#change my hair from braids to a buss down

[junkdyke]

i change my hair so much, that people who i've met before (even recently) do not recognize me

you would think maybe my face, or my visible tattoos would be my identifier, but instead what i've been told is "Oh, Sam it's you!! I wasn't sure, but I heard your voice and you sounded familiar"

my voice is the worst thing about me, why why

[chandelier-s-notebook]

Doodlewash April 2021 prompt 18: Dragon

I made another AU. Because I don’t have enough of those I guess.

Also. I don’t really know how I feel about the pacing of this, and there is so much telling. It’s just a first draft, I need to sleep on it before I like it, but I don’t have time to do that. So while it’s fresh off the line, please enjoy this fic.

If anyone wants to be part of a taglist of this Dragon Rider AU, feel free to message me/send an ask/or mention it in reblogs.

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

This was the best school fieldtrip ever. Ridiara Prep had taken its students to the Premier League Juniors’ Dragon Racing Finals.

The day’s races were not only for national championship spots, but it was also a school day – which meant that huge swaths of the stands were reserved for half price student tickets.

The Manbri National Junior’s Dragon Race Eventing had space for four jockeys from each of the sixteen districts. Even before the Finals the people of The Yaston District knew that two slots would to go Number 35 and Number 13, or as their names, Technoblade and Dream. It was just a toss up to see who slots three and four would go to.

Tommy, Tubbo, and Ranboo sat in a cluster about as far away from the action as you could get. Not my choice, no they’d much rather be pressed against the rails, leaning over the edge watching the events unfold. Unfortunately, the seats provided by Ridiara Prep where all the way in the back corner. And if they were going to be confined to the back-most section, then these boys were going to sit all the way in the back and be petty.

The air in the stadium was electric as school started pouring in from all over Yaston.

Tommy was a bored kind of excited. The kind where you sit still and do other things while the anticipation builds internally. The kind where you know what to expect, but the energy and the thrill gets you going.

Tubbo was to bouncy type of excited. The kind where you can’t stay still and can’t help but look around at everything.  The kind where you absorb the energy of everyone else in the room and let it out with your movement.

Ranboo was the talkative kind of excited. The kind where you can’t contain yourself; where you ramble on and on about the things on your mind. The kind where you know that you might be annoying everyone around you, but you don’t care.

At 10:50am the first fleet of four racers came onto the course. The crowd screamed. The racers flew their dragons into the cages. At 11am the jumbotron screen showed the gates fall down and the cages lower below the course as the jockeys shoot forward.

The dragons weaved around each other and the course. Six laps around, the first two to cross the finishing line on the last lap would move onto the next round.

The course had a simple winding fight path with straight-aways, sharp turns, and more rounded ones. There was also a lower and upper flight limit, the dragons could overtake each other by going around or over or under, but you had to catch up first.

There were sixteen racers in the Finals, which meant seven races over the course of the day. Technoblade and Dream were on opposite sides of the tournament bracket so it would be in the afternoon when they faced off – if neither of them choked on their way to qualification for the Nationals placement flight.

The crowd had just as much energy at the end of the day as the beginning. The Nationals team was going to be Number 35, Technoblade; Number 13, Dream; Number 54, Punz; and Number 3, Puffy. The final race of the day was simply to put them in the tournament brackets.

Ranboo and Tubbo were Technoblade fanboys. They were screaming for their favourite to win. Tommy was just as excited, but it was infinitely less obvious. He just didn’t express his joy, but he did have on a dopy smile the whole time, and his eyes narrowed when anyone overtook Technoblade.

The thing about the Juniors’ League was that it was the lowest age category with the over sixteen rules. And honestly the only difference between above sixteen and below sixteen was the saddle. Those under sixteen raced with a saddle, while those over had foot stapes attached to a harness wrapped where the saddle would sit on the dragons. Don’t worry, it wasn’t a hard shift when kid turned sixteen, they could start practicing with foot stapes at twelve, but racing rules changed at sixteen.

Techno had his reigns held tightly in his hands. Held perfectly so when his dragon pulled forward, he could lean back comfortably. So when he did turns he could shift is body weight easily from foot to foot. Techno’s hair had been braided and curled into a bun at the base of his skull, his roots where very brown as he hadn’t had the time to dye it back pink recently.

Unlike Techno, Puffy was leaned all the way forward. She held the reigns much closer to the bit and saw hunched over close to her dragon’s neck. She was concentrated and gave a little shout whenever she passed someone. Whether she was falling behind or pulling forward.

Dream was much the same as Techno, but his blond hair was cut pretty boy short. He held himself with confidence and seemed to be outwardly enjoying himself while staying super competitive.

Punz was leaned forwards as well. He pretty much stayed super competitive the whole time. He trades spots with the rest of them a few times. None of the four was ever clearly ahead.

In the end, the standing where: Techno, Puffy, Dream, Punz. The crowd blew up when they realized that Puffy got second, she was a fan favourite and it was always an event when either Dream or Techno were knocked down a placement. And neither where salty about it, so no one gave a shit. They gave cheers.

Then it was time to leave. There were only so many so many school busses and Ridiara Prep hadn’t managed to book the first wave, or the second, they were on the third wave of busses. So they had a lot of time to kill. And after the second wave of students left, the teachers let the kids run free.

Tommy had a plan. He was going to sneak into the dragon stalls and see the racers. Tubbo was all for this plan. Ranboo wasn’t.

But Ranboo did give in, in the end.

The three of them whispered to each other as they ran around and tried to find what they were looking for. And they did, Tubbo had found a map and they slipped past security. Of course once they were inside the dragon stables Ranboo warmed up to the idea.

“Can we go find Carl?”

“Carl? Technoblade’s dragon?” Tubbo asked. “Oh my god we could go find Technoblade’s dragon. Let’s go find him.”

“Come on!” Tommy bolted. “Let’s go find the red dragon.”

“Carl’s scarlet.”

“Fanboy much Ranboo.”

“Shut up Tommy.”

The three kids looked at every dragon they passed and named which racer they belonged to. They finally reached Carl’s stall.

Ranboo put his hand up for the dragon to sniff. Carl came closer and bonked Ranboo’s hand with his snout. Then Tubbo did the same. Tommy was keeping watch while the other two interacted with Technoblade’s dragon.

“Hey!” a voice called. “I don’t think you kids should be here.”

“Is that Dream?” Tubbo whispered.

“Yes,” Tommy whispered back. “Hey big man!” Tommy shouted to the third place winner. “I’m allowed to be here.”

“You are?” Dream humored him. “What about your friends? Are they allowed to be here?”

Tommy pointed to Tubbo, “He has plus one privileges, not sure about that guy though.”

Ranboo snorted. “Thanks man.”

Dream walked up behind them. “You kids should leave. Just go and I won’t call security. Also, Techno really doesn’t like people messing with his dragon.”

“It’s fine,” Tommy dismissed. “Carl loves me. Don’t you boy?”

Dream shot Tommy a strange look. Then there was thumbing from Carl’s stall, like he was waving his tail and there wasn’t enough space. Dream glanced at Carl. “Huh.”

“See?” Tommy in all his bravado put his hand through the bars on the door into the stall. Carl started rubbing his snout on Tommy’s palm. “We’re good man.”

“I will call security.”

“Do that.”

“Don’t do that.” Ranboo grabbed Tommy and started pulling him away. “We’ll be on our way. Sorry for breaking and entering.”

“Ranboo!” Tubbo scolded. “Don’t make it seem worse than it is. We didn’t break anything.”

“I believe you.”

“Good.”

“Tommy. Come on. We should really get back to the class.”

“Why? I’m just going home?”

“Yeah?” Tommy continued to shrug off Ranboo and play with Carl. “Who’s a good boy?”

Dream smiled softly at the exasperated and apologetic looks Tubbo and Ranboo were sending him. “I’m very sure that Technoblade doesn’t like when people mess with Carl.”

Tommy waved his free hand. “I’m not messing with him.”

“Messing with who?”

And that was went Tubbo and Ranboo froze. On the one hand; Technoblade, they were messing with his dragon and should apologize and dip. On the other hand; Technoblade, must fanboy.

Dream gestured to Tommy petting Carl with no regard for his safety.

“And?”

“And?” Dream gestured more expressively. “Kid petting your dragon?”

“And?”

“You don’t let me do that?”

Tommy turned around to stick his tongue out at Dream.

“You aren’t the kid?”

“But why can the kid? I let you interact with Spirit!”

“Carl’s not Spirit.”

“Obviously.”

“Techno can I ride with you home? I don’t want to take the bus.”

“Yeah sure,” Techno said without a first thought. “My dragon. I make the rules.”

“Did you just?”

Techno turned to the sound. “And you are?” he asked Tubbo.

“Uhm.”

“That’s Tubbo.”

“This is Tubbo?”

“Yeah. But of a bitch isn’t he?”

“No?”

“Other guy is Ranboo. My other friend.”

“Right.” Techno turned back to Tommy. “They coming over for dinner?”

“Can they? Will we all fit on Carl?”

“No. But I brought Andrew. He could probably fit all three of you. You’re all tiny.”

“Well Technoblade.” Tommy’s voice took on a bratty quality. “We’re only fourteen, that’s not super small Mr. nineteen.”

“Do you want to ride Andrew home or would you rather crawl back into the hole you came from and take the school bus on?” Techno deadpanned.

“Andrew.”

“Cool. Let’s go get him.” Techno kept walking down the corridor to Andrew’s stall a little further down.

“What just happened?” Ranboo asked, still processing a few sentences behind.

“Technoblade’s my older brother.”

“Wilbur’s your older brother,” Tubbo corrected.

“Wilbur has a twin.”

“Huh?”

“Come on. Let’s go. We get to ride Andrew home. I’ll drive, you two and just sit tight.” Tommy took both of his friends’ hands; he knew they wouldn’t be walking on their own for a few minutes more.

The racers were all tacking up their dragons for the return journey and the busses had yet to come for the third wave of school children. Tubbo and Ranboo settled themselves into Andrew’s saddle ina daze while Tommy strapped his feet in.

Dream was still following, pestering Techno about his little brother.

“Hey Toms. Do a few loops around the track while you wait for me.”

“Yessir!”

And they were off.

Tommy waved to the teacher before flying off into the skyways behind Techno. Just letting him know not to wait up for the three boys.

[the-fiction-witch]

Control P12

TV SHOW THE QUEENS GAMBIT COUPLE: BENNY X READER RATING: FLIRTY

I smiled as I drove the car though the busy new York streets, I stopped in some traffic and looked over at y/n, she sat in the passenger seat, in her little blue and cream heels. Her black stockings, her cream petticoats peaking out from out her baby blue dress, her little cream cardigan over her shoulders and arms with little roses embodied on them. I had to drag my eyes away from her chest as the dress hugged her breasts so closely, fuck that dress makes her look so good, I couldn't stop staring at her cleavage. I tore my eyes away as I needed to move the car a little down the road in the traffic. As soon as I did I looked back to her, seeing her perfect curls where she took them out her curlers after her shower this morning, her make up done perfectly without having to hide brusies and black eyes, a beautiful smile on her face as she plaid with her fingers, "You look so beautiful" I smiled holding her hand "when your happy" "You look even more beautiful" she smiled laying her head on my shoulder "the most handsome boy ever" "Then your the most beautiful woman ever" I smiled kissing her hand "are you excited?" "Yes!" She giggled "Any ideas?" "Blue" "Blue?" "Blue or black, dark colours." "Dark colours? Okay, how about something that might work with mine?" "Maybe" she giggled fiddling with my signet ring on her fingers, "but that's for the wedding rings to match isn't it?" "It is... While we're in the stores we could, shop from for those too" "We could?" "If you want to y/n" I told her "Any other ideas?"

"Not a diamond"

"why?"

"Diamonds are intricately worthless"

"They are?"

"Yes benny"

"Oh, But isn't that tradition?"

"It is but, I'd rather not"

"I don't think they make rings that aren't diamonds"

"I'm sure they do"

"we'll see" I told her as the traffic got moving and we found some parking, so we parked up and sorted out heading into the busy shopping area I held her hand rather tightly making sure to keep her close to me her handbag under her arm that I held so it was between us and safe, we walked past a few little shops of this and that until finding a jewellery store with a little red and white striped canopy, we stopped and had a good look in the window "Anything catch your eye little lady?"

"Ummm not really, and there all so expensive"

"Hey, price is out of the question" I told her "You let me worry about that"

"even so, nothing to interesting"

"Did you wanna look inside or go look at another store?" I asked her and she already began tugging my hand so I laughed and walked along with her down the street, I spotted  a shop with a manakin in a long leather jacket much like my trench coat bit with fur in the inside ohh that looks warm but she tugged my hand along almost dragging me down the street away from the window I squeeze her hand and gave her cheek a little kiss as she pulled me back to her and we continued to the street, trying to get out of people's way as they rushed on past, I went to walk but y/n had stopped I turned and saw her looking in a boutique clothing store at a little dress... skirt I'm not sure, it was a skirt with petticoats and then straps or a top that cut out where her boobs are so she'd wear a shirt under it, it did look lovely and she was looking at it intently but I pulled her away like she had done to me

"But benny" she whines

"AH, ah, ah where' not clothes shopping, you have enough pretty dresses come on" I told her she pouted but I gave her a kiss which made her smile and nuzzle into my neck as we walked, until we came across another little jewellery store we both stopped and looked in the window and honestly none of it was very impressive "what do you think?"

"Next shop" she says

"Yeah my thoughts too" I smiled tugging her hand along as we headed into the more bussing part of the city I looked at all the shops trying to see what they all had and I stopped at a book store that had a bunch of chess books in the window "Oohh"

"Pretty please" she begged holding my hands

"what?"

"can we go look benny?"

"You wanna go in the bookshop?"

"Pretty please" she begs

"aww of course little lady" I smiled happily letting her go in and quickly following after her looking at all the nice books she seemed so happy smiling widely as she would stand on her tip toes to reach books on high shelves we both ended up buying a few books we didn't already have so we paid and got a big paper bag with strings she carried it as she was so excited about her books and we headed back out to the streets, and as luck would have it we stumbled on a little jewellery store with black and white canopy and a full window of items I looked at a few here and there seeing the necklaces and bracelets but I saw her eyes light up and her smile widen she clearly saw something I didn't so I wrapped my arms around her and rested my head on her shoulder and I spotted what she had seen this ring right in the corner on the usual little white felt cone display, it was silver with swirls in the metal like braids in the silver, holding rows of about three small white diamonds all around this large round smoky black diamond "Is that the one you like?" I asked pointing it out and she nodded

"It's beautiful" she smiled

"Did you want to go look closer?"

"No, no, it's much to expensive"

"what did I tell you? if you like it, there's no harm in going and having a look" I told her so she nodded and we headed inside the little shop where a man stood at a counter looking over some earrings

"Good morning" He smiled

"Morning, the black diamond ring in the window any chance we get have a better look at it?" I asked

"Ohh of course" He nodded getting up putting the little tray of earrings he had away and going it the window sliding it open from this side and pulling out the ring "This the one?" He asks her and she nodded excitedly "excellent" He smiled "Take a seat" He says going to the desk so we both went and sat on the little chairs on this side of the desk he set the little cone on the desk and y/n smiled so much "would you like to try it?" He asked her and she looked to me

"Go on" I told her so she smiled and tried it on, and it fit her perfectly "Tell me about it" I asked him

"It's a one of a kind, last one the marker made before he head a heart attack at his work station, fifteen diamonds around and a natural black in the centre" He explained

"do you like it?" I asked her

"But Benny-"

"do you like it?"

"Yes" she giggled "It's beautiful"

"We'll take it" I told him

"Really?"

"If you like it, then you can have it. so you can have a proper engagement ring"

"Ohh it's an engagement ring?" He asked "Then I can offer you a twenty five percent discount"

"Really?" she giggled

"Of course, I always do for engagement rings there such lovely things" He says "And if you come back and get your wedding rings done here I'll knock fifty percent off them if you show the recited for the engagement ring"

"Sold," I told him getting my wallet

"Would you like to wear it out Miss?" He asked her

"If I could" she smiled

"Of course, I'll wrap the box up for you" He says going to the back for a box as she admired her pretty ring

"You can have this back now" she smiled handing me back my signet ring

"Thank you," I told her "You happy?"

"Extremely happy benny" she smiled nuzzling with my shoulder "I love you"

"I love you too" I told her kissing her hand.

I sat playing chess with y/n, it was her move so I was waiting for her to take it. I sat in my usual white chair, barefoot, in my black jeans without my belt, My black t shirt and my usual chains, I kept trying to fix my upper lip as I know I needed to.. trim it, I'm not shaving but I need to trim it it's getting too long, and yet my chin has still not yet met the bit under my lip, I watched her as she thought, she sat on the other white chair, in her little black dress with her white petticoats poking out the bottom of her skirt, the top of her dress a boat neck with white lace across the top, her hair in her rollers, she had her move and smiled widely going back to her knitting all the while admiring her beautiful ring. I sat thinking for a while she had lurred me into a trap and she knew she had that's why she was just sitting there admiring her ring and knitting almost ignoring me.

"You win" I sighed "I need a coffee" I told her giving her head a kiss and going to make myself a cup of coffee "Would you like a cup little lady?" I asked as I made the cups up

"No thank you benny" she smiled packing the board away

"I think we need to have some discussions" I told her as I opened the fridged and poured her an apple juice in her usual mug and headed over to the table with her and I grabbed my note pad and pen

"About what?" she asks a little worried

"Well as you have your pretty ring shouldn't we start getting sorted?"

"For what?"

"For the wedding, Provided you want a wedding and don't want to sign the paper work and go to dinner?"

"I'd like a wedding, if it's okay" she smiled

"Then we shall have a wedding" I told her holding her hand clicking my pen "Church? chapel? elsewhere?"

"Anywhere?"

"Anywhere you want"

"what do you want?" she asks

"I really don't mind, doesn't bother me." I shrug "It's up to you little lady"

"Would you be okay with us getting married in a nice garden?"

"If that's what you want" I smiled making a note of it "Any idea on your dress?"

"That's for me to know and you two find out" she giggled

"Alright, when were you thinking then? if you want to be outside we need to think about it for the weather and all"

"In the fall? with the beautiful changing colours in the tree's and the flowers"

"That sounds lovely" I smiled taking her hand and giving it a kiss "I would be happy no matter how we get married, we can have a thousand dollar wedding in the most beautiful garden in the world and the most beautiful expensive clothes in the world, and a Sixteen tear wedding cake, Or signing the paperwork at the hall, in our pj's, and back to the apartment with a bottle of five dollar wine and one of your jam roly-poly's. Or anything in-between my little lady"

"You sure?"

"We will do whatever you want" I told her "we just have to plan,"

"Alright, we shall plan" she smiled getting up and we headed to the chair I sat down first and she sat down with me with her legs over my lap her butt just next to me, I wrapped an arm around her and she rested her heads on my chest, and we sat talking though Idea's making notes on my pad until the early hours of the next morning.

"Benny!" Y/n called from the bedroom

"Yeah?"

"Have you seen my....... my....... thing?" she asked leaning on the doorframe in her dress

"What thing?" "The thingy thing?"

"... the thingy thing?" "The thing with the things on it"

"The thing with the things on it? Okay y/n just... think and then speak"

"My... hair thing"

"You're hairbrush?"

"Yes!"/

"It's in your hair darling"

"It is?" she asks pulling the brush out of her hair "Ooohh... thank you benny"

"You're welcome" I laughed at her as she came and brushed her hair for the day still admiring her shiny ring, it had been a good few months now and we were getting into the fine details for our wedding even if we hadn't set a date quiet yet I had noticed the last... month or so, she'd been doing that a lot her brain just sort of I suppose gives up. she hasn't won a chess match in weeks and I've been going easy on her, she had real trouble with forgetting things and just generally not being to with it, I didn't worry about it too much maybe she's just feeling a little weird or something?

I looked at her as I often do, today she had put in her little white sneakers which was unusual, she almost always wears her heels or her pumps but no, sneakers today. and she didn't have her stockings on she had her thigh-high black socks instead still there adorable, she had fewer petticoats than usual, in her little dark blue dress, it was tight on her, seriously tight on her, in fact, she hadn't even zipped it up all the way at the back as it wouldn't go up any higher, her breasts looked like if she sneezed they would jump out her dress. that dress used to fit her fine?

she came over and smiled getting her book

"Y/n?" "Yes benny?"

"Can I ask you something?"

"Of course benny, ask anything you'd like?"

"Are you.... having a bad day?"

"what do you mean?"

"do you have a tummy ache?"

"No"

"Are you feeling... bloated in any way?"

"No"

".... Have you gained some weight, honey?"

"Maybe," she said sadly

"I'm sorry, I was just asking because you hadn't done your dress up"

"It's a pound or so nothing more Benny, I'll get it off again soon my  weight fluctuates it always does" she says

"Okay, It's alright if your happy, I was just asking"

"Ummm... I think my boobs have gotten bigger though" she says

"Uhh maybe yeah I hadn't really noticed" I lied

"Ummm sure you didn't" she giggled

I smirked grabbing her boobs and giving them a squeeze "Size and a half"

"Hu?"

"Bigger."

"You can tell that by just groping my boobs?"

"You'd be amazed what I can do with my hands darling" I winked at her but she pushed my hands away "That and I am very used to your boobs. I know them well. Year's of fantasy and now reality your boobs grow or shrink a centimeter I'm gonna know about it"

"Perv" she giggles

"I'm your fiance you'd rather I not have an intimate knowledge of your boobs?" I laughed "you probably have an equally good knowledge of my dick?"

"Maybe" she giggles

"Pervert" I smirked at her "is anything up though? seriously?"

"Eh" she shrugs

"Is it your period?"

"No. I'm late"

"How late?"

"... two weeks, but that's not unusual I've been later than that before and it's all been fine, Mine are irregular anyway" "Okay but keep me posted alright, I like to know your okay" I told her giving her cheek a kiss

[neverforgetkpop]

Not Alone | Pt. 04

Summary: Hayoon has never had an easy life. From a very early age she learned that if she wanted to be a known designer, she would have to work harder than most. After years of working odd jobs since high school trying to take care of her family, at the age of 29 she has finally been offered the opportunity to become a stylist for one of the top entertainment companies in South Korea: SM Entertainment. Little does she know that working there will change her life forever.

Fashion, idols and love all in one. Will she be able to handle it, or will the pressure of it all make her give up on her dreams?  

Rating: M

Pairing: Jaehyun & Hayoon/Reader

Genre & Warning:  Strangers to lovers. Angst, eventual fluff and maybe smut. Talk about depression and abandonment.

A/N: My first NCT fanfic. I named the female character Hayoon. Though I wrote her a bit more mature, you can change her name to yours if you want. It’s written in 3rd person. I feel like I should add the (obvious) disclaimer that the story is not real, and though the characters are inspired by the members of NCT, they are not the members.  

PS. The name of the story is inspired by NCT 127’s Not Alone.

PT. 01 / PT. 02  / PT. 03

____________________________________

“Did you hear? They hired a new girl without any experience.”

“Yes, I even saw her interrupt Sang-Hee’s session.” The girl had a long braid down her back, her expression annoyed as she was surrounded by two other girls. “She even got here late. The audacity of her thinking she can have her way her first day.”

Hearing that conversation gave Hayoon flashbacks of high school. She was bullied and looked down upon because her mother abandoned them and her father was unable to work so she would sometimes see her classmates across a coffee shop counter after taking their order. She was old enough not to let things like that bother her, but she did find it ridiculous how there were people already talking about her, her first day.

Hayoon watched the girls walk out of the elevator in front of her before following out into the lobby.

“Hayoon!” she looked up at Sungho waiting for her. He smiled brightly at her as always.

Sungho had been the kid she used to fight with at lunch over dessert. They eventually decided to split the dessert and slowly they became friends. Since then on they had simply become part of each other’s lives. It was partly because of him that Hayoon had applied at SM. Sungho worked in SM as a photographer and made a few questions here and there before letting Hayoon know that there was a possible job opening.

“You didn’t have to wait for me.” Hayoon smiled falling into step next to him.

“You’re still new. You might get lost on your way down.”

“Right, cause I don’t know how to get to the lobby I came in through in the first place.”

After traffic, they made it to the bar close to her apartment where Minsuh and Yeona were already waiting with their first round of soju and beer.

“So? How was it?” Yeona asked serving them another round.

“Did you see any naked idols?” Minsuh raised her brows suggestively.

“Is that really your first question?” Sungho rolled his eyes.

“I bet she’ll see someone naked before you do.” Yeona said pointedly.

“I see idols shirtless from time to time,” he paused and rubbed his temple. “What am I even saying?” he drank from his glass.

“She probably saw someone shirtless today so your awesomeness has been greatly reduced.” Minsuh shrugged.

“And here I was thinking you’d want to listen to how much designer brands I saw in one rack alone.” Hayoon laughed more to herself.

“You can ignore them. I’ll listen to your day unlike them as always.” Sungho turned to her.

“You say that but where were you last week when she was having a meltdown?” Minsuh shot feigning innocence.

“It was not a meltdown thank you very much.”

“I was pulling an all-nighter.”

They both answered at the same time.

“Ok. For real now, how was it?” Yeona asked.

“My boss is obviously a woman who’s made a name for herself. The people seem nice. Tomorrow I have to get to the office at five am though.”

“Five am?” Minsuh looked shocked.

“I’m part of tomorrow’s morning team so I’ll be going to the bathroom before calling it a night,” she grabbed her bag and made her way to the bathroom.

“Did you really have to throw me under the buss?” Sungho shot Minsuh a deadly look.

“I mean we all know you work like crazy and if you didn’t you’d be with us so there was no harm in the comment. The real problem here is you still being this slow. It’s been over ten years. When will you make your move already?”

Sungho looked at Yeona for support. “Don’t look at me. If you don’t tell her how you feel you might never find out if you have a chance or not.”

Sungho sighed looking at his half-empty glass. He had been next to Hayoon for so long. He had seen her sort of date but never stick with anyone. She was always working, she was always taking care of her family and he was always there but she had never hinted at maybe liking him like he liked her.

-

“Good morning Hayoon.” Sang-Hee greeted her with a  bright smile. “I’m going to ask you to help with the setup for Johnny, Doyoung and Jaehyun’s racks before the members come in in an hour. I want you to meet them before we head out.”

“Head out?”

“Oh, we’re sending you with the team heading for Jaehyun’s shoot today. We want you to have the experience of working with the members when they need to perform as soon as possible. We have an hour so let’s get to it.”

Hayoon stood in the corner of the studio Jaehyun was shooting in finishing the notes she had taken of Jungwoo, Yuta, Taeil and Mark. She could immediately understand on another level what Sang-Hee meant when she said that she would see a lot of sides to the members. They were all extremely energetic at times, kind and professional too. She was starting to picture outfits for the seven members she had officially met. She hadn’t looked them up even after knowing she would work with them knowing that meeting them in person would be more helpful. Seeing how the person moved and held themself was always something she wanted to consider when making designs for specific people.

“You’re lucky you didn’t get Haechan with Jungwoo and Doyoung the same day.” Jaehyun laughed standing next to her. Hayoon suddenly jumped closing the notebook with her notes. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you.

They both bowed politely at each other.

“Good morning.” Hayoon greeted him.

“I hope the members weren’t too much this morning.”

“Oh, not at all. They were very polite.” Hayoon tried to hold back a smile remembering Jungwoo doing aegyo at Mark while Yuta wrapped an arm around Mark’s neck pulling him away from Jungwoo all while Taeil stood as  a bystander. “How does the jacket feel?” she quickly remembered why she was there.

Jaehyun had hair and makeup done, he had dressed as well and now stood in front of her like a full fledge idol compared to when they had met first.

“It’s good.”

“Want me to check the neck, seems like it might be digging into your neck,” she quickly noticed. Jaehyun nodded politely standing in front of a mirror. Hayoon moved around him. She tried to reach his neck but couldn’t find an angle where she could actually reach. Jaehyun suddenly crouched down a bit. “I have a better idea,” she said reaching for a stool close by. She quickly stepped onto it. Jaehyun smiled, his dimples present as always. He watched her work through the mirror, her hands brushing his neck briefly. He watched her brow furrow in concentration. “Ok, now turn around.”

He did as asked and faced her. They stood face to face thanks to the stool. Before either could do anything, Hayoon slipped from the stool onto Jaehyun’s arms. He held onto her steadying them both. Hayoon could feel his arms around her waist, her chest against his chest and suddenly her neck was warm. He gently put her down and let her go.

“Are you ok?” he cleared his throat asking nicely hoping his ears weren’t red.

“Yes. Thank you. I’m sorry.”

“No need to apologize.”

“Jaehyun they need you on stage.”

“Does it feel better?” Hayoon asked.

Jaehyun looked at himself in the mirror one last time moving the jacket around. “Yes. Much better thank you.”

“Oh, before you go I need to take a picture of the outfit,” she remembered Sang-Hee had asked her to do so before leaving the dressing room. Jaehyun stood against the door and posed. Hayoon realized not for the first time how attractive he was. “Thank you.”

“Thank you,” he smiled before leaving the room.

Hayoon looked around the room feeling self-conscious suddenly, she could still feel Jaehyun’s arms around her waist. She wanted to hit herself for so many reasons in that moment. She started to question if she was truly that deprived of any physical contact with an attractive man when she remembered how deprived she actually was. She pushed the thoughts away. She was working, she shouldn’t be thinking about her personal needs during work, especially because of a young idol that was clearly off limits not only because of the obvious fact of him being an idol, but because she could clearly hear Eun Sook’s warning. Her needs would have to be silent, she wasn’t going to risk getting into trouble because she found an idol attractive. She was there to work and that was it.

[maxdark158]

This is chapter two of my fic based on @ozmav ‘s Damian Wayne x Marinette Dupain-Cheng au that I LOVE, please check them out.

Angel in Gotham: Part 1 ~ Part 2 ~ Part 3 ~ Part 4 ~ Part 5 ~ Part 6 ~ Ao3

Demon in Gotham: Part 1 ~ Part 2 ~ Part 3 ~ Part 4 ~ Ao3

Fanart for AiG: Riddler ~ Joker thank you @thegreysman

Please tag me in any fanart you draw for this guys ^^

oooOOOooo

“Marinette, seriously?” The annoyed voice of Marinette’s once-best-friend Alya Cesaire was grating to her now. “You need to stop running away just for attention, it won’t work.”

It had been a long day for Marinette. It started off well, even after being forgotten by her class, because she got to hang out with Damian. But The Riddler kind of spoiled that. After her talk with the police, Damien waited with her for a teacher to pick her up from the station. They parted when her teacher arrived, Marinette promising to text him when she got to her hotel room.

The teacher that picked her up was Professor Mendeleiev. While the science teacher’s strictness had unnerved Marinette for years, lately she had begun wishing she was in her class instead of Ms. Bustier’s. Ms. Bustier’s tactics of being a better example for a bully were starting to wear on her. Professor Mendeleiev wasn’t perfect, but Marinette would have taken being in her class over being in Ms. Bustier’s now.

When the teacher asked why Marinette had been away from the group in the first place, Marinette told her that she had been forgotten by Ms. Bustier and her class. Professor Mendeleiev went silent after that.

The rest of the ride was silent too.

It was silent until Professor Mendeleiev dropped her off at her room where Alya was waiting to rip into her about being attention-seeking and rude.

“Hello?” she sounded angry now. “Are you even listening to me? Do you think if you ignore us we’ll believe you were ever nice again? Lila told us the truth about who you are, you-”

“Alya!” her teacher snapped. “Your classmate was caught in a villain attack today. Leave her alone.”

Alya gaped. “But”

“That was not a request,” Professor Mendeleiev growled. “Do you think you can escape my detentions because we are on vacation?”

Alya squeaked and ran off to her room.

Marinette blinked, not quite sure what just happened. Relief was the cool feeling applied to a headache, stopping the pain.

“Thank you,” she mumbled. Professor Mendeleiev nodded and stalked off, mumbling something about having a long overdue talk with ‘Caline’.

Alya must have gone back to her hotel room, as Marinette didn’t encounter her or anyone else on her way back to her room.

The relief hit again, but the hint of sadness was like mint in her mouth and wetness on her cheek, despite her not actually crying.

It was hard to remember that Alya used to be her best friend. It got harder every time Alya got after her for bullying or lying or anything else that she didn’t actually do. Marinette almost wishes they hadn’t ever become friends, the betrayal would have hurt less.

It seems some wounds take years to heal.

Marinette arrived at her room and unlocked the door with her room key. She entered and immediately flopped on her bed.

“Marinette, are you alright?” she heard Tikki ask.

“I’m just tired,” she mumbled. “I’m more used to akumatized villains, not insane people with riddle obsessions.”

She felt Tikki brush aside some of her hair. “I’m just glad you’re alright. You scared me for a moment, Marinette. I don’t know what I would have done if I lost you.”

Marinette smiled. “Thanks, Tikki.”

“It’s simply the truth! Also, didn’t you tell that boy you would text him?”

Her eyes widened. Marinette rolled over and got her phone out of her purse. “Thanks for reminding me!”

Tikki giggled out a, “no problem,” and rested on Marinette’s stomach.

Angel: I’m at the hotel now.

Damian: That’s good Damian: Did you get in trouble?

Marinette smiled to herself. It felt nice, being worried about… Even if she didn’t want him to worry. But the fact that he cared felt like a warm hug.

Angel: Professor Mendeleiev must’ve been tired or something. Angel: She didn’t leacture

She frowned. That had to be wrong.

Angel: Lecture?

Damian: *lecture

Marinette rolled her eyes. In the two days she had known Damian, she knew he was a stickler for grammar. Though he wasn’t harsh about his corrections, as he knew English wasn’t her first language, it was a tad annoying. Marinette was much better at speaking and reading in English than she was at spelling.

Angel: Quiet, English is hard

Damian: Understandable. Damian: In my original question I meant any of your classmates btw

Angel: btw? Angel: Oh by the way

Damian: yeah

Angel: I’m good at text slang in French, okay

Damian: I don’t doubt you

She rolled her eyes and smiled. Annoying, but the banter was nice. It wasn’t like with Chat Noir when he was trying to flirt with her.

Angel: Anyway Alya tried to bother me but I’m good now Angel: Professor Mendeleiev told her off for bothering me after my ‘traumatic’ encounter with a Gotham villain

Damian: Speaking of, are you SURE you’re alright Angel

Ooh, capital letters. He must be really worried. Guilt rested on her shoulders again on that day.

Angel: I’m fine Angel: I’ve survived akuma for three years, I’m not about to let some riddle fanatic with terrible clothing choices ruin my day

Damian: His clothes are that bad?

Good, subject change. Maybe she can get him to stop worrying.

Angel: Too much green, for one Angel: Green shouldn’t be used in large portions when it’s that bright of a shade Angel: Also the cloth itself was cheap, but the kind of cheap meant to look expensive if you don’t know cloth good

Damian: *well

Marinette smiled. She hoped her little intentional mistake would make him stop worrying.

Angel: Whatever Angel: Also his hat didn’t match the type of suit he was wearing Angel: If he wants to go old fashioned he should at least match the time period Angel: Longer coat, more layers Angel: He is an atrocity

Damian: he is

Angel: If I had time to cry then my tears would had been blood

Damian: *have

“Seriously,” she grumbled to herself. The guilt had long since lifted but Damian’s need for correct grammar was going to drive her mad.

Angel: istg

Damian: It appears you’re learning

Angel: Yepp

Damian: Also the Gotham news posted an article online about you Damian: “Unnamed Teenager From France Holds off The Riddler Until Batman Arrives!”

Angel: Wait what? Angel: But we both held him off?

Damian: I was kind of useless, you did most of the work Damian: I left shortly after you solved his riddle because the Robins had arrived

Marinette breathed a sigh of relief. She had been scrolling through the article Damian had mentioned, realizing that it did not have any mention of her throat punching The Riddler. It did say she took him down with physical force, but it was in self-defense and she was okay.

She just didn’t want Damian to find out she punched someone in the throat. It would make him think she was violent and he’d hate her forever and never talk to her again and she’d loose the only friend she’s made in the last three years and-

Her phone, which had fallen asleep, buzzed again.

Damian: You there?

Marinette sighed, mentally reining her anxieties in.

Angel: Yeah. I was just reading the article Angel: The Riddler was bad at hand to hand combat. It was easy to take him down with the practice I have from Paris

Damian: I bet. Damian: It’s getting late, Angel. We should go to bed. Damian: Goodnight

Angel: Goodnight Angel: Also I’ll find a chat name for you soon, promise

Damian: lol okay

Marinette smiled and put her phone away. Hopefully, she would get to spend more time with him tomorrow.

This was day three of their trip to Gotham. The entire trip lasted nine days. She wanted to make the most of her trip by spending time with her friend until she had to leave.

While the thought brought a brief sadness, she put it out of her mind and continued to get ready for bed.

oooOOOooo

Marinette managed to get up on time this morning.

Meaning, she woke up from a nightmare at around four am and couldn’t go back to sleep after that because she started fully sketching out some of her outfit ideas she had yesterday. She even made a few based off the Gotham heroes, coloring those ones in.

Despite all the designing she finished, Marinette was still the first one ready and in the lobby where the class is supposed to meet every morning.

Marinette was wearing her messier clothes today. After yesterday where she confronted The Riddler in leggings, she decided to stick to pants today too. She loved the dress she brought but it would not work if she managed to confront another villain.

Besides, the dress code was more lenient today. Marinette had on a white crop top with her signature flower pattern and dark gray overalls on. She had her hair in a French braid so it was out of her face. Her tennis shoes were the same pink as the flowers and as always, she had her purse for Tikki.

When the teachers came down to wait for the class, they saw Marinette there. Professor Mendeleiev gave her a nod, to which Marinette smiled. Ms. Bustier looked conflicted for a moment before ultimately deciding to sit down away from both her and Professor Mendeleiev.

The class began to filter in. Marinette made sure to stay out of sight from everyone but the teachers. They grouped together, talking about mindless things. Mostly about what they’d do with their afternoon. Today they were going to the Gotham City Heroes and Villains Museum in the morning, then after lunch the rest of the day was free until 5:30 pm.

Lila arrived last. Marinette knew that she likely did it so everyone noticed her entrance. She also realized that Lila arrived a few minutes before everyone had to get on the busses, so people had time to talk to and about her.

The designer simply tuned the liar out. She didn’t care anymore.

Well, she didn’t until she heard a certain name.

“Damian is such a sweetheart,” Marinette glanced up from her phone. “We might get back together again soon, I’m not sure though. I hope so.”

“I forgot that you’re on and off,” she heard someone else say, though who didn’t matter.

“Did you say Damian?” Marinette asked before she thought out the action. Her voice was loud enough that suddenly everyone was staring at her as if they forgot she was there in the first place.

They likely had.

“Uh, yeah,” Alya scoffed. “Lila and Damian Wayne are an on and off thing. You’d know that if you weren’t skipping the field trip for attention.”

“Alya, it’s alright,” Lila sighed. “We keep it out of the tabloids and Marinette doesn’t like me, it’s not her fault she didn’t know.”

“That sounds like it’s her fault! Marinette just needs to get over herself!”

Marinette was tuning her classmates out. She felt like an idiot. But at the same time, he never told her. He must have had a reason for telling her.

But there was no mistaking it. The Riddler called him, “Wayne.” They met when she was trying to get into Wayne Enterprises. His first name was Damian and he knew the tour guide…

She tuned back into her classmates’ conversation.

“Anyway, Damian and I went and got ice cream last afternoon. That’s why I was gone, you see. He would have walked me back, but we would have attracted a crowd. Plus he got a little chocolate ice cream on his shirt, he’s so messy.”

Marinette closed her eyes. Rage is hot and fiery, her nails dug into her palms.

Calling Lila out does nothing.

But she couldn’t help but remember Damian telling her that chocolate ice cream was among his least favorites when they went to get ice cream yesterday.

And he isn’t messy.

oooOOOooo

Marinette found the museum interesting. It gave her some anxiety, learning about everything villains did to the city was nerve-wracking.

She wondered if there would ever be a Paris Museum for Akuma.

It also gave her some ideas. Learning about the Gotham Hero’s greatest feats and how they accomplished them was eye-opening.

She was doing this whole battling-Hawkmoth-thing wrong! Instead of a case by case akuma battle, which are much less frequent nowadays, she should partner with the police! There were cameras all over Paris and, unlike Kwami, corrupted butterflies appeared on them. Hawkmoth may only be attacking around once a month now, but he still needed to own up to the terror he reigned on Paris and the world.

Marinette felt a little stupid for not realizing all of this before, she realized as she whispered her ideas to Tikki in the bathroom. She could have ended it sooner if she thought to get investigative about her enemy.

But as interesting and terrifying as the museum was, the trip only took the morning. By lunch, her classmates were waiting for the teachers to decide who to take where, as no restaurant had enough room for all of them.

She pulled out her phone and opened her text chat with Damian.

Angel: Kill me now

Damian: What’s wrong?

Angel: We have to all get lunch as a class before I’m free Angel: I’m in the group with Liar Rossi Angel: Death would be sweatier

Marinette mumbled a curse under her breath. She meant sweeter! Stupid autocorrect.

Damian: *sweeter

Angel: Rude

Damian: Anyway Damian: You can’t die yet Damian: We still technically didn’t get ice cream

She managed to smile. Damian made her do that a lot now that she thought about…

Her phone pinged again.

Damian: Also you’re at the Gotham City Heroes and Villains Museum right?

Angel: Yes I am

Damian: I’m nearby

Marinette’s eyes widened. What?

Damian: I can pick you up for lunch

Angel: OMG really? Please do I’d really really like that

Damian: omw

She looked up, seeing that her teachers were still discussing. She walked up to them, waiting until they saw her.

Ms. Bustier did first. “Marinette! What did you need?”

“My friend invited me to eat lunch with him,” she looked at Professor Mendeleiev as she spoke, not Ms. Bustier. “May I go?”

“After what happened yesterday? I don’t thi-” Ms. Bustier was cut off by Professor Mendeleiev.

“Is this the friend you were at the station with?” she asked, voice sharp. Marinette nodded.

Professor Mendeleiev hummed, contemplating. Ms. Bustier gaped at her. “You can’t be considering allowing her to go!” she said, “Not after how mad you got at me-”

“Caline, I got mad at you for forgetting her. Allowing her to go is not the same thing,” Professor Mendeleiev glared at her, “We’re allowing you to go on your own after lunch anyway, as long as everyone has a buddy. Finding you a buddy in this class, however, is likely going to be difficult…”

She trailed off before digging into her bag. “We got trackers for this free afternoon, though we couldn’t afford them for everyone,” she brought out a black bracelet that looked plastic. “This will only give me your general location. We will still have enough for everyone else as long as they’re in pairs. If you take one, I will allow you to go to lunch and such with your friend.”

Ms. Bustier’s brows furrowed. “You’re giving her special treatment? But-”

“Caline, you forgot her twice,” Professor Mendeleiev sounded patient, as if she were an adult talking to a toddler. “Marinette earned this and she will be with a friend from Gotham, something nobody else in this class truly has besides her.”

“This is my class,” Ms. Bustier was beginning to fume. “You accompanied because two teachers were needed, but these are my students-”

“Caline,” Professor Mendeleiev sounded more annoyed. “I am allowing her to go. Since I’ve been teaching for longer and because you told me to hand out the tracking bracelets, my decision overrules yours. Your argument is pointless.”

Marinette stared as Ms. Bustier tried to find words to retaliate with and failed. She took the bracelet from Professor Mendeleiev and thanked her.

It felt nice to have someone stand up for her again.

In the corner of her eye, Marinette noticed Alya walk toward the teachers and her. She looked angry and upset, a face she nowadays wore often around Marinette.

She remembered what she thought last night, about Alya’s betrayal. How it hurt remembering the good times they shared. Marinette took a deep breath.

It still hurt. It still hurt remembering the good times they had as friends, but she had to be fair to herself. She had to remember the bad times too.

She had to remember the times Alya demanded every detail, said friends tell each other everything. She had to remember the times Alya pressured her into things she wasn’t comfortable doing. She had to remember the times Alya took her for granted, the time Alya decided she wasn’t worth as much as a liar.

She has to remember what Alya is doing to her now.

“Where is the liar going now?” Alya scoffed. “Getting permission to run away this time?”

Marinette rolled her eyes and slipped the bracelet on. She would be okay. Alya wasn’t her friend anymore, she had better ones to look out for her.

“I don’t owe you anything.”

Alya gaped.

Luckily for Marinette, Alya didn’t have time to think of a response. A car drove up, and Marinette saw Damian wave to her from the backseat. She smiled.

The door was unlocked, so she opened it and got in. She didn’t look back at her classmates faces as the driver, an aged man in a suit, drove away.

“Where would you like to eat, Angel?” Damian asked.

Marinette shrugged. “I’m not sure, I don’t know what’s here.”

Damian frowned. “Angel, you okay?”

That’s when her previous realization hit. He was Damian Wayne, son of Bruce Wayne. He was one of the celebrities Lila liked lying about the most. And he was her friend, currently best friend.

“I’m okay,” she mumbled. “I’ve got a lot on my mind right now.”

Damian looked like he wanted to press the issue, but decided against it. He told his butler to take them to a restaurant she didn’t recognize the name of while she took deep breaths. She felt Tikki press gently against her hip, trying to reassure her.

Alya was a bad friend. Marinette wanted to be a better friend to Damian. He already made her so happy! Warm fuzzies and smiled and giggles were rare in the last few years, but she experienced them all with Damian. He kept a secret from her, likely for his own reasons, and she found out what it was behind his back.

Damian deserved better than that.

“I know,” she blurted out. “I know you’re Damian Wayne. I just want you to know that doesn’t change anything. You’re still my friend, and I don’t care who your dad is and who you are.”

Damian gaped at her for a moment before shaking his head. “I’m sorry you had to find out on your own. I should have told you-”

Marinette interrupted, “you didn’t have to. You don’t owe me that.”

He looked confused. She chose to elaborate.

“As a stranger or even a friend, you don’t owe me any details about who you are. Ever,” Marinette told him. “You’re allowed to keep secrets and not tell me things you aren’t comfortable sharing. It isn’t fair of me to demand you tell me everything.”

She was going to be the friend she needed to Damian. It was the least he deserved.

Marinette pushed down any disappointment that came with the word friend, not knowing why it was there. Maybe it was left over from her classmates’ treatment of her.

Damian was staring at her. She wasn’t sure what his expression meant, but it looked… Awed?

“Thank you,” he said earnestly. “I… nobody’s ever said secrets are okay…”

Marinette shrugged. “I can’t help if I feel left out, but forcing you to tell me everything isn’t how friendship is supposed to work. If you don’t want to tell me, it’s okay.”

Damian’s smile was small, but it made Marinette feel warm. Was he the sun?

“Perhaps instead of a restaurant, I can take you both to the mansion for your lunch?” the driver said, his accent different from Marinette’s.

“You sure Alfred?” Damian asked.

She saw his nervousness. “You don’t have to if you aren’t comforta-”

“No, it’s not that,” he assured. “My brothers can be… rambunctious.”

Oh. Marinette smiled. “I can handle them if that’s the only reason you’re nervous.”

Damian thought for a moment before sighing. “Alfred, please talk us to the mansion.”

“My pleasure, Master Damian.”

[meltingalphabet]

Have you ever met a cannibal?

Have you ever met a cannibal? I assume not. Or at least, not that you know.

What do you picture when you think of a cannibal? Someone from a country far from yours, with sharpened teeth, straw skirt, and black mud painted on their face, skin browned by sun and dirt?

Or do you picture a moving corpse, shuffling over the pavement towards you, one arm dangling uselessly while the other points at you, not accusingly, but with a lazy determination that pulls them forward closer to your still-living brain?

Do you imagine a man in a grey and yellowing wife beater, large sweat stains permanently etched under his arms, his forehead slick with perspiration from the humid southern heat, sawed off shotgun in one hand and his wife/sister smiling gleefully behind him, revealing two incomplete rows of teeth, as you struggle against the restraints of your bounds?

Does a white wintery mountain top fill your mind instead? Blistering wind swiping at her face as the stranded hiker grits her teeth, stabbing desperately at the frozen elbow of her guide, ignoring the frostbite sinking deeper into her lips and nose, tugging at the forearm in an attempt to free it from the corpse for her weary trek downward.

Mrs. Jones was an old woman, plumb with age and prosperity. Her face traced by the lines of age, wisdom, and, what some would consider to be valuable experience. Her long fine grey hair, cleaned and brushed every morning, hung behind her back in a neat simple braid. She did not live in a shoe, nor did she live in a house made of gingerbread and candy. She lived with her husband, Henry Jones, and her Grandson, Billy Jones. Billy’s mother died of a staph infection when he was very young, so the older Jones, having money and room to spare, adopted him and raised him as their own.

Mrs. Jones, or Beatty, as she preferred to be called, was very happy living with her little family in their modest but comfortable two bedroom home on their sunny friendly suburban street.

All of Beatty’s neighbors, as well as the teacher’s at Billy’s school, and the girls who played Bridge at the community center every week, loved her. She was kind, and gentle, and everyone agreed that she made the best snickerdoodles in town.

But Beatty was also the one responsible for the string of missing people that occurred over the span of thirty years, only a few miles away from her home.

See, every six months or so, Beatty would drive twenty minutes to the bus hub. Chrome buses that took passengers from one city to another would stop briefly in the town next to Beatty’s sunny suburbia, before continuing on. When the night was still and calm, and the neighborhood slept around her, Beatty would climb out of her warm bed, careful not to disturb Henry, snoring peacefully beside her. Her slippered feet would pad across the carpet, quiet and light as a cat’s paws. She’d shuffle to the front door, put on her gardening shoes, and get in her low grey Buick, the door closing with a small audible thud behind her.

Once at the station, she’d laboriously pull herself out of the driver’s seat. She’d have parked at the back of the parking lot, just out of reach of the few yellow lights standing close to the busses, as if huddled around comfort and warmth. She’d grab her cane from the back seat, and depart to the hub. The rubber tip of the cane coming down onto the ground with a dull smack, followed by one slow footstep, and then another, making the trek to the lone bus or two, waiting to reboard.

There, she’d stop and scan the desolate crowd of tired travelers, the wind lazily blowing around her, pulling and pushing at the long heavy braid. None of them paid attention to her. They never did. It was late, and dark, and they were weary, All they wanted to do was get on their bus, fall asleep, and wake up home, or on vacation, or with a long distance lover, or an old friend.

Beatty would find the most pathetic, loneliest of the bunch. The man, woman, girl, boy, or none-of-the-above who was distancing themselves from the rest of the waiting group. Maybe the skin of their cheeks was stained with tears. Or maybe they were rubbing their arms, not for warmth, but for comfort. They were the ones who didn’t have a cell phone in their hands. The ones who didn’t seem impatient to  leave the isolation and emptiness of the bus station.

Once found, Mrs. Jones would walk slowly to this person, her cane hitting the pavement in front of her with each step. Maybe the person would look up at her. Maybe they’d be so involved in their own issues that they wouldn’t notice. Maybe they just wouldn’t care.

She’d clear her throat, and say, “excuse me, sir” or “pardon me, madam” or “hello?” They’d lift their head slowly, locking eyes with this sweet, kindly old woman, and smile slightly.

Beatty would open her mouth into a wide, gummy smile. “I hate to be a bother,” her weak voice would creak and groan over the words, “but would you mind helping me with my bag?” She’d lift her cane slowly and point to the buick, waiting in the inky darkness.

The trunk would rise slowly into the air, revealing a small black bag sitting inside. The stranger would turn to her and smile, often saying, “is this all?” Mrs. Jones would chuckle, the sound escaping her throat dryly, and the person would feel lighter, freer. Maybe more than they had in a really long time.

They’d grab the handle of the bag and pull, but the bag would not come easily. It was heavy. Very heavy. They’d be surprised. Sometimes they’d make a joke, “are you bringing the mixer?” and Beatty would repeat the same dry chuckle. They’d reach into the trunk, grabbing onto the bottom of the suitcase with one hand while keeping the handle in the other, and prepare themselves.

A quick deep thunk at the base of their neck would leave them limp. Billy, holding an old worn bat, would look into his grandmother’s eyes. She’d nod her head, slowly, and he’d return the nod. His dark gaze would survey the area, double checking the parking lot to make sure no one saw. No one ever would.

Beatty had noticed Billy’s particular appetite after he had turned eight. It started with Billy refusing his vegetables, which Beatty laughed off as normal childhood behavior. Then he started refusing potatoes and bread, and even cakes and candy.

She was a smart woman, and she soon realized that Billy would only eat meat. Over time, his preference became specific to meat that was practically still raw. The tiny boy refusing anything that wasn’t red and juicy when she cut into it, the flesh cold to the touch. Just like his mother. She knew the tastes would change, morph. She knew what she had to do.

Beatty was a good grandmother. She took care of Billy, and due to her efforts, Billy grew up to be big and strong and successful.

We all have to make our way in this world. We all have to learn to satisfy our own cravings.

The felt tip of the black marker glides over her skin. Stacy, or Tracy, or maybe Laura, sits back onto the plastic medical chair, the blue and white gown draped over her slight body, to protect a modesty wholly unnecessary in front of me. I mark her cheekbones, her ears, her neck, her arms. The marker metaphorically cutting into her, showing me where I’m going to dissect her skin, lacerate her tissue, tear her muscles, break her bones. It is the outline of where I will rip her apart, where I will saw and pick and slice. I push aside her gown and mark her waist and thighs, the soft fleshy feminine parts of her body that I will cook, chew, swallow.

When I am done, her face and body are a mask of black war paint, signally death and rebirth, a battle upon her body that together, we will overcome. She to return, not as the wounded warrior, but as the hardened princess. I have reclaimed her body as the cubist mirage all matter can be broken into. I, the Picasso who will rearrange her until her form is mutilated beyond beauty and perfection. Until she is no longer whole, but pieces of a human transcendent of biological need and years of evolutionary progress. She is a canvas of all our posthumanistic desires. Why be mere mortal when one can become art?

Pulling the medical gloves taught, I let go of the wrist with a sharp snap, picturing the blood oozing through my fingers, the feel of the firm sticky flesh, dulled by the slick rubber. I salivate as I walk into the operating theater. I think of bowing to an imaginary audience before I begin, but I refrain. I am the silent director of my own macabre masterpiece.

Afterwards, I return the pieces of flesh, fat, and meat that I’ve taken from my victim, wrapped delicately in plastic, to my personal lunch cooler in the staff fridge. My mind lazily toys with thoughts of the nurses who walk out of the room, focused on the next task at hand as they leave me to deal with the biological trash. I’ve spent years insisting on cleaning up after myself. I think they believe I’m being sweet, the only surgeon who has remained humble here in this house of butchery. No one ever notices the suspiciously light biowaste bags leftover from my operations. Or if they do, no one ever cares.

I feel bad that my grandmother had to go through so much pain to provide for me. But now, people are prepared to throw away their meat and flesh, desperate to pay me lavishly to cut it out of them and take it away.

I pat down my tie, and walk into my office. The next Stacy, or Tracy, or Laura, sits in the leather chair, waiting patiently. Her perfect frame outlined with flowing blonde hair. Long eyelashes plastered black, firm lips painted pink. I gaze upon her sunkissed skin. I can already taste it.

“Good afternoon, Ms. Roberts,” I say, extending my hand. “My name’s Dr. William Jones. It’s very nice to meet you.”

[100chupa-chups]

The Not-Date Date

Wind susurrates through the large empty space sprawled right in the epicentre of the city, as if dropped there by mistake; a permanent fixture created through the misjudgement of a minion to some high and mighty supervillain. Still, somehow, as I sit here shivering with my arms like a vice around my knees in some failed attempt to stave off the cold, I can’t help but know it is meant to be here. Like the innate understanding that I am human, I understand this has all been premeditated. Slabs of concrete and stone the kind of grey that performs osmosis with the old men in sharp business suits with their unimaginative ties and shining oxfords. The kind of grey that remains unseen amongst the rainbow of pride. And in the middle, like a dream, green like the emerald city.

The grass has been freshly unravelled and the lines between each carpet are distinct and surreal like the way school at night is surreal, like the way hospitals are surreal, like the way waking up in someone else’s house with a sudden lapse in memory is surreal. I sit at the edge of the grey border so only my toes curl and wiggle into the blades, sandshoes and socks arranged neatly next to my bright orange back pack that is a beacon at my side.

It may be cold now even through the layers of plaid flannel, singlet and jumper, my pants as grey as the buildings around me, but this feeling is as nothing I’ve ever experienced. This feeling of sitting near grass too new, this feeling of sitting amongst a bustling city, surrounded by cars and people and a cacophony of noise that is no louder than music in my ears, this feeling of importance and sheer insignificance all at one, yet knowing intimately that if I were to go, nothing would change. Not a thing would change. The workers dressed in fluorescent yellow descending underground through a glorified man hole would continue to work, and the world would still turn. The winter would turn to spring and spring to summer and summer to autumn just as it had been before me, and just as it will be after me.

The roads of the city wrap like string around the small park, as if it were a bead threaded in a home crafted bracelet. Cars and busses drive in tandem, people stroll along the distant pavement, individuals in a world full of similarities. Cars and busses drive with wheels, have passengers, move from one place to another and are easily recognisable; they are vehicles. They are the epitome of city life.

But the people. Who are they? You look, and you don’t know.

Okay, you might say, that one is five foot, eight inches and has brown hair pulled into a severe bun at the top of their head.

But are they wearing heels? Do they walk with their back hunched? Are they flat footed? Is that person a woman or a man or somewhere in between? Is that person gay or straight or along the spectrum? Is that person religious or atheist or agnostic? Was that person born here, or are they Asian, or African, or American? Who is that person? What do they think as they wander through the city to a place only a select few people know they are going to? What are their hobbies? Do they like pasta? Do they hate the fatty texture of avocado?

We don’t know the half of anyone’s story.

Even now, I am someone in a place of so many other someone’s. I am directly across the grass from a person who wears what looks like a poncho with the pattern of an oriental rug, but I can’t be too sure. I am so distanced, so removed from their that I will never truly know. Do they look at me and wonder what I believe in? Are they wondering what I will do when I leave this place?

I breathe in and the whole world smells like city, but like city in the way that the scent of sticky pavement and car fumes are cancelled out by the sweet aroma of nearby markets full of fresh bread and roasted nuts. It is almost as if my nose has been assaulted by so many different smells, so many contradicting elements of taste and culture that I can’t smell anything at all. Like mixing a thousand colours together and you get one single colour that is unremarkable, irrelevant, despite the good and the bag that makes it up. It’s not beautiful, it’s not horrific. It just is.

Behind me, the pedestrian crossing shrills like an angry robot. I peek over my shoulder, braid tickling the skin at the base of by neck and watch as so many different people walk and pass each other with barely a glance. People with brown hair piled high and blonde hair hanging loose, someone with a flowing yellow skirt, a woman in black dress pants and a lacy white blouse, a man with galaxy yoga pants and a blue zip up jacket, children holding tight to tired fingers. And there, among them all, she strides forwards, artist fingers wrapped diligently around the straps of her own backpack.

She looks at me with a smirk etched so smugly onto her lips.

My face burns and I jerk my head away, ducking down to hide from her gaze, fingers digging like claws into my shins as if that will help me slow my heart and perhaps breathe properly for the first time since Monday. Monday when she. . .well.

Let me just say that I have never been one to approach people, so when she declared in the middle of a conversation we have every day at about 1:50pm just before we both go out separate ways from school, that we would be meeting at this exact time at this exact place for a date she had been waiting for for months, I couldn’t very well say no. Not when she smiles like she does, not when her callused hand grabbed my forearm so tightly, not when her brown eyes had been filled with fierce determination. To be completely honest, all I did was nod and try not to hyperventilate at the contact.

I never said I didn’t like confident people, I just said that I wasn’t confident.

Wordlessly, I train my eyes on the flock of pigeons waddling before me as I wait for her to sit, pretending I had never seen her even if we both know I did.

What is it with pigeons anyway?

With their wacky head bang like they belong on a stage during a particularly aggressive rock concert, and their crooked eyeballs that is so alike the comic relief in the weird penguin group in Madagascar. I could almost reach down with my quaking hands and snatch them right from the grass. And their feathers are iridescent, but it reminds me of oil slick, with colours reflected on the surface from the beams of sunlight. Green and red and blue like stained glass, except not really.

It would be breathtaking if it weren’t so unsettling to look at.

I startle as her bag drops heavily into the space beside me and something heavy thunks alarmingly loud against the hard concrete. A moment later, with the hiss-click of a Monster energy drink can, she flops herself so close to me the entire length of her blue skinny jean covered thigh is against my own.

Embarrassment floods through me as I swallow, unable to move away. Unable to look away.

“Hello,” she says, mouth still quirked into a grin with the kind of quiet coolness that only comes with a great deal of self-confidence or Gryffindor courage. “Sorry I’m a little late. I underestimated how long the trip would take.”

Blinking, I whip my head out so fast my neck cracks. “It’s alright. I was early anyway.”

Well, there’s a reason Pottermore put me in Slytherin and not Gryffindor.

She frowns, brows pinching, and wipes her top lip. “You weren’t waiting too long, were you?”

Without thinking about it, my eyes stray to the small pendant in the shape of an eye resting against her collar bone, then wander to the patch of blue sky between the white cotton clouds puffing like a steam powered train overhead. “I left at nine,” I mumble into my arms.

Early by three fucking hours. I raise my eyes and meet her gaze for a moment, momentarily pushing past the cowardice that has plagued me for a very, very long time. My face is so hot I fear it may fall right off.

But her lips twitch, downturned eyes crinkling. “Oh, yeah?”

I wet my own lips unconsciously. “Yeah,” I croak. Wracking my brain I struggle to come up with something funny. “See, I tend to overestimate how long it takes to get places, so I just double the time I think it will take and suffer the consequences later.”

God help me Jesus. Why am I like this?

“Foolproof plan,” she chuckles. “I like it.”

“Yeah, at least I’m never going to be late.” I almost groan at that. Did I say ‘yeah’ too many times?

We fall into a near tense silence and she tilts the can back to down another mouthful. The vibrant colours flash so bright in my peripheral it’s almost as if she’s holding a festive lantern in a dark room.

Behind us, the pedestrian crossing chimes again and a child screeches out, “Mummy lookit, lookit!”

I clear my throat, fiddling with the end of my braid. “So, uh. . .not that I want you to leave or that I don’t want to be here, but I’m just wandering. . .Why? Why did you ask me out? I don’t understand.”

She freezes with her hand almost to her face, energy drink clutched and forgotten in her loose fingers. Twisting around to face me, she says, “You’re kidding, right?”

I blink dumbly. “No?”

She stares, jaw dropped open. “You’ve been flirting with me for months!”

“I have?” No, really, I have?

“You didn’t want to be?” she asks, incredulous, eyes widening. “But I thought—”

I flail my arms. “No! It’s not that I don’t want to be here, on a date with the most—I want to be here! I just didn’t realise that was what I was doing! I was being awkward and oversharing.”

She starts laughing and drops her head into her spread hand. “Oh, my God. Oh. My. Freaking. God. You kept touching me and staring at my mouth! What was I supposed to do? Ignore it?”

Oh, Jesus I had been staring at her too much. Christ on a pogo stick.

“In my defence, how could I not look at you?”

She gasps out, “Oh, my God.”