of acquiring their phones and Mobile Games now account for extra than 43% of total time spent on smartphone. Check out our infographic on The State of Mobile Gaming Industry” for most recent mobile gaming statistics and trends.

Game makers can help straightforward leaderboards easily by applying DynamoDB. One such use case is the ability to show major scores for a game. If a gaming enterprise currently shops players' game state in DynamoDB, which includes players' top scores, the potential to get best scores can be implemented by making use of a global secondary index.

The Tegra four SoC is a enormous improvement more than other solutions in terms of efficiency and gaming technologies capabilities. With Tegra 4 on NVIDIA SHIELD portable, you can now practical experience higher end graphical attributes native in Android games like sophisticated genuine time lighting effects, depth of field, soft shadows, high res textures, actual time smoke and particle simulation, higher polygon counts and significantly additional. This makes it possible for developers to definitely make freely for Android gamers.

EDIT:I employed to watch the Feedback video over at G4 every single week, but it is gone down hill the last couple of times I watched it and now that Adam Sessler is not on it and they have that girl from IGN that everybody hates in each episode I just can't be bothered to watch it any extra. Nevertheless worth going back and watching some of the older ones though. Klepic applied to be on that show and back then in the early days was when it was the greatest. Back when they essentially talked about gaming news with some semblance of intellect as an alternative of just gushing about what ever game they are told is cool this week.

Yeah I would say this thread already hit on the very good ones. Joystiq is a quite fantastic newsy sort site. PA Report seems to be embracing the same virtue of GB which is to say let's not be beholden to anything other than to very good content. Terrific thing is that Ben Kuchera posts other fantastic pieces from a variety of web pages so its not just his voice which is pretty excellent as nicely. Vox Gaming I consider needs a much better internet designer but their content material seems to be going in very good places.

In order to make all the content material of your gaming web page appear good on smaller screen sizes, you require to make confident that your online project is mobile-friendly. 1 of the most effective techniques to build a responsive web-site is picking out a Bootstrap-primarily based internet theme as its foundation. Operating with a mobile-friendly web site template, you might forget about the will need to adjust your content to all devices manually.

The ASTRO Gaming Headset is not your common headset that comes with a range of capabilities in particular created for enhancing your music listening practical experience. Rather, the ASTRO A50 is especially made and constructed for the really serious gamer specifically these who play on the Individual Pc or even the PlayStation 4 game console. The ASTRO A50 comes with 7.1 Dolby surround sound technologies, giving you exceptionally loud bass and chest-thumping trebles, elegantly amplified to bring you to an out-of-this-planet adventure. The ASTRO A50 is embedded with specialist high quality audio drivers in an elegant and fashionable finish. It comes with its own docking station, too.

This (Weblog) is exactly where you can read every little thing I know. Learn about the ideal board games for game nights in original reviews, get suggestions on all the things from organizing to snack and drinks, and read up on inclusivity and diversity in gaming communities. There is stuff here for individual players trying to chip in on game evening, to hosts who want to (ahem) up their game, to firms interested in hosting common board game nights.

The publisher funds the game and its release, although the studio designs and develops the game. For the duration of the 2000s, publishers started funding studios that produced games of all sizes and top quality. This fostered an sector that developed video games at a volume too significant for customer demand and with little concentrate on excellent Eventually demand for these low-high-quality games faded and publishers stopped funding these studios, eliminating a significant portion of the gaming labor market place.

Green Man Gaming demands that you have a registered account before you can use a coupon code. If you currently have an account, just log in prior to you commence purchasing or just before checking out. If you do not have an account, you will have to enter an e mail address, password and user name. The website will email you a link that you click on to verify that your e-mail account is valid. You'll then see a Vouchers location near the button of your shopping cart. A significant white box, which you can see in the image under, is where you enter your code. This box will not turn into obtainable till you build an account or log into your current account. You can then click on the proceed to payment web page to spend for your games. Green Man Gaming will keep your shipping and billing facts on file unless you opt out. Getting that data saved in your account makes it much easier to check out and get the games that you want quickly.

In fact, in the realm of mobile gaming, girls are a lot more probably to be avid participants than males! According to a 2017 Google Play and NewZoo survey , 65% of U.S. females ages 10-65 play mobile games - and that is a big audience. What's much more, according to the same survey, females make up nearly half - 49% - of all mobile gamers, and they have a tendency to play a lot more often than their male gamer counterparts, producing them a lot more probably to turn into habitual (and hence profitable) players.

[cutieodonoghue]

let’s just be us

summary: based on this post by @bleebug (rockstar!killian and movie star!emma secretly dating, but those pesky fans figure it out...)

word count: ~3500

an: thanks to @swans-and-pirates for being a stellar beta! <3

Emma Swan likes to think she has it all in order.

 Being an A-List celebrity is hard enough as it is, with paparazzi discovering her when she so much decides to go visit Starbucks for ten minutes. But, she has a plan and she has tricks that keep her relatively average.

 Trick number one: private social media accounts.

While she would like to be the kind of person who doesn’t spend her days scrolling through Facebook wondering what her exes look like now, she kind of is. For the most part she spends too much time on Pinterest and Instagram looking for ideas for decorating, fashion, and recipes.

 She gets a private Twitter account one slow Tuesday afternoon while she’s waiting to be taken to set.

 She’s working in Los Angeles for the next few days finishing up this action-adventure blockbuster and while it’s been fun, she cannot wait to get to fly out to New York to visit family and friends for a few weeks before she has to go shoot a television pilot for Netflix.

 Mary Margaret, who has crowned herself the President of Emma’s fan club, monitors everything Emma does like a hawk. Emma practically doesn’t need an agent or manager with Mary Margaret scouring the depths of the internet for every review and comment written about her.

 She only gets the private Twitter account because of one reason: she’s tired of the notifications and the stress of running her public account.

 She follows only a handful of names. It helps keep things clean and she can still scroll blankly through Twitter while not worrying about what people will think if she retweets a dozen pictures of puppies or if she starts tweeting at her favorite bakery about when they’ll have her favorite kinds of muffins again.

 It’s nice. It’s simple. And when she wants to make a public post, she can switch over quite easily.

 Her phone starts vibrating in her hand as she’s scrolling through her newly acquired private Twitter timeline and she rolls her eyes when she sees who’s calling her- his stupid big eyes shining bright blue and his dopey grin spread so wide across her screen.

 Emma slides to answer and pulls the device to her ear. She bites down on her lip as a smile spreads, forming dimples in her cheeks. “I thought you were too busy with Good Morning America for me today.”

 “Did you just follow me on Twitter under the username swangirl?” he immediately asks.

 Emma laughs. She shrugs her shoulders. “I made a private account, okay? I just want to be able to have some normal even though I can’t have that.”

 He hums. “I understand.” For a moment, he’s quiet. “My private account is thatjollyroger if you’d rather-”

 She laughs again and suddenly misses him a lot more than she has in a while. Her heart squeezes tight and she turns to look at her laptop’s desktop image. He’s kissing her cheek while she laughs, both of them sitting together on the small window seat in their New York City apartment.

 It’s her favorite picture. Mostly because Killian hadn’t insisted on taking a dozen to perfect the moment. It just was and they were.

 Killian Jones has been her secret boyfriend since they met on the set of one of his early music videos. It was about five years ago, and back then they weren’t under as much pressure as they are now, with the spotlight on them practically everywhere they turn.

 Back then, she was kind of famous, with a big movie under her belt, and she was starring in his music video as a favor to a friend. Killian was just getting into his big break as well, with his album hitting the Billboard Top 10.

 It’s been five years of growth since then. For both the two of them, and their careers.

 He’s a solo artist and a very popular one at that. Every time she turns on the radio, she hears one of his singles. He’s been traveling the world promoting his latest album, one he’s admitted to her in private was completely inspired by her.

 It makes her smile, her cheeks reddening, because Killian Jones could write about anything but he chose her.

 “I miss you,” Emma admits in a quiet voice. She presses her cheek against her shoulder and listens to his end- it’s awfully loud. She imagines the guys in his band are being rowdy while they wait to go on air.

 “I miss you more,” Killian says. He sighs. “What do you say I come to town on Friday? I do miss Cocoa Bean quite a bit.”

 Emma smiles, glancing over at the puppy curled up on her couch, napping as if she doesn’t get enough sleep.

 “She misses you too. But not as much as we miss Mister Smee.”

 “The scoundrel,” Killian laughs. “He’s been so out of sorts. He misses you and Cocoa too much.”

 Emma bites on her lip. Her stomach twists excitedly at the idea of him coming to town. They have an apartment here that she uses a lot more lately rather than sharing it with him. It’s been awhile since he’s been here.

 “What’s next on the tour?”

 “Ah...” Killian groans in consideration. “A few shows in Florida and then it’s over when we head back up to New York.”

 She smiles. “God, I can’t wait for tour to be over.”

 Her boyfriend laughs. “You should come to Florida with me after I come see you in LA. We could go to Disney World. Do you have anything going on?”

 Emma rolls her eyes. “You know if we went to Disney World together the whole planet would implode or something.”

 Killian practically whines, “But, Swan… think of the fun we’d have!”

 A smile twists at her lips. She considers it- riding rides, eating too much, and buying up all of the Mickey memorabilia they set their sights on. She can only imagine Killian Jones in the middle of it all.

 “You’re right. It would be fun.”

 “Plus you’ve got an in, don’t you? With that film you did last year.”

 She hears a knock at her trailer door and she sits upright, closing her laptop as she rises to her feet. “They want me on set. I gotta go, babe. We can talk about this later.”

 “Yeah, I should be on my way as well.”

 “Okay.”

 For a moment, they share a companionable silence, almost telling each other they wish it could be easier.

 “I love you.”

 “I love you too.”

 ..

 Emma’s second trick of being an A-List celebrity is this: no looking at reviews for stuff she’s done, and no looking into gossip. No matter what.

 She’s usually quite good at this. She stays clear of the drama and lives in a peaceful, blissful bubble with her puppy pictures and chocolate chip cookie recipes.

 However, sometimes the gossip comes to her.

 In this particular instance, she’s sitting up in bed with Killian in their hotel room in Orlando, having just made a post about flying out of LAX earlier that day.

 Her eyes narrow at the comments section and she actually laughs under her breath when she realizes what a lot of people seem to be talking about- she and Killian’s nearly identical posts about flying.

@ekforever: You and @killianjones both flying out of LAX at the same time???

@ahopper: @ekforever just because they’re at the same airport together doesn’t mean they even saw each other. Get a life. Let them live.

@ekforever: @ahopper check my page for the facts. They’re more than just friends.

It’s intriguing enough to draw her attention away from the comments section of her public Instagram and Twitter pages.

She clicks on @ekforever, discovering an Instagram account dedicated to pictures of she and Killian. To her surprise, the page has 312k followers, and an incredible amount of posts. She begins to scroll through, clicking on pictures to find out what they had to say about Killian’s GMA interview.

 One is a video that automatically plays- showing Killian’s ears and cheeks burning bright red when the interviewer asks, “I’d be remiss if I didn’t ask about Emma Swan. You were just on the set of her new film, recording a song with her for the soundtrack, right?”

 “Ah… I, yeah-”

 Their relationship to the public, at least what they’ve tried to paint a picture of, has always been close friends who often work together on small projects.

 They get together sometimes for dinner and take the occasional selfie to sate the Internet’s need to see them together, but that’s really it. Emma keeps her relationship with Killian as silent as she possibly can and Killian does the same.

 But apparently, according to this fan page, they’re failing quite epically at keeping things friendly.

 “What’re you looking at, Swan?” Killian asks, practically addicted to the sound of his own voice, propping his chin up on her shoulder.

 Emma turns slightly and shakes her head. Quickly, she clicks out of the page. “Nothing.”

 Her boyfriend makes a face at her. “I heard the GMA interview.”

 Emma closes her laptop and sets it aside. “I was just… looking at some gossip stuff. People are kind of crazy. Have you ever seen the fan pages?”

 “Of course I have,” Killian gives her an incredulous look. “Perhaps we’re just a little too obvious?”

 Emma shakes her head. “No. We’re not. Normal people wouldn’t notice that I was wearing your shirt two months ago when you were in Europe and I was in LA. Or that you were blushing like an idiot during the GMA interview at the mention of my name.”

 Killian arches his eyebrow. “Did they notice that…?”

 Emma rolls her eyes and kisses him to shut him up. Mostly, so she doesn’t have to think about the ramifications of their small slip-ups and mistakes. It works, both of them smiling into the kiss with Killian’s hand on her cheek.

 At the same time, their dogs decide to jump up onto the bed. She laughs against his lips when she gets a wet nose against her arm.

 “Hey, Smee,” she murmurs, reaching down to scratch beneath his ears. “How are you?”

 Killian takes the other puppy into his arms and kisses her head. “Miss Cocoa Bean, you and your brother are awfully eager to interrupt a good moment, aren’t you?”

 Emma smiles at her boyfriend and rests her cheek against his shoulder. She leaves a kiss to it and breathes him in, a somber feeling falling over her.

 “Do you think…” Emma bites on her lip. “What do you think would happen if we announced we were dating?”

 Killian tucks Cocoa against his stomach and continues to stroke her fur, much to her approval. When they got her, she was a tiny thing, so Killian took to calling her Cocoa Bean, even though Emma just wanted to call her Cocoa. Both are equally adorable.

 Emma leans away from Killian just a little, enough so she can see his contemplative expression.

 He smiles at her, shrugging his shoulder. “I suppose people would know we’re together.”

 It still causes her anxiety. Knowing just how popular they are. She’s afraid of what it’ll do to their relationship- being public.

 “I don’t want to lose you,” Emma admits in a whisper.

 Killian frowns. His hand cups the back of her head and he leaves a kiss to her forehead. “Hey, hey. You won’t ever lose me. I promise you that.”

 Emma sighs. She admires him- the way his hair hangs over his forehead, the laugh lines in his cheeks, the brilliant blue of his eyes. He’s her entire world.

 “I love you,” Emma tells him.

 Killian kisses the spot between her eyes, then gently over her eyes when they fall closed. His lips trace a pattern down her cheeks and then finally, he kisses her lips.

 “Emma Swan, I have loved you since the day I met you,” Killian murmurs. “And I’m not keen on ever letting you go.”

 Emma breathes out of her nose, opening her eyes to look up at him. Smee is curled up in her lap- his dog, while the puppy they’d chosen together is in his lap.

 “That sounds an awful lot like a proposal,” Emma teases, trying to keep from feeling like she could break down crying.

 She sits upright, their shoulders pressed together, while she strokes Smee’s fur.

 “Would you like it to be?”

 Her heart skips a beat and her jaw falls open. “I… no. I want you to propose when you’re ready.”

 Emma swallows. She stares at him and tears well up in her eyes when he twists a ring on his right hand.

 Killian holds the ring between his fingers, admiring it. “Liam gave this to me when I was sixteen.” He smiles a little. “He said it kept him safe and in turn, he hoped it would keep me safe as well.”

 Emma watches as her boyfriend spreads out one of her palms. He settles the ring down in her hand. Her heart races so fast and she has a hard time thinking straight with all of the thoughts whirring through her mind.

 “I want you to have it.” Killian adds. “Because even when I’m not with you… I am.”

 She can only imagine what the fans of theirs will think of this development, if they’ll even notice it, but Emma can’t find it in herself to really care too much.

 She smiles at Killian and kisses him firmly, their noses bumping afterwards.

 “So, like, are we secretly engaged now?” Emma asks, again teasing.

 Killian’s eyebrows dance playfully. “That would be interesting, wouldn’t it?” Emma shoves at him and he laughs heartily before kissing her cheek. “Only if you want to be.”

 Emma glares at him for a moment, but Killian takes it in stride. He takes her hand and squeezes it gently.

 “Let’s just be us, hm?”

 Emma finds peace with the statement. She smiles and nods. “Let’s just be us.”

 ..

 Emma doesn’t have a good excuse to use when she’s recognized in the backstage area of Killian’s show in Miami, sporting a ring hanging from a chain around her neck, so she just laughs and says she’s here to support her friend.

 She’s kind of stupid and high on actually being here to support her guy, so she takes a bunch of pictures with some of the behind the scenes crew and with fans that come for a private meet-and-greet. She ends up being there for the whole thing, engaging with the fans as much as Killian does.

 It’s fun. Getting to be here with him, seeing how he is in his element.

 She’s seen him like this, of course, before. They’ve been together for five years. Five chaotic years, but she’s still been able to come to shows just as much as he’s been able to spend time on set with her.

 She loves him so much.

 The best part of being at the show has to be the way he stares at her from the stage. It’s as if she’s the only one in the crowded room.

 “This one’s for you, darling,” he says, dedicating the sappiest of his love songs to her.

 It’s enough to make her blush. She hides her face in her hands for a moment and then sets her sight on him, her hands clasped together over her heart while she sways and sings along to the song.

 She loves him so much sometimes it hurts to think about it.

 ..

 The hotel room is a bit of a mess when Emma wakes up on the morning they’re going to finally be heading home to New York City.

 Killian had woken up before her a few minutes ago and he’d immediately gone to take a shower.

 She hears the water hitting the shower floor as she runs her fingers through her hair. It’s a disaster, but she doesn’t have a hair tie around her wrist like she usually does. She imagines she’ll find one eventually.

 Emma sits down in front of her laptop at the desk and while she waits for it to boot up, she smiles slightly at the crumpled mess of bed sheets and pillows strewn about.

 Killian’s guitar is sitting against the desk. He’d played for her when they came back to the room last night, because she said she wanted to hear a song. He was more than happy to oblige her.

 Cocoa curls up by Emma’s feet after she dresses herself in her favorite travel outfit- a band shirt and jeans. Emma smiles at the puppy and looks around for Smee, who has decided to sit himself down on the end of the bed behind her.

 Emma’s heart swells happily when she sees she has a few texts from Mary Margaret and David excited to see her later today and she bites down on her lip as she goes into her Instagram.

 She last used it on her private account, so she doesn’t think twice about where she’s posting this.

 It’s a simple post about how excited she is to get to go home to New York City. She decides to post a selfie, because she feels good. She doesn’t really care what’s captured in the image, because Mary Margaret, one of the thirty seven followers she has on this account, won’t care- she’ll just be excited to see Emma so excited.

 Killian comes out of the bathroom, bringing with him the fresh scent of the warm shower he’d taken.

 “Good morning,” she says, looking up at him while she hits post to Twitter as well as Instagram as a force of habit.

 “Good morning, love,” Killian approaches her. He’s only wearing a towel around his hips, secured with a flimsily tucked knot.

 As soon as he kisses her and his hair drips onto her shoulder, she scrunches her nose up at him. “When’s the flight leave?”

 Killian takes his fingers through his hair and sighs as he thinks about it. “We’ve got two hours before we need to be at the airport.”

 Her phone begins vibrating in her palm and she frowns when she sees Regina’s name on the screen. She bites her lip. “I should take it. It’s Regina.”

 Killian nods in understanding.

 “Hey, Regina-”

 “Emma, I thought we were keeping him a secret,” Regina says pointedly.

 Emma frowns, her heart starting to race fast. She walks into the living area of the hotel room while Killian returns to the bathroom.

 “What are you talking about?”

 “The post you just made?” Regina asks. “Emma, you’re basically shouting from the rooftops ‘I’m dating Killian Jones.’”

 Emma’s eyes widen and a sick feeling sinks to the pit of her stomach. “I… what?”

 “Guitar in the lower left hand corner… his dog on the bed,” Regina lists off. “Not to mention you have sex hair.”

 Emma gasps. “I do not!”

 “Listen, I’m just trying to help because this is one thing you’ve been adamant about. Delete the post as soon as you can.”

 Emma pulls her phone away from her face and puts Regina on speaker.

 “I’m looking to see what the damage is…” Emma pulls up her public Instagram page and grimaces at the picture. “I meant to post this on my private page.”

 Regina sighs. “Okay, well, we can fix this if you take it down right now, Emma. The more time you take to delete, the more people who see it.”

 Her heart is practically in her throat and she can hardly breathe, much less think straight.

 Emma spies Killian stepping into the hotel room, not a care in the world. He sits down on the edge of the bed and lifts his guitar into his lap, beginning to pluck a few notes. He grins at Cocoa, who goes to greet him at his feet.

 And it’s enough to make Emma’s heart at ease.

 She steps into the room again, meeting Killian’s eyes and offering him a mirrored grin.

 “Regina, I want to… keep it up,” Emma says into her phone, though she keeps a smile on her face while she stares at Killian. “I’m engaged to Killian Jones.”

 “Emma-”

 She doesn’t hear what else Regina has to say, because she’s focused on the way Killian’s eyes brighten and how he sets his guitar down again before he goes to her and lifts his eyebrows.

 “Engaged?” he asks.

 She lowers her phone after hanging up on Regina. She knows Regina’s already calling her back, desperately confused and needing answers, but Emma doesn’t want to give them.

 Emma sucks in a breath and searches his eyes. She scrunches up her nose at him. “Yeah. If that’s okay with you.”

 Killian wraps his arms around her and laughs, his nose bumping hers. “Darling, it’s more than okay.”

 Emma’s eyes fall closed and she kisses him, adoring the way he gently squeezes her sides before he takes her left hand.

 “We’ll need to get you an engagement ring as soon as possible,” he says. “And, bloody hell, I should tell my manager.”

 Emma laughs happily. She shakes her head. “No, we don’t need to say anything.” She bites her lip. “Let’s just be us.”

 He grins, soft and slow. “Let’s just be us.”

[fromchaos]

i like my body

read it on the ao3 at http://archiveofourown.org/works/7846558

(repost of an old fic just bc)

summary: adam has noticed for some time that while ronan seems to be getting more comfortable every day, he’s been feeling gradually stranger in his skin.

pynch, rated m, #everyoneistrans

title from the poem “i like my body” by e. e. cummings, which vaguely inspired this fic. in order to fully get into the mood, listen to the entirety of the front bottoms discography.

cw/tw for gender dysphoria, brief references to adam’s past, mentions of gender confirmation surgery, and non-graphic descriptions of sex. in addition, i’d just like to say that i am but one trans person and the experiences of these characters certainly don’t represent the experiences of all trans people. okay, enjoy!

the first time one of them leaves a mark, it’s almost completely an accident. ronan gets carried away lavishing attention at the meeting of adam’s neck and shoulder, and later there is a faint red splotch in that very spot. he doesn’t notice it until he’s brushing his teeth before he leaves for work. as he kisses ronan goodbye at the door, he comments on it as casually as possible, “nice leech action earlier.” adam swivels his head to the side, baring the little mark to ronan.

ronan looks embarrassed, which on him is really just one of many variations on “mad.” he won’t meet adam’s eyes when he snaps, “sorry, won’t happen again.”

and maybe adam should have expected he’d take it this way; physicality between the two of them has been a slow, rambling journey, ironically nowhere near as natural as it had felt with blue. they still haven’t done anything more than clumsily feel each other other up in the midst of a heavy makeout session. any verbal acknowledgment of it by either of them usually makes the other respond with teeth and claws bared, ready for a fight. “no, ronan,” adam says, trying for a tone that could be described as earnest, “really- nice.”

it’s still not enough, still awkward in the way words usually are between them. their flirtation had been about actions and spontaneous gestures for so long that it sometimes feels like things get lost in translation. when adam had asked gansey about it, his sage advice had been, “if you can’t talk about it, you shouldn’t be doing it.” and adam wants to be doing it, wants to be doing even more of it, so he bravely struggles through moments like this one.

ronan’s face breaks into something more open and unreadable, and he gives adam one more kiss before shoving him out the door. on opposite sides of the barn’s walls, they are both smiling.

from that point on, ronan and adam rarely appear in public without a few hickeys between the two of them. the others give them shit for it almost constantly, but adam just rolls his eyes because he doesn’t have words to describe how good it feels to have bruises that his friends can joke about, how it feels like he and ronan might belong to each other in a way that isn’t completely terrifying.

in january, ronan gets top surgery as a christmas present to himself. the surgeon is in dc, so he stays with the ganseys while gansey is up there for the winter break. adam asks if ronan wants him there, but he shakes his head and gives adam’s hand a squeeze where it’s held between them on the couch. he doesn’t explain too much, probably can’t, but adam figures he understands some of his reasoning. they’ve been working on it, but they still struggle with being vulnerable in front of each other, and adam feels uncomfortable with any behavior that could be described as “nurturing.” gansey had been taking care of ronan a lot longer, and he’d gotten his own top surgery more than a year before.

when he comes back to the barns nearly a week afterwards, adam is anxiously waiting at the kitchen table with opal, who is chomping on a fork and kicking her hooves. the pig pulls up, and he rushes to the door to see ronan slowly pushing himself out of the car while gansey carries his bag and fusses over him.

“remember, opal, no tackling.”

she snorts, clearly of the opinion that tackling should always be allowed. “how long?” she whines.

“two weeks. at least.” opal throws the fork angrily but comes to stand by the door regardless.

ronan grins when he comes in, even after gansey starts nagging him and overloading adam with care-giving instructions. he waits until opal has given ronan a surprisingly sweet hug to say his own hello. it’s just a light kiss, a whispered “welcome home,” in his ear, but when he pulls back, both ronan and gansey are looking at him with utter delight.

“stop making it weird,” he reprimands, leading the way into the living room so that no one can see the way his face has heated up. ronan takes the couch, lies down with his feet in the air so adam can slide under them, put his feet in his lap.

gansey settles in an armchair, says seriously, “i’m just so happy for you two. you know, this is exactly the sort of fluffy human interest story they put on local news networks, and it’s happening to you. that’s exciting!” ronan and adam sneak a look at each other that says exactly what they think of that, and adam has to hold back a laugh. a transgender fluff piece on local news would probably have a lot less dangerous magic, death, near-death experiences, and a lot more parents and heterosexuality.

“well, i’m just saying that i think it’s nice. things haven’t worked out half-bad is all,” gansey continues, “certainly not as terribly as they could have.”

“you’re right, gansey,” adam says, “we’re just being assholes.”

gansey stays for a while, until it’s obvious he’s just being polite by pretending he wouldn’t much rather be getting an enthusiastic welcome back from a certain tiny fashion disaster. “tell blue we say hi,” adam says as gansey is leaving.

“tell them to go to hell,” ronan adds with a small smile.

the last thing gansey says before he goes is, “i certainly will not.”

after adam makes a lazy dinner of instant mac and cheese and gets opal in bed, ronan gestures to him, says “c’mon.” he follows him up to the bathroom, where ronan starts unpacking the paper bag full of ointment and dressing gansey had left there earlier. he starts to roll up his t-shirt and stops halfway, admits, “my arms don’t really move that far yet.” adam tugs it the rest of the way up and off for him.

it’s not the first time he’s seen ronan shirtless, but it is the first time ronan doesn’t immediately curl up on himself or switch the focus to adam instead. his chest is still bandaged and a little swollen, but he looks good. the context isn’t quite right for adam to get worked up about it, but he admits to himself that his boyfriend is more than a little okay-looking. “you’re gonna have to get used to this glorious sight, parrish. soon i’m gonna be strutting all over the place half-naked. never wearing a shirt again,” ronan jokes when the silence stretches on a beat too long.

adam starts peeling away the first bandage, maybe a little too harsh at first. “it’s january. you’ll freeze your newly-placed nipples right off.”

ronan’s hands come up almost reflexively in a protective gesture. he huffs, “you’re just jealous.” it doesn’t really make sense, but the comeback sits with adam as he finishes cleaning the incisions and changing the bandages.

he isn’t jealous of ronan’s new chest per say, but he has noticed for some time that while ronan seems to be getting more comfortable every day, he’s been feeling gradually stranger in his skin.

over the past few months, he’s been more and more aware of his body with each passing day. maybe it started with cabeswater vanishing or with being in a relationship or the way his chest and shoulders seem to be broadening out. maybe he just has too much time to think about himself now that all of his spare time isn’t dedicated to hunting for glendower. whatever the cause, adam’s body feels at once the most his that it ever has and the most alien from himself that he can ever remember.

they sleep in the same bed that night, eager for more time together even if it’s spent unconscious. adam tries not to get too close to where ronan lies on his back, anxious about disrupting his healing, but he slides their hands together and holds on tight.

they get better at the physical stuff slowly and steadily, to the point where adam would even call it a major component of their relationship, but they stay firmly planted at second base for almost six months. there’s ronan’s weird catholic guilt, adam’s overtaxed schedule, and both of their individual body issues to contend with. adam can’t say he hasn’t thought about it- it’s actually become sort of an obsession. he’s lost precious sleep thinking about how it would happen: what actual acts would be performed, how it would feel, what ronan would look like in that final moment as he tipped over the edge. he’s a planner, and sex is no exception.

but the thing about ronan-the thing about adam with ronan-that he should have accounted for is the recklessness, the spontaneity. when it happens, it’s almost completely different than he had envisioned.

they’ve been having a lethargic day at the barns. no homework, no odd jobs around the farm, just catching up on sleep and heating up leftovers. there’s been a series of movies playing on the television in the living room, but adam has missed large chunks of every single one for trading lazy, sloppy kisses with ronan on the couch. opal had been sitting on the floor with declan’s old lincoln logs for the first movie, but had left shouting and making sounds of disgust once the kissing had started. it doesn’t feel like it’s building up to anything, going anywhere, until ronan comments, faux-casually, “we could be doing this upstairs.”

adam adopts the same tone when he adds, “in an actual bed.”

“with a door that locks,” ronan smirks, now that he’s sure they’re on the same page.

it takes them a while to actually get upstairs to ronan’s room, to remove clothing, to get into a workable position on the bed.

then ronan zeroes in on adam with laser focus, building him up first with his hand, then with his mouth. it’s good (really good), but there are still moments when he starts to get uncomfortable with the attention. he keeps turning his head to the pillow next to him, only to remind himself that ronan is on top of him, below him, not at his side. then ronan will pause and grin up at him, and his stomach settles, and he can just let himself feel good.

when he finishes, ronan crawls back up to his side and collapses, face down in his pillow. adam presses kisses onto his shoulder, his bicep, his shoulder blade- anywhere he can reach while his bones still feel like jelly. ronan turns his head, says, “i’m good.”

“i know. are you looking for a performance review or something?” adam teases between kisses.

ronan groans. “no, asshole. i mean- ugh.” he buries his face into the pillow again, speaks out of the side of his mouth, “you can return the favor tomorrow or next time or whatever. right now- i’m good.”

something about that doesn’t sit right with adam. it’s hard not to think of this as a one-sided exchange, a debt that hasn’t been properly paid, even if he knows rationally that it was a gift ronan gave without any expectation of reciprocation. as if he can hear the gears working in adam’s brain, ronan continues with difficulty, “look, it’s like- it’s- i- you.” he pauses, sighs, cracks a single eye to look at adam, “being with you, getting you off- that gets me off, okay? you make me feel like i’m getting off with the body i wish i had.”

he hadn’t thought of it that way. he isn’t sure he gets it, but adam never leaves something alone until he understands completely. “is that… enough?” “i mean, not always. i still fucking want you, okay? but tonight, just let me savor this shit.”

“okay.”

“okay,” ronan echoes. he wraps an arm around adam, pulls him closer until he can just flop on top of him the way he likes to when he’s on the brink of sleep. adam stays awake a little longer, puzzling out what it is about his body ronan finds so reassuring. in the morning, he does return the favor, and he tries to suppress the overwhelming feeling of smug satisfaction it brings him.

the gang almost always hangs out as a complete group, barring romantic endeavors. sometimes, though, ronan starts to get restless and awful, and gansey starts acting like he’s got a bee in his bonnet, and that’s usually when it’s decided he and gansey need some special friendship time. then things go back to normal again for a while. henry says it’s what adam and blue deserve for breaking up their boyfriends. they say it doesn’t matter why it works, just that it does.

while the two of them are off on their very special friend date, adam meets henry and blue for frozen yogurt at the usual place. at first it had felt wrong to go there without noah, to act like nothing had changed, but a new normal slowly asserted itself as time went on. also, there is only one frozen yogurt place in henrietta.

henry is trying to steal bites of blue’s fro-yo which usually would lead to blue wielding her spoon like a sword and henry getting injured. today, though, blue seems distracted, and ze has free access to her banana yogurt.

“i’m starting to suspect an ulterior motive for this trip,” he says once henry has eaten all of zir own fro-yo and about half of blue’s.

“huh? no!” she startles, then relaxes again, taps her plastic spoon on her lip contemplatively. “i guess i was just thinking about how it would feel to be the token cis person in the gang. it’s sort of weird, right? how all of us are this spectrum of trans identity and you’re…”

“boring cis adam?” he supplies. his stomach does a weird flip and he pushes what’s left of his fro-yo to henry.

“no!” she says again, “i mean, sort of. like, half of fox way is trans, and i didn’t really have friends at school, and now there’s all of us, and i guess what i’m saying is… i’ve never really had cis friends?”

“preach, bluester!” henry cries, drawing the attention of several other patrons at the fro-yo stand.

blue continues, “and i never really thought that a cis person could get it, could be so not-shitty about gender stuff. it sounds weird, but, like, what is that like?”

she’s looking at him so intensely, and now henry is paying full attention too, and adam feels sort of put on the spot. it had certainly occurred to him that maybe it wasn’t conventional for a friend group to be as diverse gender-wise as theirs was, but he’d always figured that was what had made them so intensely bonded. and he’d never really thought about what it meant to be cisgender. he stumbles looking for the right words. “thanks? i don’t know? i mean, what’s it like to be trans?”

“a-damn!” henry cries, “that is not the point of this very scientific inquiry. we are on a journey into the horrific and strange world of the cis mind!” blue nods absentmindedly, but turns back to adam with a strange, conflicted expression.

he shrugs, feeling more uncomfortable by the minute. he wishes the conversation hadn’t taken this turn. he says, almost pleadingly, “i’m serious, guys. i’ve never really thought about it. i figured that’s what being cis meant: never having to think about it.”

blue’s face scrunches up further. she speaks like she’s choosing her words very carefully, “i don’t think that that’s the whole of it, though. like, yeah, i think about my gender a lot which is maybe part of having a more fluid identity than, say, gansey or ronan, but even when i’m not actively thinking about it, i feel it? i don’t really know how to describe it.”

this time, henry is the one nodding. ze says, “if i may, blue’s clues- for me, it’s a sort of like being hungry or being warm or some other bodily sense? sometimes i just feel off, maybe i’m crabby all day for some unknown reason, maybe i just feel uneasy, and i don’t really realize it. then it hits me later that it’s just time to try out some new pronouns because these don’t feel right anymore.”

“right!” blue chimes. “but, like, not always about pronouns. some days, i’m just, like, more aware of my gender and my dysphoria.”

“oh.” adam feels prickly, like his skin is stretched too tight, and then he flexes his fingers under the table, tries not to feel that way because that sounds sort of like- he stands, looks at his watch, realizes he’s not wearing a watch, says, “i should get going. i have a shift at the garage in an hour, and i wanted to pick up some stuff from st. agnes beforehand.” he’s sort of light-headed now that he’s standing.

“‘stuff?’” henry echoes, an eyebrow raised.

blue looks worried, but she puts on a big smile for adam as she goes to hug him goodbye. “i mean, if you have to. we’ll see you around. take care of yourself.”

he rushes back to his car and tries not to think about how blue and henry are totally talking about him right now. about how cis he is, how he couldn’t handle their conversation because he’s a hetero-cis-patriarch (hetero?), how stupid he is for never thinking about gender like they apparently spend all their time doing.

adam doesn’t even have work until that night, a graveyard shift at the factory, so he starts the car and speeds back to the barns instead. he really had meant to pick up some of his stuff from st. agnes since he has to be moved out by the end of june, but right now he’s craving the wide open grounds of the barns so badly that he allows himself this small moment of irresponsibility.

ronan finds him on the roof of one of the smaller buildings towards the edge of the property when he gets back from monmouth. adam had thought maybe he had heard a sound like wheels on gravel twenty minutes earlier, but he had been too stuck in his own head to do anything about it. he feels slow and sort of far away, like he’s scrying but in a closed, limited space.

“thinking about jumping?” ronan snarks, throwing himself down next to adam. when he only gives a noncommittal hum, ronan scootches closer and nuzzles his bristly head into adam’s neck. the sensation helps a little, so he brings up a hand to scratch at ronan’s scalp. “if you’re getting all emo over something, could you at least give me a hint what it is?”

adam chuckles before he can stop himself. “emo? it’s 2015, is emo still a thing?”

“punk might be dead, but emo is immortal, dude,” ronan claims, leaning into adam’s touch. his breath is humid on adam’s shoulder, but the day is mild. they sit and look at the grounds of the barns in silence. ronan doesn’t let it go. “seriously, what the fuck is up?”

he gives adam space to speak at his own pace, knows he doesn’t like speaking until the thought is complete. “do you think i’m a man?” he asks abruptly. “i mean, do you think i’m manly?” he can tell it’s not where ronan thought he was going with this conversation. he stills for a moment against adam’s shoulder before relaxing again.

“honestly?” adam nods. “i don’t get much of a vibe at all from you.”

“thanks.” his voice and his temperament make the words come out sour, but he hopes ronan knows he means it. adam has always been thankful for ronan’s brutal honesty at times when everyone else wants to coddle him.

he shrugs, slips down until his head in adam’s lap right as adam’s arm was getting tired. these little intuitive gestures are probably the most consistent part of their relationship. ronan reaches for his hand, kisses his fingers. “is that all?”

adam takes a shuddering breath. “would this all be over if i wasn’t a man?”

ronan doesn’t answer, just meets his eyes with a vicious intensity and keeps kissing his fingers, his palm. he feels like he might hyperventilate when he asks, “and what if i wanted to try ‘they’ pronouns?”

ronan takes a moment, and when he responds, every word is deliberately enunciated: “you don’t need my approval, adam. i’ll do whatever you want me to. shit, i thought that was pretty obvious.”

he knows that. he does, but he feels like he’s still practicing this whole business of agency, of declaring what he wants and expecting to be respected. adam says, “well, i do. want that.”

“as you fucking wish,” ronan whispers, leaning up to crush a searing kiss to their lips.