#could paint again after months felt so refreshed

[izzystradlingirl]

𝑰𝒔 𝒊𝒕 𝒐𝒗𝒆𝒓 ?

request: Izzy and reader (doesnt matter gender u pick) are married or gf/bf and they started to drift away from each other. They realized later on with an argument or not(lol)and make up for it. U can end it any way u want! @kay-random

A request from august I’m so sorry it took so long but after reading it again I found it pretty good and not as bad as I thought when I first wrote it. Not saying it’s that good cause I’m never satisfied with what I write but I hope you’ll enjoy it !! <3

Warnings : a little angsty, crying, grammar and conjugation

It’s been now almost a year that Izzy and I were married. At first everything was all roses and love. A young lovely and fresh couple. I’m wondering if all the excitement didn’t rush us and made us make a mistake.

I’m in the bathroom to change after coming back from work. I look at my ring on my finger. A beautiful ring, from a beautiful love… But does it still have the same meaning as the first day I had the honor to wear it? Thinking about it and my eyes got blurry and a tear slowly rolled down my face. Something is off. I can tell something is off between us. The most frustrating part is that I can’t tell what or why. Izzy and I are living together but it almost like we’re not, we barely talk. Don’t get me wrong he’s not a very talkative person but Izzy being dead silent like this is not okay. At first, when something was wrong, we were telling each other. We were having something called “a conversation". Now I feel like we’re strangers.

I live with a stranger I barely see, I barely talk to, I barely know… I can only imagine the worse but I’m trying to not. Maybe it’s just a down in our relationship that every average fresh couple have.

I have to admit it’s a strange life I chose to live here. Marrying a guy from one of the most popular band. A guy who was having all the girls he wanted (and probably still do at this point). We were probably blinded by love, I was probably blinded and didn’t see the problem who was probably there since the very first day.

I don’t know who I’m living with but it’s not the Izzy I know. As surprising as it could be, the Izzy I know is the sweetest person. Always supportive and caring, protecting you and wiping your tears for you when you cry.

I was wiping my own tears since a month now and today wasn’t an exception.

So, I wiped my tears away, refreshed my face with water and went down the stairs to the kitchen. Izzy was sat on a chair zoned out. I didn’t know if this view was sad, annoying, or whatever it could be it was for sure torturing. As I stop at the door frame, I look at him and he lift his head to look at me with his painted blank face. I felt weak after crying for half an hour, but I had to take all my courage in my hands.

“Can we talk?” I quietly ask.

He nods and looks down at the table. I walk to a chair, sit in front of him and look at him again. The silence was so heavy it could dig a hole in the floor for both our graves.

We kept staring at each other in the eyes without any emotions for a moment.

I take a deep breath and open my mouth to talk but nothing comes out. I was trying to find how to start

“I don’t know…” Izzy suddenly mutters cutting my thoughts.

I slightly frown my eyebrows, shake my head a bit and shrug. “You don’t know?” I mutter too, what does that mean? He shakes his head too.

I felt my tears coming back and Izzy avoiding eye contact was not helping. I tried not to cry in front of him but, some threatening tears found their way down my cheeks. The silence and the tension were pressuring me.

“Izzy… you know we can talk… you know we can trust each other… what’s going on?” I ask almost desperately. He nods and I see him try to smile at me but, it looked more like a painful move than anything else. “Please say something…” I need him to talk even if it’s to tell me to fuck off. It would be the longest sentence I would have had in a month.

“What do you want me to say?” He shakes his head almost pissed. “I don’t know, anything. What’s wrong?” He’s looking at me with a frown. Don’t tell me he didn’t notice something was wrong.

I think he just scoffed and now he shrugs “There’s nothing wrong…” he denied. I look at his face like he’s mad. “Are you kidding me? There’s clearly something wrong Izzy don’t try to deny it.” I tell him firmly. He shrugs again and say nothing. I scoff not believing the situation. “Seriously? Are you just going to deny it and wait for a miracle? We need to talk Izzy, really.”

“And about what?” No way he dares to ask and in a pissed tone to complete it. He absolutely knows about what.

“Don’t know maybe the weather and the sun?? Izzy.” I look at him startled. “We didn’t have a conversation this month! We barely talk or see each other.”

“Yeah, what do you want we’re both busy…” wow. Worst answer. Ever. “Busy? I wake up at 7, work from 9am to 8pm. You’re never around when I’m home! And don’t try to tell me you’re at the studio cause I’m waiting for you every night until I fall dead asleep at 2 or 3 in the morning. You’re yeah obviously very busy. You were never staying this late at the studio before it must be a very big project.”

He looks at me, narrow his eyes and brush his chin with his fingers. He nods and it’s so silent I can hear him gulp. I didn’t yell at him or anything. I just explained. I’m just worried right now. Worried about him, about us. What about us?

I keep looking at him waiting for an answer. After like a minute, he remains silent looking at the table. I sigh and look at the ceiling. I then lean my head in my hand, my elbow on the table, and I look at him again.

We look at each other’s eyes for a moment and suddenly he decides to mutter “I’m sorry…” sorry? “Why?” I whisper pleading.

He only shakes his head and looks like he’s trying to say something.

“We should take a break…” he finally says after a moment. My head snap at him and I’m hoping I heard it wrong. “What?” I ask in an almost inaudible whisper.

“We’re not… we’re just…” he sighs not finishing his sentence.

A break ? So no talking ? Just… a break ?

“Wow… okay…” I say fighting my tears back “yeah okay…” I repeat not finding anything else to say. I take a deep breath before getting up and going to our bedroom, I close the door and cry and sob silently. Again. I go to the closet and take a suitcase and start to pack some stuffs.

And with only a shared look I open the front door and walk out, to the nearest bus stop. When the bus arrives I get in and head to my parents.

a/n : I have a part 2 going on if anyone is interested :D

[thatgothsamurai]

long time no Porsche⭐

[hoshifighting]

— Synopsis: Jihoon, a shy guy, really wants to talk to you一the new pretty neighbor一but finds it a difficult mission. To help him out, he send his robot friend, Beep Boop, to make the connection as he watches through his window. Surprisingly, you adored Beep Boop, and his creator, Jihoon. — WC: 3.3k — WARNINGS: Fluff, social anxiety, isolation, potential overthinking, Beep Boop is a great buddy! [Issue Club Serie] — This is part 1 of Shy!Woozi. Check the Part 2

Jihoon stretched out on the bed, hearing the telltale beep of a reversing truck. The driver seemed less than careful, and the sound grated on Jihoon's nerves, pulling him out of his drowsy state. With a sigh, he finally opened the window, curious to see what the commotion was about. His eyes widened in surprise when he noticed the window next door, previously closed for months, was now open. A moving truck was pulling away, leaving behind an air of change.

Jihoon’s mind wandered back to the previous resident, Miss Kim, who used to play the piano beautifully. He remembered the rainy nights when he was alone at home and Ahjussi would bring him kimchi, the warm, spicy smell filling the room. It had been a shame to see Ahjussi move to the countryside.

Curious about the new occupants, Jihoon went about his day, keeping an eye on the movement next door. The cool day felt refreshing, and the sunlight streaming through his window warmed his room. He picked up a poetry book, one he had started but never finished, and sat on his soft bed, losing track of time as he leafed through the pages.

Before he knew it, he was holding the last page of the book. "Yeah, it looks like I'm going to have to read it all again," he murmured to himself. Why were poetry books always so short? He didn't even understand most of what he had read.

But he knew the reason for his distraction. The open window in his room gave a clear view of the house next door. He could see newspapers scattered on the floor, evidence of a fresh start, and a newly painted wall. And then, there was you.

Your hair fell insistently over your face as you painted, your hands methodically rolling the paint onto the wall. Jihoon watched, intrigued. You seemed so focused, so immersed in your task.

Jihoon bit his lip, the internal struggle playing out on his face. Should he say something? Should he offer you help? From his window, you could clearly see or hear him if he did. He wished he had more social skills, the confidence to simply say, 'Hi, if you need help, I'm Jihoon, your new neighbor.' But no, striking up a conversation with someone he had never seen before, especially a girl, felt impossible. What if you thought he was weird? Or worse, what if you thought he was coming on too strong?

Feeling stupid for not being able to start a simple conversation, he sighed. After all, the architecture of the old houses in this neighborhood meant the windows were ridiculously large. You could see practically everything in your neighbor's life if you didn't have good curtains.

Jihoon was pulled out of his self-banter when you turned around, facing his window. He quickly hid himself against the wall, leaving your line of sight. You frowned, confused, then resumed your painting. But in his hasty movement, Jihoon noticed a treasure—his robot, a project he had worked on for college. A big friend that could help him interact with his new neighbor, at least as a conversation starter.

Meanwhile, you were in the kitchen, putting supplies on the counter, when you heard a bell—not your doorbell, but some kind of chime. You frowned and opened your front door, only to be met by a robot with a humanoid shape, dressed in a big pink hoodie. Instead of a head, it had a large tablet displaying cute, animated emotions.

You looked around, unsure if you should talk to this... thing, or if it might explode if you said a word. Tentatively, you spoke, "Hi, big friend... how can I help you?"

The screen on the robot’s head displayed the word 'Welcome' and then a cute basket extended from its torso. Hesitant, you picked it up. As soon as you did, the robot turned around and rolled away on its wheels, heading towards the sidewalk. You stood there, paralyzed in your doorway, clutching the basket and trying to make sense of what had just happened.

"Um, thank you?" you called after it, not knowing if it could hear you.

The basket was filled with cookies一cookies that you can easily find in the market, but the intention is cute一, a small note tucked among them. You opened the note, which read:

"Hi! I'm your neighbor. I hope you enjoy these cookies. Welcome to the neighborhood! - Jihoon"

Jihoon doesn't know how many times he wrote and rewrote this, trying to make it beautiful and presentable for you to read.

You looked back at the robot, now waiting patiently at the sidewalk. Smiling to yourself, you felt a warm sense of welcome.

Back in his room, Jihoon watched anxiously from the window, biting his lip again. This time, though, it was out of nervous anticipation. He saw you reading the note and, after a moment, a smile spread across your face. He exhaled a breath he didn't realize he had been holding, feeling a bit of the tension ease from his shoulders.

Maybe this wouldn't be so hard after all.

The house was coming together nicely, and installing a few essentials was a breeze. Some furniture would come with time, but you had to admit, you were struggling to put together this wooden bench for your backyard. The sun was beating down on your skin, and you had already rebuilt the bench a couple of times, each time more frustrating than the last.

Beep beep

You heard the now-familiar sound. Glancing up, you saw the robot again, its tablet head showing a curious expression. You scoffed, feeling almost embarrassed that even the robot was witnessing your struggle with the instruction manual.

Before you could say anything, the screen changed, displaying a tutorial on how to assemble the exact wooden bench. You couldn't help but laugh.

"Wow, this would help a lot. Thanks, buddy," you said, genuinely appreciative. But then you glanced up at the scorching sun. "But the sun is brutal today. I hope you don't overheat or something."

You quickly opened the umbrella and positioned it over the robot, casting a nice shadow. "There you go, some shade for you. Now, let's get this bench sorted out."

Following the tutorial step by step, you began assembling the bench correctly this time. The robot beeped encouragingly, its screen displaying a thumbs-up emoji.

"Okay, piece A connects to piece B, and then this screw goes here..." you muttered to yourself, feeling more confident with each step. "This is actually going pretty well."

The robot beeped again, displaying a smiley face.

"Thanks for the help. I don't know what I'd do without you," you said, wiping some sweat from your forehead. "I guess I should also thank Jihoon, right? He really knows how to make a good first impression."

The robot nodded, or at least it looked like a nod, with the screen displaying an animated head bobbing up and down.

You laughed again, feeling a strange sense of camaraderie with the machine. "Tell Jihoon I said thanks, okay?"

The robot beeped once more, its screen now displaying a "You're Welcome" message before it turned and rolled back towards Jihoon's house.

You wondered who was controlling this super kind robot. Jihoon must have seen you struggling with the bench all morning and sent the robot to help. You chuckled at the thought; he probably wasn't the best with assemblies himself. But it was endearing how you found yourself listening attentively to the robot, even asking if it could replay part of the video. When Jihoon replayed the part, your impressed face was priceless. You couldn't help but laugh at yourself, and Jihoon laughed too, watching from his window.

The umbrella part? That was pure instinct. You just didn't want the poor robot to overheat in the sun. Jihoon found that incredibly thoughtful. He mused that it was something only a woman would think of, a gentle touch he always admired. He wondered if you would do the same for him, considering his pale skin burned easily under the sun, but he brushed the thought aside, not wanting to dwell on it.

Days passed, and you missed your robot friend. After a particularly rough week, you found yourself sitting in your front yard, on your now fully assembled bench, drinking a cola. The night was calm, the neighborhood quiet. Then you saw it—a cute pixeled face approaching.

Beep beep, it sounded.

You couldn't help but smile. Tonight, the robot was dressed in a tiny blazer with a red tie.

You laughed, "Well, don't you look elegant tonight! Any special occasion?"

"I'm curious to know the person behind you, buddy," you continued, "all dressed up and everything."

To your amazement, the robot spoke. With a robotic yet clear voice, it said, "Hello, I am here to keep you company. Jihoon thought you might like that."

Your eyes widened in surprise.

"You can talk!" you exclaimed, still processing the surprise.

“Yes, technology is getting scary, isn’t it?” the robot replied in a robotic voice, but with a hint of playfulness.

You couldn’t help but laugh. “You’re too cute to be scary. I think you need a name.”

The robot made a giggling sound, a funny robotized laugh that made you chuckle. 

“How about… Beep Boop?” You suggest. 

“Beep Boop,” the robot repeated, its screen showing a happy face. “I like it.”

As you sat on the bench with Beep Boop, you couldn't help but wonder. "So, Beep Boop, why did Jihoon send you to talk to me?"

Beep Boop's screen flashed a thoughtful emoji before responding. "Jihoon thinks you look cool. But... he's weird."

You frowned, tilting your head slightly. "Weird? How so?"

Jihoon, watching through the robot's camera, felt a sense of anxiety.

Beep Boop continued, "He finds it hard to talk to people. Especially girls."

Your expression softened. "Oh, I see. Well, everyone has their quirks. He's kind to send you over, though."

Beep Boop's screen displayed a nodding emoji. "Jihoon says he likes watching you build things. He thought you might need a friend."

You smiled, feeling empathy. "That's really sweet of him. You can tell him he can come over whenever he feels ready. I'm not the type of person who's going to judge."

Jihoon, on the other end, felt a rush of relief.

"Do you think Jihoon likes cola?" you asked.

"Yes, Jihoon likes cola," Beep Boop replied.

You stood up, grabbing a plastic bag from inside and placing a few cans of cola in it. Tying the bag to Beep Boop, you patted the robot's head. "Here, take these to him. Maybe it'll help him feel more comfortable."

"Thank you," Beep Boop said, the screen displaying a happy face.

"You're welcome, Beep Boop. Tell Jihoon I appreciate him sending you over and that he can come by anytime."

As Beep Boop rolled away with the bag of cola, you watched with a smile. 

[...]

You affirmed that everything was fine, but a part of you couldn't help but find the whole "Beep Boop" thing slightly funny. But honestly, you found the idea rather adorable. It was intelligent of him to create such a robot—amazing, actually. 

Even though you hadn't seen Jihoon face-to-face, you thought he was pretty cool. From the glimpses you'd caught of him through the window, he looked quite handsome. And through Beep Boop, you learned that he liked music, had finished college, and worked remotely, which explained why he rarely left his house.

On the other side, Jihoon had been mentally preparing himself. You had been so kind with Beep Boop, and he couldn't imagine you hurting a mosquito. You were careful with the robot, even hugged it sometimes, and the little pats on its electronic head and the goodies you sent through it—Jihoon appreciated every gesture. 

Why should he hide himself any longer? 

He saw you arriving home today, your bag slung over your shoulder as you entered your house. He waited for a moment, then saw you in your bedroom after your bath. Breathing deeply, he opened his window.

"Psst!" he called out, trying to get your attention.

You turned towards his window, seeing Jihoon there, ready to talk, for the first time. His skin glowed softly under the moonlight, his blonde hair swaying gently in the breeze. His elbows rested on the windowsill, and you noticed his cheeks were blushing. You smiled and approached your window, leaning on it.

"Jihoon?" you asked, and he nodded shyly.

"Nice to meet you, Jihoon," you said, tilting your head.

Jihoon's feet were shaking anxiously where you couldn't see, but he managed to speak. "I, um, wanted to say hi in person. You've been really nice to Beep Boop and... and me."

You chuckled softly. "It's nice to finally meet the person behind Beep Boop. You're pretty amazing, you know? Creating such a robot."

Jihoon blushed deeper.  “I hope Beep Boop wasn’t too weird. I just... I didn’t know how to introduce myself.”

“Beep Boop was great. Very helpful, actually. And pretty entertaining.”

"Thank you. It was a college project, but I'm glad it's been useful. I just wanted to make things a bit easier. And maybe... I thought it would be a way to talk to you.”

You both lapsed into a comfortable silence, just looking at each other. Jihoon started to feel the anxiety creep back in, wondering if he should close the window and hide away again. But then you broke the silence.

“You’re so pretty, Jihoon,” you said softly.

Jihoon’s eyes widened in surprise, his heart skipping a beat. “R-really? Thank you. You’re... you’re pretty too.”

You smiled warmly, feeling a flutter in your chest. "You know, you can come over anytime. You don't have to send Beep Boop every time. I promise I don't bite."

Jihoon laughed nervously. "I’ll keep that in mind. And thank you for the cola. It was really thoughtful."

"You're welcome," you said, your smile widening. "It's the least I could do for my new friend."

Jihoon’s heart swelled with warmth. He felt a sense of relief and happiness he hadn't felt in a long time. "I'm glad we're friends."

"Me too," you replied, feeling the same warmth. "Goodnight, Jihoon."

"Goodnight," he said, and as he closed his window, he couldn't stop smiling.

You watched him disappear behind the curtains, and you were happy that he felt comfortable talking with you, even if it was only for a few minutes. 

You decided to take things slow, making sure Jihoon never felt pressured. The next day, as you watered your plants in the garden, Beep Boop appeared once again. Seeing an opportunity, you approached the robot with a smile.

"Hey, Beep Boop," you said warmly, "can you tell Jihoon something for me?"

Beep Boop's screen displayed a curious emoji. "Sure, what do you want me to tell him?"

You leaned in a bit closer, knowing Jihoon was likely watching through the camera. "Give him my number," you said, reciting it carefully. "Tell him he can text me anytime."

Beep Boop's screen showed a thumbs-up emoji, and you glanced up at Jihoon's window, giving a thumbs-up yourself. Almost immediately, you felt your phone buzz with a notification. Smiling to yourself, you knew it was Jihoon.

From that point on, you made an effort to bring out the best in Jihoon, genuinely wanting to hear more about him. The idea turned out to be a great success. Jihoon slowly began opening up, and now he would even give you a good morning through the window when you both opened the wooden shutters at the same time.

Of course, it took courage for Jihoon to start with the Beep Boop thing, but your kindness had helped him more than he could ever express. Now, you found yourselves often in each other's company, albeit separated by the window.

Today, you were reading a book while Jihoon wrote letters for his songs. You both leaned on your respective windows, the quiet filled with the sounds of children playing in the street and birds singing. Occasionally, you would steal a glance at each other, sharing brief smiles. The windows were close enough to allow for light conversation without any problem.

"What's your book about today?" Jihoon asked softly, not wanting to break the serene atmosphere.

"It's a collection of poems," you replied, looking up from the pages. "They’re really beautiful, but sometimes I get lost in the metaphors."

Jihoon nodded, a slight smile playing on his lips. "I know what you mean. Sometimes, when I'm writing lyrics, I have to take a step back to make sure they actually make sense."

You chuckled. "I'd love to hear some of your songs someday."

"Maybe one day," Jihoon said, his cheeks reddening a bit. "When I’m ready."

You both fell back into a comfortable silence. The connection you were building felt natural and unforced. Every now and then, your eyes would meet, and it felt like you were communicating more through those glances than words ever could.

After weeks of talking through windows, exchanging messages, and of course, through Beep Boop, it didn't take much time for the inevitable to happen.

You found yourself standing face to face with Jihoon at your door right now. There was no robot this time, just Jihoon nervously holding a beautiful bouquet of flowers.

"Jihoon, you came!" you exclaimed, feeling a rush of happiness to see him standing so close to you.

Jihoon chuckled nervously, handing you the bouquet. "I, uh, brought these for you. I wanted to say thank you for being so patient with me."

You took the bouquet, the sweet scent of flowers filling the air. "Thank you, Jihoon. You didn't have to bring flowers, but I appreciate them." Stepping aside, you gestured for him to come in. "Come on in."

Jihoon hesitated for a moment before stepping into your home, his eyes scanning the interior briefly. "Your place is nice," he commented softly.

"Thanks," you replied, closing the door behind him. "Can I get you something to drink? Maybe some cola?" you added playfully, remembering how you had often sent cola through Beep Boop.

Jihoon chuckled again, a bit more relaxed now. "Sure, cola sounds great."

You led Jihoon to the living room, where you offered him a seat on the comfortable couch. As you fetched two cans of cola from the fridge, you couldn't help but feel a sense of contentment. It was surreal to have Jihoon in your home after all the conversations and moments shared through windows and messages.

Handing him a can of cola, you sat down beside him. "So, what made you finally decide to come over today?" you asked curiously.

Jihoon took a sip of his drink, gathering his thoughts. "I... I wanted to see you face-to-face. It's different, you know? Talking through windows and messages is nice, but... being here with you feels... real."

You smiled warmly at him. "I feel the same way, Jihoon."

He nodded, looking down at his cola can for a moment before meeting your gaze again. "I know I've been a bit... hesitant. But I really enjoy talking to you, and I want to get to know you better."

"I'm glad you came," you said sincerely, reaching out to gently touch his hand. "I've enjoyed getting to know you too, Jihoon."

He smiled shyly, his cheeks turning pink. "Thanks for being patient with me."

"You're worth the wait," you assured him softly.

Jihoon's smile widened, and for the first time, you saw a glimmer of confidence in his eyes.

[writersblockedx]

Dependency Problem

Pairing - Conrad Fisher x Fem!Reader Summary - When you return to Cousins this year, you find that Conrad has picked up similar bad habits you once had. Warnings - Use of drugs and alcohol, good bit of angst, NO SPOILERS FOR S2 Words - 2.6k

A/n - Possible part two if people want? Let me know!

Masterlist

Every Summer was spent in Cousins. And every Summer, it was spent with the Fisher and Conklin clan. It was always refreshing, that slow drive back up to the house. The air was sprinkled with salt and the skies seemed always clear, a blue-painted ceiling that you could bathe in all day if you so pleased. But, the most important part of the drive was the reunion.

To see them little differences that had changed in everyone in between the last ten months. For Susannah, she had chopped a good bit of her hair off as her golden locks hung close to her shoulders. Laurel had started wearing less make-up, settling into a more comfortability with herself. Your mom had been the opposite, she was experimenting with makeup and style like she was a teen again; you blamed it on a midlife crisis. Belly had hit puberty, no longer plagued by a pair of glasses. Steven even more relaxed that he had been the year prior, and slightly taller. Jere's hair had grown, giving his curls the space to spiral over his forehead. And then there was Conrad - you noticed it instantly.

It was a familiar essence that was loitering over him. The unironed hoodie he had crowded his more lean figure into. His eyes were dragged down by the black bags, irritated with patches of red within the whites of his eyes. His posture was low, tired, aching. And his expression, while uplifted with a smile of welcome, was a facade. You caught it in a moment.

"Finally!" Jeremiah called as he rushed over to his friends, capturing Steven in a bro-hug first, then Belly and leaving you for last. "Good to have you back." He told you as his head sat on your shoulder before pulling away.

From there, you met Conrad's gaze.

You ignored the way your heart felt heavy. You weren't sure what had happened between now and when you had last said goodbye, but you felt far than enough sympathy. "Hi," You breathed, trying to not let out your surprise at the changes the boy had made.

He greeted you in reply with a, "It's good to see you." And took you into an embrace. It was loose and short-lived, leaving you desperate for more once he finally pulled away.

As the first day back went on, it soon all started coming out. Conrad had left football, barely sailed anymore and, as of this moment, wasn't doing anything at all. Compared to Steven and Jere who already had part-time jobs lined up. Something was wrong and you were beginning to wonder about would you could do. Such was confirmed after dinner came to an end. The boys rushed to play video games and Belly went upstairs to catch up with her friend, Taylor.

Which left you and the mums, clearing up the plates from the dining room table and taking them into the kitchen to be washed. For a moment, you stood alone at the kitchen sink while the others grabbed what was left at the table. And there, your eyes wandered to the window which looked upon the pool. There sat Conrad, legs dangling in the flickering water that reflected the moonlight. His eyes were down, his back facing you but even so you caught the cig he placed between his lips, lighting it and letting his lungs inhale the smoke.

It was there you felt that sympathy, that desperation with the lingering feeling of betrayal. The same exact thing Conrad had felt all of last Summer; it was a role reversal.

"He could really use you right now, you know?" That sweet voice almost made you jump.

A part of you felt flushed as you turned to face Susannah who was standing in the doorway; you'd just been caught staring at her son. "Hmm?" You resulted in responding.

The blonde let a smile grace her lips for a moment, "You two bring out the best in each other." She stated like the wise woman she was. "I think he could really use that right now."

You nodded in understanding, "I'll talk to him." That was a promise.

Once the table was cleaned up, the moms travelled towards the living room, wine glasses and blankets in hand. It hadn't taken them very long to get comfy as they switched the tv on. Though, it was made for only background noise, as their chatter rose above it. It left you with that nagging curiosity, the question that you hadn't stopped asking yourself since you had arrived: what had changed?

Before you could stop yourself, your feet were dragging you to the outside, where Conrad had thought nobody was watching. He didn't care enough to jolt when he heard the back door rattle open. Rather, he simply turned his head and huffed before looking back at the pool and the joint in his hand.

You didn't say anything. Not for at least two minutes as you occupied the space next to him, dipping your bare legs into the water below, almost close enough they could brush along Conrad's. "Theres about a hundred things I could repeat that you told me last year." You didn't look at him when you spoke, you didn't dare glance at the expression you were sure painted his face.

"But you're not going to?" He questioned, brows raised, plucking at his never-ending wonder when it came to the girl he had grown up beside.

You shrugged, swallowed the lump that was growing in your throat and finally looked over at the boy you had known since childhood. "What's the point?" You said, almost with a laugh you ended up suppressing. "You know it's not good, you know everything wrong with it. You're making the decision to do it anyway."

His expression was blank. It didn't seem as if there were many thoughts being processed. "Then what are you doing sat here?" There was a snap in his tone, a way to protect his bad habits from any helping hands.

The answer for you was simple: "Because I care for you, Conrad." As easy as that.

But such statement had prompted an incentive you hadn't meant it to. Rather than something thoughtful in reply, Conrad had started leaning in. You were too close and he was too fast for you to stop it. Within a moment, the sentiment you had just said had been cut off by the boy's lips as he met your own in a deep, yet rushed, kiss.

One hand reached his shoulder, tearing his lips from you. You breathed like you had been gasping for it and looked him in the eye. All that stared back at you was a regret that wasn't fading. "You're high." You reminded him.

"I didn't mean to-" Your other hand took the joint that was still caught between his fingertips. An action which made him shut up as he followed your hands quickly. "What are you-" Once in your grip, you chucked the substance into the pool, making it impossible to smoke again. "What the hell Y/n!"

When you stood, so did he. "Please, just go to bed." You advised him. Though, you highly doubted he would listen. You never did.

"You're not my mother!" His voice rose.

And you didn't step down, "No, but I'm sure she'd tell you the same thing." You took a breath to fight off the fury that was bubbling within the pit of your stomach. "If you can't go the rest of tonight without smoking the rest of that joint, then maybe accept you've got a dependency problem."

He scoffed as he took a step closer. "You can say all you want, I'll just call you what you are: Hypocrite." His tone was laced in more than just a snappy manner, now it was toxic, it wasn't a tone you ever saw Conrad use and it pained your heart to have it aimed at yourself.

You sucked up the tears that were brimming at your eyelids and made your last statement of the night, "What have you turned into?" You left him with that, turning your back before he could spit any more insults your way, making a B-line for your room again.

There, you let the tears fall. You wondered yourself, who had replaced the gentleman, sweet boy you once knew? You wondered if he was okay, if he would go back to normal? Truth being, you couldn't be sure. The year before, Conrad asked himself the same things. You had been just as angry, just as snappy, with a bad temper that could blow at any given moment. It was like living with weights on your back that tired you into a shell of a person until you felt utterly transparent in this world.

You didn't much talk to Conrad after that encounter. To be fair, Conrad hadn't really been talking to anyone other than the odd grunt if you were lucky. It wasn't until Belly's birthday when things got shaky again. This year, the birthday girl had taken the decision for everyone to go to Nicole's party. Nicole who also happened to be Conrad's not-girlfriend.

As much as you lied to yourself, being in her home felt wrong. Being on her territory knowing what Conrad had done two nights prior. The lingering ghost of his lips had never felt more prominent than right in that moment as you stepped foot into her house. You felt guilty being there. And not just because of the kiss, but because you had been yearning for Conrad to kiss you for a long time now. You just hated the fact such a big moment was ruined by the stench of weed on his mouth that soon caught onto your own.

Steven budged your shoulder, "You alright?" He asked, a sweet smile hanging from his lips, breaking you from the oblivious stare you had been making.

You nodded forcefully, "Yeah, yeah I'm good."

Steven wasn't convinced but a feminine voice broke him from his concern, "Steven!" His head spun around and his lips twisted even further upright like a Cheshire cat.

"Shayla." And like that, the boy was gone.

With a sigh, you followed in Taylor's footsteps to get a drink. She filled herself a cup of some red beverage and then grabbed one for you too. She huffed and you watched as her eyebrows raised, "Well look how quickly we've been forgotten." You would have been annoyed if she hadn't been right. Belly had left her for Nicole as had Conrad left you for her too.

You raised your red solo cup, "Cheers to that." Your tone was flat but Taylor clinked your cup anyway.

You weren't sure what the night had planned, but you could tell something was brewing.

Three or four hours later, a good few drinks down (you had lost count) and you were on the hunt for another one. The night was still lively, music blaring through the house, struggling against the volume of eccentric, drunk teenagers. When you reached the kitchen, you became hungry for something that wasn't tequila and juice. Thinking the kitchen was empty, you waltzed in. Only then to find yourself face-to-face with the one person you were avoiding.

You came to an abrupt stop as your gaze clung to one another. He was leant against one of the counters, his own glass in his hand, so casual in his checkered shirt and wavy hair. A thousand pictures ran through your head. You almost became nervous that Conrad could see you replaying that kiss in your mind. It was all you had been able to think about all night with the booze and having him dancing around you all night.

It took resilience for you to tear your eyes from him as you continued around the kitchen, searching the cupboards for something that suited your tastes better. It took a minute of you shuffling through cereal boxes and plates before Conrad spoke up. "Top right." He nodded to the cupboard he was talking about and you dared to catch a glimpse of him.

You nodded and pushed yourself from the floor to your tip toes as you opened the cupboard. A selection faced you of liquors and beers. You took the bottle of your choice and poured it into your red solo cup. Conrad didn't let his eyes leave you. "You're not gonna say anything this time?" He pushed.

You thought about whether it was best to reply or whether he was just picking another argument. "Why? So you can yell at me?" You raised your brow at him, and let your hip fall to lean on the counter as you faced Conrad, a good three meters between the two of you. But you cut it short, taking a step as your eyes narrowed with your next words, "Or so you can kiss me again?"

As if he were scared of the very word, he stepped from the counter, "Don't-" His finger was lingering towards you as he bit down on his tongue.

"What? Scared your girlfriend's gonna overhear it?"

"She's not- my girlfriend." He almost couldn't say it. "I didn't mean to do that." Once again, you found you lied to yourself thinking you weren't hurt by that fact.

You swallowed that pain and looked him right in the eye, "I'm not gonna argue with you if that's what you want. But, if you ever just want to talk, you know where I am."

You stared at him, waiting, willing, for him to say something. To do as you had offered and talk to you like a human being, to open up about whatever was driving him to make all these reckless decisions. The moment fell and you realised he wasn't going to say anything. You accepted it and went to leave, "Okay, I'll see you around Conrad." Said so disinterested.

You were almost out the door when his voice stopped you again, "Wait." It was hesitant but, somehow it was sure it was the right decision to make. When you met his eyes, they were like a child's. Somehow filled once more with innocence, but mostly, desperation. "I don't wanna talk, I just-" His gaze flickered to the floor for a second. "I just want you to be there...please." This time, he was the one on the edge of tears.

Once that left his mouth, you were in front of him, taking him into your embrace. He had never hung on so tightly to you like he didn't dare let go like you were keeping him afloat. Partway through the hug, you heard him sniffle, causing you to rub his back. "It's okay," You soothed. "It's okay."

"Conrad?" The voice cut through your's and Conrad's bubble like a blade.

You spilt from one another, turning to the doorway to find Nicole standing there. There was a familiar look on her face; the same one you had been wearing all night. You could only imagine what she must have been thinking.

Nicole left, taking half the girls with her. And, not long after, so did you and Conrad. Maybe you were drunk and he was drunk, or high, or both, but it didn't matter. He had let that shell open only slightly and because he had asked for you to be there, you would be. That night, you found yourself in his bed, soothing him as he fell asleep in the crook of your neck. It pained you to see him with the same habits you had once plagued yourself with. And, as tonight had shown, it had only gained him consequences. Ones of which you would worry about another day. For now, you would be there for him.

[answer2jeff]

Life Imitates Art —Carmen Berzatto.

PART 1/2.

warnings: fluff. painter!reader x roommate!carmen. unestablished relationships. clunky overly detailed writing. carmy being concerned. angsty. mutual pinning. (reader is lowkey mentally unstable like Carmen. i can't write 100% healthy relationships i'm sorry!!!)

a/n: sorry i disappeared and didn't write for weeks and decided to randomly drop this!

You needed inspiration.

With your last three pieces bought out from the French art gallery, L'art de L'amour, you hadn't touched your easel in days. Your brushes had gone dry, the paint clumping and staining every bristle. The lack of desire to make art felt like you hadn't seen the sun in 10 years.

You'd been ignoring this dreadful feeling with sleep.

Long day at the studio, the space filled with no one but younger, starving artists who wanted to admire your work for creative flow—but never wanting to know the real meaning behind every brush stroke, or why you used oil paints for specific pieces? Sleep.

The days fell shorter, the nights falling longer.

Even your roommate, a micromanager of his career, noticed.

It surprised you, possibly more than it should've. When you first moved into this apartment, you had every doubt in the world sharing a space would be enjoyable. For a while, you weren't sure if you could call yourselves "friends." Then again, living with a complete stranger—a man, no less, seemed impractical. But after a month or two, it was refreshing in a way. Carmen always cleaned up after himself, and was never opposed to splitting chores. There was no need to set specific boundaries. You felt respected, cared for. Every minute not overpowered by either of your desires to create were mostly spent with each other. It kept you sane.

You woke up to the sound of Carmen walking into the kitchen, cursing under his breath when he struggled to shut the door of your apartment behind him. Reluctantly, you dragged yourself out of bed, only to find that your bedroom door was wide open. You must've gone straight to bed after spending the entire evening trying and expectedly failing at "cleaning" up the apartment so Carmen wouldn't come home to a mess.

Bare feet pattered against the floorboards, the palm of your hand pressing into your tired eyes. You stretched your arms out, your t-shirt, who you weren't sure if it was yours or Carmen's, lifting up and showing just a sliver of your stomach over your grey sweatpants. The sunlight leaking through the windows blinded you.

"Oh, hey. You're up." A warm, welcoming voice greeted you, followed by the fridge being closed shut after restocking it with the necessities he picked up from Whole Foods.

You blinked to see Carmen hovered over the kitchen counter, clad in a navy-blue crewneck and gold chain dangling from his pale neck. His hands pried at a familiar brown wrapper. Blueberry muffins.

"Hey, yourself," you slurred, barely able to keep your eyes open as you hoisted yourself up onto the marble surface. You gazed down at him, grinning at his messy blonde curls.

Carmen smiled back, blue eyes admiring the sight of you: half asleep, your voice raspy while still having that airy cadence, your hair messier than it was the last time he willingly saw you—which he couldn't totally remember. He came home to the sight of your bedroom dimly lit by your bedside lamp.

"It's noon," he muttered, glancing from his phone on the counter, and back to you.

"Shit. Really?"

"Yeah. You've been sleeping a lot lately," he kept his stare on you as he opened the cabinet beside you, reminding you to 'watch your head' as he grabbed a ceramic plate.

"Isn't that a good thing?"

Your mind wandered to your exhibit. The thought of never having the ability to create such extraordinary work terrified you. So much that you hadn't even tried. It was almost embarrassing: Carmen seeing you like this. Rid of the one thing you convinced yourself you knew how to do.

"Not really."

You wanted to laugh. Maybe he just didn't get it.

If you could make even the painfully mundane into something more, than maybe you were more than just existing. Carmen was actually astounded by you and your work, even with the lack of knowledge in other art forms. Culinary was his calling, but for you? Oh, how he tried to grasp every concept you conveyed in your creative works. All in attempt to comprehend every thought in that pretty little head of yours.

Maybe he didn't understand as much as he wished, but maybe he didn't have to totally 'get it' to get you. Carmen found it hard to read people, their feelings, their true intentions, his whole life. But for once, he had confidence in his intoxicating marvel for everything you did. Even the way you covered your mouth when you laughed around everyone except him, or the way you styled your hair

"Well, it was for the sake of art," you smiled, extending your hand out to accept the plate that held the beautifully baked blueberry muffin. "Thanks for these, by the way."

"Pleasure. And I was actually gonna ask you about that. The—the art. Your art." Carmen joined you on the counter, his feet dangling beside yours. Your shoulders bumped past each other, a laugh coming from the both of you.

"Yeah? What about it?" You bit into your muffin, your gaze never leaving his.

"Well, I uh—I kinda wanted to visit your exhibit, y'know? Get to see it in its full form. I would've asked sooner but—"

"Yeah, yeah, it's okay. I know. Um—that'd be great. That's really nice of you, Carm."

A part of you wondered why he wanted to see it. But it wasn't all too surprising. Carmen took every chance he got to see your studio—even taking the initiative to drive you home from it on late nights, where you'd be endlessly analyzing your works even hours after Carmen would leave what was now, The Bear.

"Nah, I mean, I've just seen all that y'do and it's—" Carmen shrugged, struggling to find the right words to express his admiration without changing the atmosphere, "really cool. It's you, y'know?" His bottom lip was barred by his teeth and he looked into you for an answer.

You wished you could understand how the complexities of a kitchen; how it could clutch Carmen's attention to the point of no return, but you were happy for him. He was making something more of "mom and dads piece of shit," as he called it.

You never thought it was anything short of fucking awesome. He had all of this experience, drive, passion. Carmen felt more real, more rawly human to you than anything. Or anyone you'd met before.

He changed you. You were softer, calmer.

And still, you worried for him, dragging him out of the ever all consuming anxiety. Sometimes this was through watching X-file reruns on the couch. And every night, you'd move a little closer. By now, he'd keep an arm around you as your eyes became heavy and the room stirred with darkness and comfortable silence. He prayed to whatever ruled above him that you wouldn't notice, simultaneously wishing you'd want him to hold you gently like this. Even grocery store trips, something so simple, felt this way—which you missed out on this morning. You'd stand on the edge of the cart, your hands supporting your weight as Carmen pushed the handle with both hands, eyes scanning the isle for whatever obscure ingredient he needed for the dinner he planned on making you that night.

Every time he looked away, you stared. His beautifully carved nose, the way he bit the inside of his cheek and furrowed his blonde eyebrows when he tried to focus on making a decision. You were afraid, in a weird, animalistic way. You hadn't stopped yourself from relying on him. What if loving him this way made him pull away–or worse, you? You had to admit, having something this painfully simple in your life that made up for the chaos, was a little hard to accept.

It took everything in you to pretend you didn't notice him cleaning up the bathroom you shared whenever either of you left your belongings lying around. You wanted to convince yourself it was because he didn't want to come off as a slob, or influence you to be one yourself. But it always felt more like he was looking after you. Nothing that belonged to you would ever be misplaced again. Not with Carmen around.

You took pride in the little things. Your shoes placed next to each other near the front door, your toothbrushes leaning against each other with corresponding colored clips to cover their bristles. This was good. Change was good.

[kathlare]

unseen weight

Lando Norris x Amelie Dayman

Summary: At the Japanese Grand Prix, Lando finds himself caught in an unexpected emotional turmoil. While participating in a lighthearted charity event with his fellow drivers, his mind drifts to thoughts of Amelie.

Wordcount: 1.3 k

Warnings: just fluff

request over here!

September 21st, 2023 - Suzuka, Japan

The sun was high in the sky at the Japanese Grand Prix, casting a warm golden glow over the paddock. Media day was always a whirlwind of flashing cameras, intrusive questions, and obligatory smiles, but today there was an unusual calm to it. Maybe it was the fact that all the drivers had been invited to paint beehives for a charity event hosted by Sebastian Vettel. Lando wasn’t sure how the connection between racing and beekeeping worked, but he wasn’t one to turn down an invitation from Seb.

Lando stood by a long table with Oscar Piastri, both holding paintbrushes in hand as they eyed the bare, wooden hives in front of them. The event was a lighthearted distraction, a chance to laugh and bond outside of the usual race weekend stress, but Lando’s mind wasn’t really here. It was a distraction, sure, but the thoughts in his head wouldn’t stop swirling.

As Oscar focused on adding bold splashes of color to the hive, Lando found himself eavesdropping on the conversation happening just a few feet away. Charles, George, and Alex were standing by the refreshment table, casually chatting and laughing.

Lando couldn't help himself. His ears naturally perked up as he overheard snippets of their conversation. They were talking about the upcoming races and their travel plans after the Japanese Grand Prix. But then, something caught his attention, and his stomach twisted in a way he wasn’t expecting.

—I can't believe it's almost her birthday,— George said, his voice light but filled with excitement. —I’m so ready to see her again.—

—Same,— Alex chimed in, grinning. —It’s been a while since we all hung out. Should be fun. Mexico will be a blast.—

Lando's breath hitched in his throat. Her. He knew exactly who they were talking about. His mind instantly began racing. He tried to focus on the hive in front of him, but the words seemed to echo in his ears.

—Yeah,— Charles added with a soft laugh, —I can't wait to get back there. It’ll be great to see her, especially after everything that’s happened. It’s gonna be a proper celebration.—

Oscar, clearly engrossed in his own painting, was blissfully unaware of the direction Lando’s thoughts were taking. But Lando’s mood had already shifted, and not in a good way. He felt a tight knot in his chest as his friends continued to talk about Amelie like it was the most natural thing in the world.

—She’s definitely gonna love having us there,— George continued. —Checo's jet's the best way to travel, honestly. Can't wait to catch up with her.—

Checo. Of course, Checo was going. Why wouldn’t he? It was his family, after all. But the thought of Amelie surrounded by his friends, celebrating her birthday in Mexico while he was stuck at home, just hit him harder than he expected.

Lando couldn’t tear his gaze away, staring at his paintbrush without seeing it. His knuckles turned white around the handle, and his breathing became shallow. He didn’t want to feel like this. Jealous? Over what? They were noting. Right? Well, maybe that was the problem.

—Yeah, I heard they’re all going,— Alex said, taking a sip from his drink. —Her family’s gonna be there, obviously. I’m really looking forward to catching up with her, especially since the last time we saw her was… when was it? A month ago? At the concert?—

Lando's grip on the paintbrush tightened even more, but he didn’t dare look up, not wanting them to see the shift in his mood. He could feel his heart pounding in his chest as his thoughts spiraled.

He stood still, his gaze fixed on the beehive in front of him, but his mind was far away. The brush in his hand barely moved, his fingers stiff. He couldn’t stop thinking about Amelie, about how much he had missed her, and how seeing her again had always been such an intoxicating mix of emotions. She was the one he couldn’t ever shake off. He had tried, God, how he had tried, but every time he thought he was over her, something like this would happen—something small and casual, but enough to tear open all the wounds he had tried to bury.

The conversation continued to buzz in the background like a swarm of bees in his head, their words cutting through his thoughts with precision.

—Can't wait to be in Mexico again,— George was saying, his tone almost nostalgic. —Amelie’s birthday, man. She always knows how to throw a party.—

He shifted uncomfortably, wiping a bead of sweat from his brow, though the temperature didn’t really justify it. It wasn’t about the heat. It was about the ache. His feelings had never fully gone away. He knew that deep down. He could try to pretend all he wanted, but every time he heard her name, saw her face, or thought about those late-night conversations they used to have, something inside of him broke.

—Yeah,— Charles added, his voice warm, —it’s been a while since we’ve all had a chance to just hang out like that. Feels like it’s time. She deserves to have a blast.—

Lando closed his eyes briefly, trying to ground himself, but all he could see was Amelie. Her smile, her laugh, her presence that was always so magnetic. He had been a fool. He had been stupid to let her go.

Oscar, who had been working diligently on his own hive, glanced at Lando out of the corner of his eye. Lando’s mood had shifted, and it wasn’t subtle. Oscar knew Lando well enough by now to recognize when something was off, and he could see the change in his friend.

—Hey,— Oscar said casually, his voice a little more careful now, —you good, mate?—

Lando forced a smile, nodding quickly. —Yeah, yeah. Just… just thinking about the paint,— he lied, his voice slightly strained.

Oscar didn’t buy it, but he didn’t press the issue right away. Instead, he dipped his brush in a fresh splash of green and got back to work. But Lando could feel his eyes on him, and the silence between them hung thick. Lando could sense the unasked question, the curiosity burning behind Oscar’s gaze. But Lando wasn’t ready to talk about it.

No way in hell was he ready to bring up her.

The conversation around them continued, but Lando barely heard it. His thoughts were trapped in the memory of their last time together—the way she had looked at him when they last saw each other in Abu Dhabi. How she had barely acknowledged him, how she had shut him out completely. And for what? He couldn’t even remember the exact moment when things had gone so wrong.

And now, hearing all of this, about how his friends were so easily slipping back into her world, the world he had once been part of... it stung. It stung in a way he hadn’t expected, a raw kind of pain that he couldn’t ignore.

—You’re still talking about that trip?— Alex’s voice was teasing, pulling Lando out of his spiraling thoughts. —You're both already excited and it’s still days away.—

Lando felt like his chest was about to cave in. The casual mention of Mexico, of Amelie’s birthday, of how easily they all fit back into her life, it felt like he didn’t even have a place there anymore.

—No, I’m definitely going,— George said, his voice confident. —She invited us, and it's her birthday, mate. We wouldn’t miss it.—

Lando’s lips tightened into a thin line. The tension was palpable now. Oscar must have sensed something because he lowered his brush, his attention fully on Lando.

—You sure you’re okay?— Oscar asked again, his voice quieter this time. —You’re acting a little off.—

Lando gave him a tight smile. —Yeah, I’m fine. Just tired.—

Oscar didn’t press, but Lando could see the curiosity in his eyes, the way he was gauging every word, every subtle shift in Lando’s demeanor. But instead of confronting it, Lando just took a deep breath, forcing himself to focus on the task at hand, even if his mind kept drifting back to the conversation he couldn’t escape.

Amelie’s birthday. Her family. Checo’s jet. His friends, all going to see her, all going to be a part of her life. And Lando? He was stuck here, in Japan, painting a fucking beehive.

It wasn’t supposed to matter this much, but it did. He had pushed so many feelings down, buried so many thoughts, telling himself that this—this casual friendship, this distance—was what he wanted. But deep down, he knew better. He couldn’t fight it.

Oscar, wisely, didn’t say anything further. But as the hours wore on, the tension between Lando and the world around him grew. He wasn’t sure what he wanted anymore.

Maybe he was still angry at her. Maybe he still missed her. Or maybe, just maybe, he was still in love with her.

And maybe, for the first time in a long while, he was starting to realize he was never going to get over her.

[dimorphodon-x]

Force of Habit

In which Starfall ends up on the Lost Light and life is finally looking up for him.

But certain habits die hard.

--

--

Perhaps it was a good thing Starhawk didn’t remember him.

It meant that he was comfortable around him, unaware of things that happened in the not too distant past. It was… refreshing, Starfall decided.

In fact, everything was refreshing.

Just a few short months ago, Starfall was a Decepticon prisoner, a slave under the terrifying Corvalis. But now he was here, aboard a ship called the Lost Light, surrounded by (mostly) Autobots, and regained the badge that had been clawed off of his chest years ago.

He’d also been getting help with frequent visits to the ship’s therapist, Rung. Things were seemingly starting to look up for once in his life.

“Pardon?” Starfall blinked as he was pulled from his thoughts. Starhawk gave him a wide, friendly smile.

“I said I got you a surprise,” the obsidian flier repeated, biolights pulsing excitedly, “it’s in your room.”

“My room…” It was still surreal to think Fall had a room of his own now. A place for himself, that wasn’t a prison.

“Mhm,” Hawk’s wings fluttered, catching Starfall’s attention. Starhawk had such long, shiny wings. From the brilliant gleam in his iridescent paint job, it was obvious that he took great care in polishing his wings and armor to perfection.

Starfall’s wheels spun in his back as he stared at his once-brother’s stunning wings, how the light bounced off of them, how they were carefully held against his back to avoid bumping into things, how they oh so barely twitched and fluttered as he talked. Only another Star Seeker would notice such minuscule expressions.

Starfall missed his wings.

The wheels that were crammed into his frame after his wings were torn from his back felt unnatural, but they’ve been there for so long, he could barely recall how it felt when he flew for the first time. But most memories of flight weren’t his to begin with, so maybe that was another’s memory anyway.

Starfall hadn’t stolen a memory in a long while. He had only done so as a prisoner, and had only ever attacked Decepticons. He was pretty sure the memories he stole helped keep him sane. But he couldn’t do that to an Autobot, let alone a fellow Star Seeker. They were already so hard to come by.

But… surely Hawk would be ok with… one or two missing memories. Small ones, unimportant to him. Fall had poked and prodded at his brain twice before, it would be easy to do again. He still bore the tiny unseen scars, too, meaning that nobody else seemed to notice them.

Starfall licked his lips as he glanced down the empty hall. He couldn’t hear anyone behind either, and they were almost to his quarters. His fingers twitched impatiently and his wheels spun.

Starhawk was still distracted, talking about who knows what as the two stopped in front of Fall’s door. The mnemosurgeon simply couldn’t wait any longer.

“-and then Whirl went in guns blazing and-hh!?” Air was sucked into Hawk’s vents as a set of needles quickly yet perfectly slid into the back of his neck. His eyes widened in surprise and confusion as he wordlessly glanced at the slightly shorter mech standing behind his shoulder.

“Shh,” Starfall’s mismatched optics flashed wildly and his lips twitched as he smiled, “I’ll be quick.”

Hawk’s eyes widened further and his mouth opened. Fall could tell he was starting to grasp what was going on. But that was ok, because he wouldn’t remember this.

Starfall chewed on his lip as he quickly found a few small memories of flight. They weren’t anything special, just a few short joyrides with friends. He had many better memories than these little things.

The wheels on the orange mech’s back spun faster as he sighed in satisfaction, the itch finally ebbing as he replayed the newly acquired memories in his mind and removed his needles from Hawk’s lifecord.

Starhawk slumped forward, eyes dim and lights flickering. Starfall gave the hallway another quick look around to make sure things were clear before quickly retreating into his room, leaving his brother standing in the hall. He’d be back to normal in a few minutes, none the wiser, if only a little confused. Nothing to worry about.

Starfall sat down on the edge of his berth, engine purring happily as he continued to replay the stolen memories while they were still fresh. After a few hours, they started to lose their effect, so he decided to stop for now to save for later. Fall’s smile faltered and he opened his eyes, staring silently at the door.

Right, Starhawk had gotten him a gift.

Fall glanced around his room. He had no possessions of his own, so he quickly spotted the datapad on the desk next to the window and retrieved it. Maybe Hawk had downloaded a few games or something into it so he could entertain himself.

He flicked the screen on and blinked, surprised to find a medical document. Curious, the orange mech skimmed through the writing, eyes widening as dread and horror started to sink in.

It was an offer to try to restore his wings. 

The datapad slipped from his fingers and clattered onto the floor. He couldn’t accept this. Not after that. He didn’t deserve his wings anymore.

‘What have I done?’

[colemacgrathtkz]

Fellowship of the Hexoleos

Previous Next

[The Boiling Isles, a week after Drift away]

Luz was sulking around the old Hexsquad stomping grounds. She kept her distance from everyone. Her regrets about her mother, and everyone chipped away at her usual silly self.

Willow: "I challenge you to a witch's battle."

Turning her head, she saw Augustus and Willow posing defiantly.

Gus: "What battle to the death do you have in mind, o great one?"

Willow: "No one's dying this time either, Augustus."

Gus: "Not with that attitude."

Luz(smiling fondly): "It's 'I challenge you to a witch's duel', not 'witch's battle'."

Her cherry self was quickly drowned out by the memories of what had happened since they last met.

Luz: "You've been talking to Amity."

Willow: "I do work for her now."

Her friend approached her without any signs of caution.

Gus was a bit more hesitant about getting closer.

Gus: "There's that attitude."

Willow: "We've got business with you. You're coming with us to a place of drama, flair, and face paint."

A smile crept up on Noceda's face. It was pretty refreshing to see someone so relaxed around her. Still, she couldn't shake the feeling that something was off.

Luz( suspicious): "You should be terrified."

Willow: "Things have been weird."

Gus: "And terrifying, for sure."

Willow: "But we do still have our fun memories with you. And they're reason enough not to give up on you. Even if Augustus doesn't trust you, just yet."

Augustus: "Willow!

Ahem, even I have to admit, you didn't give up on getting back to us. Luz, the human, never gave up on her friends."

Eda: "Us weirdos have to stick together."

Luz turned to see her old mentor had snuck up on her.

Eda: From one cursed witch to another, you've got to let them help."

A warm feeling started to swell within the young girl. She sniffed back her tears.

However, she felt something land on her back. As she turned her head, a small paw met her check.

King: "Boop."

The creature's claw began to wipe stray tears that had escaped.

Luz: "Hey, buddy."

They nestled their heads against each other's, for a brief moment. Then King returned to Eda's side.

In that time, the empress appeared once again as a hallucination.

Empress: "This seems forced. They're up to something."

Before Luz could entertain those doubts, Willow wrapped up one human in thorny vines.

Willow: " Don't get the wrong idea. We did come to challenge you, after all."

Clover and Emmiline Bailey Marcostimo crawled out from behind their respective witches.

Luz: "Whoa, when did that happen?!"

The young witches summoned their staffs and flew circles around her. Willow halted right in front of the astonished latina.

Willow: "You know about flyer derby?"

Luz couldn't quite recall watching that magic sport.

Willow: "Nothing a little team spirit and a training montage can't solve, right?"

Gus: "Just to be clear, we won't be on your team."

Willow: "But you've got until tomorrow to figure all that out."

Her friends began to take their leave. But Luz had definitely noticed the absence of a certain someone.

Luz: "So, do any of you think there's a chance Amity would...?"

She didn't even finish her sentence. The hallucination hadn't disappeared just yet. The empress shook her head, visible only to Luz.

Eda: "The owl beast caused a lot of trouble and hurt people I care about, too. Bossy boots just needs a bit more time."

The owl lady sent a hand straight for Luz's shoulder.

Eda: "Just give her some space. You and your adorably sick antics snuck into her heart, after all."

King: "It feels like just a few months ago, you had us locked up after we captured you. "

Gus: "That was a few months ago."

Willow: "So, don't think that means we're finished with you."

With that, her friends and mentor flew off into the sky.

All Luz heard was, "we're not giving up on you".

Now, all she needed was to learn an entire magic sport and assemble a team by tomorrow. No biggie.

After freeing herself, she healed the few layers of skin cut by the thorns.

Luz: "Wait, I've been gone for how long?!"

Luz had "Belos" arrange for the younger scouts to participate on her team.

[The next day, Hexside flyer derby field]

Willow( as captain) had Gus, Skara, Viney, and someone she didn't recognize.

The match went about as expected. Willow may be Amity's right hand. But she always made time for her real passion.

In the past, Gus partook in Willow's games. The two supported each other, even after Luz's banishment. He gained a lot of experience with his own style of flying.

Skara worked as a student teacher at Hexside. Skara was a fast learner, which didn't hurt her teaching skills.

Viney's healing magic permitted any mistake around her to come at a small price. Almost everyone on Willow's team was familiar with trail and error. Just like how all of Hexside were familiar with their results, both on and off the field.

The new guy was very obvious in his hatred towards Luz. Practically, all his plays were focused on her. He kept threatening to force her into the boiling sea.

She just assumed he was someone affected by the tyranny of the empress.

There was one thing that stood out to her. The need for a staff to fly on.

Empress: "This is clearly a ruse to bring it out for them."

Luz: "A scheme? A plot?"

She actually laughed for the first time since...

Luz: "Good old shenanigans."

She brought a staff that looked an awful lot like the real thing. With it, she was able to soar alongside her own team. But she was still very much in the underdog position.

Despite losing the game, Luz hadn't felt that good in a long time.

Luz: "Not bad for someone who just started playing."

Willow: "But pretty embarrassing for someone who claims to be empress of the isles."

Gus: "I guess all the magic of Isles doesn't make up for pure skill and raw talent."

Her friends lighthearted teasing was brought her guard down.

That is, of course, until she noticed the eyes of Augustus were locked on to her staff.

Gus: "Is that the genuine article?"

Luz scoffed at inquiry.

Luz: "You think we'd be crazy enough to bring it out for a game?"

Willow: "That depends? Would you hand it over?"

She extended out her hand. Luz contemplated how to play this.

Willow Park retracted her hand and combed her hair back.

Willow: "Too slow."

Amity(?): "I see you're enjoying yourselves.'

The trio noticed Amity's approach. Except, she was wearing that little demon creature that was usually on Bump's head.

Luz: "Amity?"

Amity: "Not quite. As part of the agreement with the New Coven's request, Amity Blight will assist in matters of the school."

Willow: "Basically, she's going to have more work on her plate. We'll both be busier than usual."

Luz: "That's my awesome girlfriend for ya.

Please tell her I said that."

Bump(?) turned to leave.

Bump: "I am here for the students of Hexside, Ms. Noceda."

Gus followed to get their team a proper victory celebration.

Willow decided to hang back for a second.

Luz(whispering): "I knew that thing on his head was the real principal Bump. If that little guy is Bump, then who's been the old man underneath him?"

Willow chuckled at the small ruse around Frewin. More and more, Luz's shortcomings were becoming apparent. In these last few months, she had missed out on a lot.

Willow: "I'm sure Amity will get your message."

Luz looked down at the empress staff.

Willow: "Don't worry. I'm sure you two will talk again soon. Don't forget, she did stick her neck out for you."

Luz: "I know she tried to smooth things over when I got back."

Willow: " I'm not talking about before you turned the tables on us."

A small version of Luz's grom tree was conjured up.

Willow: "I've been the reliable one for so long. It made sense for me to be where I am now. Especially since my boss was missing her girlfriend so badly. Even after sending you away, I don't think she ever lost how she felt about you.

And now, after that stunt you pulled, I was sure that was the last straw. You hurt all of us. That's the truth.

But I asked for her opinion on how to get your attention. And we talked about getting my friend back. She even proposed the offer with Bump to let us use the field.

All that extra work for one game."

Luz: "And how are we supposed to get our friends back?"

Willow smiled as she petted Clover's head.

Willow: "By seeing who they really are."

With that, Park began her ascent on her staff.

Willow: "It's was fun. Remembering how things used to be. I mean, there's one thing that hasn't changed."

Willow wasn't going to worry about whether Luz heard this last part.

Willow: "She's still trying to protect you."

Author's note:

I know Frewin isn't actually Principal Bump.

[lex-n-weegie]

Its like 3 AM but shhhh I felt the sudden urge to ramble about my version of Glamrock Bonnie soooo

Under the cut cause long and rambly and worldbuild-y lol

Okay so as a quiiick refresher, here's my version of the dude (old art grahhhhh)

(Yes I got a special version of Foxy too called Captain Foxy but that'll be for a different post maybe xvkanxka)

Okay okay before I fully talk about Bonnie I gotta talk about the Pizzaplex itself. Monty was around before Bonnie was decommissioned, he was a special animatronic for the golf course attraction, made as a sort of "experiment" on adding more special animatronics for different areas. He worked well, and it let to DJMM and The DA to be made soon after. Monty and Bonnie were buds, but Monty got along pretty well with all of the main four. He fit well within their dynamic, even the workers could see that. And if course, Freddy and Bonnie were the absolute best of friends, the dynamic duo. The bear and bunny.

However, Bonnie had some chronic issue: he simply didn't care much for rules. He'd follow most of them of course, like don't bite the children, but for others(such as stay in your greenroom after-hours) he'd ignore them if he simply felt the urge to. He was really laid back, maybe even too much so sometimes. He didn't care about how much the workers would scold him about it, nothing bad ever happened so what was the harm? They weren't his dad, they couldn't tell him and the gang what to do. Eventually the others followed his example, leaving their rooms at night, cause the workers couldn't do much in terms of retaliation when it came to the main four. Just empty threats it seemed.

Sometimes it was a good thing, breaking that particular rule, as it let Bonnie be the first to kind of "meet" Hazel.

Ramble about Hazel(can probably be skipped): Hazel was originally going to be a bare, boring animatronic, made to help with freelancing costs by simply being a Jack of all trades when it came to art. Painting, sculpting, construction, repair, even mechanical engineering, put in as a just in case if a Glamrock needed attention and no one else was available. However the first person who worked on them made them look heavily like an old Fredbear's character, one that existed for an extremely short time, a golden bear with heterochromia named Daisy(the worker found some old remnants of posters with her in them). The company however, freaked out when they saw that, as they wanted zero trace of Daisy in anything they did, so they fired them and asked someone else to "fix it." That resulted in his brown fur and poofy dark brown hair. They also programmed him with a more quiet, almost shy esque personality to hopefully avoid any rampages with his extreme strength(it was needed in order to do all the construction they wanted). All of this is just a long winded way of saying that due to unique circumstances, she stood out among all the other staff bots. Also fun fact! He wasn't called Hazel at this point, just referred to as "Bear."

All bots were ordered into their rooms, again, and told that something in Rockstar Row broke and someone would be fixing, "Do not speak to them under any circumstances." "Bear(Aka Hazel)" was told the same, don't talk to any of the Glamrocks. Bonnie of course, being Bonnie, ignored the orders and went out to say hi. Bear originally didn't want to respond, but ended up chatting a bit when Bonnie asked what exactly they were fixing. He actually first put the idea in his head to do other things than what he's told or programmed to do, even if he didn't follow that until much later.

Other times however, leaving his room didn't end so good.

It had been a good couple months, possibly half a year since "Bear" and Bonnie talked, Monty was having a particularly bad day. Monty wasn't a Glamrock, so he was "lesser priority" and often treated badly. He wasn't the only one, any animatronic that wasn't part of the main four was treated like garbage("fun" fact again, at this point in the timeline "Bear" had been locked away in an old room for a couple of months, forgotten about and honestly expected to lose power). Sometimes, unfortunately, Monty would take out his anger on the others. Never physically mind you, but he stilled yelled and snapped.

There was one time he was slightly physical though.

That night was a bad night, and Bonnie left his greenroom to go to Gator Golf, Monty's "room," to talk to him about it. He was up on the rafters, and he tried to talk to them about it. They were being pissy though, refusing to talk about his feelings and anger. Through his anger, he shoved Bonnie away him, only intending to get some space when he put his hand on his shoulder. Instead, he slammed again the guard rail, it snapped, and Bonnie plummeted to the floor. Similar to the game, he hit a pole on the way down, severing his top and bottom half of his body, but he did also break from other stuff.

That would have been fine, fixable even, but unfortunately the top half landed into one of the many ponds Gator Golf had going around. Normally, they all were waterproof, but when their circuits were exposed...yeah.

Monty was soon quickly made to replace the bunny, and they went to dump the box of him and his parts they gathered into some random room in the basement. Instead, a worker accidentally found "Bear," still on and drawing brand new concepts and things they weren't asked to. It eventually led to them becoming a new attraction, Bonnie being left in that room she was in to rot.

A year and a half later, a bunch of stuff happened with "The Gang"(Freddy, Chica, Roxy, Monty, and Hazel), but the main thing was that they all had found out they were given "birthdays"(only the main four got them, Hazel wasn't given one). Not exactly the days they were made, but when their characters were born. Hazel immediately set out to make the best gifts ever for all of her friends(her and Monty weren't a thing at this point, just dumb crushes). Freddy's was the farthest, being just the month before they learned all this, so Hazel had a whole year essentially to figure something out for him. And she absolutely stumped him. Chica, Monty, hell even Roxy was easy, but Freddy they couldn't think of anything.

And desperate for any ideas, and figuring maybe some of her old doodle paper from years back could still be in there, she sought out the old room she used to "sleep" in. She found no papers, but that box they brought in the same day she was brought out was still there. Now with more free will, they willingly let curiosity win and peeked inside. Bam! The old parts of Bonnie! Not only was part of her actually furious that Bonnie was essentially, put through the same thing she was put through, but it fueled her to rebuild the guy best she could, as she still had everyone's blueprints in her memory.

At first she gets the head working, and from there they chat while she fixes the rest of him. Unfortunately, due to untreated water damage(being allowed to soak in), some parts couldn't be salvaged and needed to be replaced. Mostly motors, but also his memory card. She saved as much as it as he could, but it still resulted in him "forgetting" memories and skills, such as playing the base and the scattered memories from before. Good enough for him though, he could relearn it if he wanted(or have Hazel program the knowledge back in), and he can make new memories with the gang. With her fixing him up and the time they spend together afterwards, he develops a little crush on her, similar to Monty.

After he's fully fixed and revealed to be at Freddy's "birthday," he stays in the basement during the day for a month or so, at least until Vanessa and Mason(BF's s/i) can come up with a reasonable excuse and a convincing lie about how they fixed him, all outside of company time and "for free." Eventually, Glamrock Bonnie was able to come back, simply explained away with "he retired and went on vacation, but now he's back to teach you how to bowl!" He doesn't rejoin the band, he's how similar to how Monty was and what Hazel currently is, a mascot for the bowling alley. Unfortunately it does mean he's treated a similar way to the two(aka treated badly), but it doesn't bug him much cause he's just happy to be back.

As for the selfshipping side of stuff(him and Hazel + how the poly relationship happened), it's sorta a funny story. After Monty got over some guilt and whatnot, the two were quick friends again, and ended up expressing their crushes on "a certain animatronic." Neither wanted to say who, cause they both knew the other would have teased them mercilessly, but they both convinced each other to try and confess.

So naturally, they both end up trying to confess at the same time. And kind of fight over it(they didn't really MEAN to, just kinda happened yk?

Hazel didn't wanna choose, she honestly grew to crush on them both, and eventually yelled at them to snap out of it and "I'll date you both then!! Okay?!" If you've ever read the original Archie comics it's semi like his relationship with those two girls(I forget their names fjsnsj). They both kind of "share" him I guess, lol. As for the two of them, they're not into each other, not romantically at least, but they do have a close and deep bond. They're not a couple, just a couple of besties ♡ dying

[belatedhope]

Writing Sample

Premise: Tatsumi is a priest traveling from Japan to France in the 1950’s. He brings with him a small caravan of his companions as he prepares to work in the French countryside.

Tatsumi had never been so thankful to stand on stable ground. The missionary stretched his arms high over his head as he stepped foot off of the train, watching as his disciples bickered among the tall grasses that lined the edges of the station.

He was quick to turn and start gathering luggage, only to be interrupted by a gentle tap on the shoulder.

“Your grace, please delegate.” Himeru’s tone was a gentle reminder of a lesson that Tatsumi had yet to learn, even as he paused and gave a gentle smile.

“Children, please come! The train will be departing again soon. You wouldn’t want to part with your belongings.” Despite his soft tone, the alpha’s voice carried on the wind with ease— perhaps a gentle sentiment to his namesake. The pair of clergymen were quick to trot over, grabbing up their briefcases with only minor apologies.

“Don’t cheapen your words now, Mayoi.” Tatsumi brought up a gloved hand to tousle dark hair, earning a small noise of appreciation before the disciple eventually backed away, too flustered to carry on the interaction any longer. Regardless of this, admiration still shone clearly in his shifting gaze.

The walk to the monastery was scenic and refreshing for tired limbs. After nearly two months of travel from Japan to France, Tatsumi felt that his body had truly paid the price.

At the very least, it gave everyone extra time to brush up on their French. Tatsumi was a diligent teacher, and if he was left to fulfill the position of the archbishop, his French couldn’t be lacking in the slightest.

“It’s like a painting,” Tatsumi commented absently, falling behind in the group as he kept pausing to get a better look at puffy little honeybees as they bumbled about. Himeru only sighed and took the priest’s luggage off of his hands without another word.

“Tatsumi-San! No wait— Mr. Tatsumi!” Hiiro slowed his pace until Tatsumi could catch up with him, clumsily switching his speech from Japanese to French— as they had all agreed to speak exclusively in French until they all were fluent.

“Do you think we’ll be ordained when we return to Japan?” His question came laced with excitement and the clergyman could only give a hopeful smile in the face of the excitable redhead.

“Hiiro, you’re not old enough to become ordained yet. Study hard, and you’ll be ready when you come of age.” Tatsumi reminded, to which Hiiro gave a defeated pout.

“Chin up now, we’re almost there.” Himeru’s voice was more stern this time and almost instinctually the trio of disciples went rigid as they straightened their postures.

Jun didn’t seem to know what to do with himself when Archbishop Tenshouin came to greet them at the gates. The priest brought one hand to rest on his shoulder, feeling his tension fade with the comforting gesture.

“Your excellency,” Tatsumi greeted politely, the group of missionaries bowing their heads in reverence, even as Eichi raised a humble hand, dismissing their pleasantries.

“I hope the journey treated you well, your grace. It’s a pleasure to see you again.” Eichi took Tatsumi’s hand, encasing it in both of his own before giving it a gentle shake.

“Archbishop, it’s an honor to be of assistance to you.” He could see how the blond’s expression softened for a moment, his eyes becoming dishonest in the afternoon sun.

“There is nobody else more suited for the job.” He assured before gesturing for the mission to follow him into the monastery.

It was pleasant getting settled into the dormitories, as they placed the trio of disciples in the upper floor, and provided Himeru and Tatsumi with a shared room.

Just as the priest took a seat on the edge of his bed, his attention was drawn back by the clergymen that had been sent for their aid.

“If you will, your grace… you will be seen by our tailoring staff. It’s imperative that they begin work posthaste.” Yuzuru was delicate and polite in his words, even holding the door open as he waited for the priest to pass through.

“Certainly… Is Eichi doing so poorly? He seemed to be in good spirits when we saw him.” Tatsumi asked, which only earned him a bout of silence from the elegant individual beside him.

“His excellency is… fragile at the moment. I cannot disclose anything further. My apologies.” Tatsumi could only give a silent nod, reaching out to the blond with a silent prayer. One that he will surely follow up with before bed tonight.

“This is one of the monastery’s tailors. Itsuki will have you in good hands.” Yuzuru made a quick departure, leaving the pair of strangers alone.

“It’s a pleasure, Itsuki.” He bowed his head instinctually, sweeping an arm under his chest in a subtle gesture.

“I am Kazehaya Tatsumi. I’ll be residing at the monastery as Eichi Tenshouin’s stand-in for the time being. I hope we can get along.” He glanced back up through teal bangs before standing straight.

As the afternoon light cast rays through old windows, all Tatsumi could think was how beautiful this individual was. Even while resting, his face looked expressive and there was a strong presence about him. One that Tatsumi found to be most interesting.

[jodilin65]

Earlier this morning, I planned to have a mani-pedi, but the salon was closed. Instead, we visited Treasure Mart during a nice mini thunderstorm, a place we hadn’t been to in many months. We spotted some cute things that caught our eye, but they were a bit pricey, so we decided not to make any purchases. There was a figurine I almost bought; it was nice, but nothing extraordinary. Nonetheless, it was refreshing to get out. We strolled through the aisles of the large store for nearly an hour. Towards the end, I suddenly felt exhausted, realizing I need to be more active to build endurance to avoid getting tired easily. Because of it, he moved the treadmill back into the living room. I just don’t get enough of a workout hitting the road in VR.

Tomorrow, I’m scheduled to visit the salon, and on Thursday, I have a painting class at the clubhouse.

The hammering next door has begun. I’m guessing this is where they start hammering down the borders. I don’t see a truck over there, though, and I didn’t see anyone in back so maybe they’re starting on the other side of the house. Then again, these houses are so damn close that if he was hammering on his exterior living room wall or the exterior wall of the second bedroom, I would hear it in here. I just hope they’re done with whatever they’re doing before I start sleeping in!

We talked about some future activities we want to do. For $65 each we can get taken out on a boat, given a wetsuit, and go snorkeling with manatees. This is at a place an hour north of here.

There’s also a walking trail nearby that might be a fun place to go when we’re bombing the place.

So I called and left a message for them to give to Rhonda about the breathing issues caused by the nitrofurantoin and asked if I could be switched to bactrim or amoxicillin.

OMG, I’m so pissed. I’ll have to finish this later.

Okay, I’m back. The girl who works in the office called telling me to call her back after we agreed she could leave a message. When I called, she said my urine test was negative.

Then why the hell was I given an antibiotic and put at risk of getting a yeast infection if it was negative?

So now I’m waiting for the nurse to call back with more info and I’m going to answer since I know that even though I once again reminded them that they could leave all the detailed messages they want, I’m just gonna be told to call back.

Damn, do I miss Galileo!

Anyway, unless all these doctors are missing something, I’m going to assume that any burning I’ve been feeling is due to menopause. It can be pretty bad from what I was told, and of course, I always have to get it the worst. If I can’t manage to get it under control myself, then I might have to make a GYN appointment.

The honker is trimming the tree between him and Sue. I thought that was something he normally did before he left but if he’s interested in an event at the end of next month, he probably won’t leave until May.

Yesterday his truck never moved at all, which is unusual for him, so I’m guessing he was either picked up or was very sick.

Oh, look at that. Colleen is over there with him now even though her vehicle isn’t there. I’m a little worried that this relationship could cause him to move down here full-time or stay here longer but maybe she’s a snowbird too. I’m now guessing he was over at her place yesterday. It’s only about a five-minute walk over there. What are they going to do, though, unless she too is from his area of Canada? Have a relationship every other 6 months?

[corndoggod]

30 for 30: Not Drinking

I’ve never done dry January for a few reasons. 1) I never even considered it until like three years ago. 2) I like to drink more than most and while I knew I could have a healthier relationship with alcohol, I never saw it as a problem. 3) My birthday is January 16. 

But this year, the year I turned 30, I decided to try it, mostly just because I’d never done it before and 30 seemed like a good moment to challenge myself in this way. Could I be comfortable and sociable without God’s lubricant? 

The following is a catalog of times I was tempted by the devil’s water. 

The Gutter

League bowling was running 30 minutes behind schedule and what was there to do but sit at the bar and order a beer. I sat at the bar. C ordered a seltzer with bitters. It was enough. I was slightly nervous with Daddy because C seemed off and I wanted to attend to her. (I was turned away from her, talking to Daddy). 

I was tempted again during the game. I opened strong - two strikes and a spare - but then I slipped. I got frustrated. I wanted to suck on some foam. But I didn’t. 

Tuesday

Feeling good with C who came home early after her new painting job. A beer just sounded nice. Instead, I cracked a seltzer and read Mike Davis’ City of Quartz in preparation for our journey to Los Angeles. Davis described the city in turns as a battleground between sunshine and noir, a big angry parking lot and a product of boosters and real estate speculators. I calculated that my thirty days of not drinking would expire while we were on vacation in LA, the day after Valentine’s Day. What would I toast to? 

Writing Workshop

I was mildly tempted, or rather, knew I would’ve grabbed beers for Sunday’s workshop reunion in normal times. It’d been seven months since we last met and we felt a bit aimless since no one had work to present. And in that aimlessness, I felt a thirst, something to latch my lips to. I knew the liquid would loosen something inside. I kissed my knuckles and carried on. 

The Whale

I was not tempted in the belly of the whale. C made an Indian feast with three boy sous chefs asking, “What can I do?” every few minutes. And after forty minutes of a million dirty dishes we sat down to saag paneer, daal, coconut chutney, rice, naan and samosas to watch The Whale, a movie about a morbidly obese online English instructor trying to reconnect with his very angry daughter of 17. 

A Long Week of Quiet Quitting 

I took adderall every day except Friday, but I couldn’t bring myself to do a single thing. I had no deadlines, so it wasn’t negligent. But it was definitely irresponsible. Friday was for c and karaoke - my favorite and least favorite things. I’d jabber and jabber but never sing - lips too numb, confidence like a kite in a tornado. 

Bowling

My greatest weakness proved to be poor performances at bowling night. My scores slipped dramatically, halved from a 181 to a 92. I’d spent a lot of time calibrating the optimal blood alcohol levels for peak pin destruction and it was 2-4 beers. And here I was, clean as a whistle throwing gutters. You can’t sip water in frustration and smile after. You can’t go “Ahh, refreshing.” So I had a Bornx Pale Ale - forgetting I don’t really like the taste. But my score improved to 141. 

Slick’s 30th Birthday

Tonight might be the night, I thought to myself. It was miserably cold and it took an hour and two bus transfers to get there. I got in a squabble with C over dinner and I just wanted to go home or ride my bike. If I was going to the bar, I wanted a beer. I’d all but convinced myself, but then came Slick, the birthday boy, a wonder wall of sweaty exuberance. It was midnight now and we’d been in the basement dancing to DJ Preschool -- a white haired man with as many teeth as fingers and he was missing a finger. I closed my eyes and danced. That’s what alcohol does: closes your eyes. But after an hour of that I wanted something more to keep me going. I told C I might get a beer. She offered a gummy instead. I relayed this to N who laughed and told me had c. “Same,” I said and we saluted. 

Then birthday boy Nick bounded up to me. His curly hair was a frizzy halo and I smelled his swea . “Still not drinking, eh? That’s so great man. Really awesome to be out having a a good time and not rely on that. I’m so proud of you.” Little did he know. 

Vacation’s Eve

We’re bound for the capitol of capital on the Pacific Rim, leaving the very same on the Eastern Seaboard. It’s Friday and I’m home biding my time. I volunteered to be the pack mule so C could have dinner with her friend whose birthday we’ll miss. I’m tired but I wanted to write all day. Still, I’d rather read right now. I’d love to read with a beer - something to relax. Instead I tap out a line, three lines and here we go. Can’t wait for the subway and to see her parents. 

I was bored and agitated. Bored because I was reading for the fifth Friday in a row and agitated because of what I was reading: That damn lefty history of L.A. 

Lessons Learned

I learned what it’s like to do c with no alcohol. I felt my face torque, teeth gnash, heart wallop. That awareness felt awful, but it was overpowered by exuberance. 

I learned how often I introduce alcohol to situations. I’ve tended to blame my friends - a bunch of hard-drinking cows, but I too am an instigator. 

I learned drinking can be saved for social things. I didn’t need a beer at the end of a hard day. I could relax in other ways - like cooking or running or stretching or reading or writing in my diary for fun. 

[rosiewildcard-art]

Molten Slice Drive

Driving was something that provided a comfort in those early days, when time could be frittered and our time felt loose, aimless, drawn out. Sitting on the cusp of Spring and change. Awaiting bureaucratic news and scheduled momentum incoming. Driving required me to focus, to attune to the conditions, shadow stitched to the tarmac, the white painted line cutting neatly through the flanks. I used to think of the vehicle shaped shadow eating up the road as we pelted down it on long journeys. We ate up a lot of miles within our first month, covering a complete route from North to South covering both motu of our great nation. Strange wanting to put those words into diction after a life-time of disdain at the pomp and cirque of our warmly departed United Kingdom. Great Nation. Wild. Alive. Here the Commonwealth shadows took up inches less each year and the sky grew taller above my head and I stood taller. The austerity laced anvil around my neck began to shrink. I tasted, despite the conceptual mind-advert of New Zealand from afar, that this was a place the pasty colonials could not break and I was to feel its mightiness press all around me. It would push me around, consuming, pushing all of me through a new doorway, stretching and uncomfortably so. But like birth the pain followed by all that peace felt a single drop amongst a storm. I could speak to Aotearoa and feel alive, not lived upon. Free, and on the road. It all relented to be strange for a while though and only now with the passing of time can I see the endurance dug down to gold.

There was a sense of purpose garnered on the road that I knew in the beginning I would be fraught to find anywhere else and so we drove. Something about watching those median lines and cats eyes rise, slip out from under you and out of sight that felt like cashing strings of pennies at the bank. Never enough at once, but something all the same. Paying it up in my own little way. I could count thousands and not be done. Lone riding on the highways, a roving shepherd, responsible for watching the markings and potholes. For knowing the layers of the horizon even in only shadow. Deep dark nights alone. Dark knights alone? The hills around to rise and fall like cloaks that hang long, pooling in waves on horses backs. I am thundering.  A long flock to follow and keep watch. Aiming for just a few more miles, until the next big sigh, the impasse, the clearing, the place, to pause. We drove enough for me to know I would never tire of the rays of the moon, to discover true moon-light, to feel a child; new to its glow. To hear the stillness of the whenua, to grasp at something that called deep or far away, I wasn’t sure, but I knew it turned the seasons and made the birdsong, filled with power it did not trouble to pander to me. On the road, I would come.

The road itself afforded me partnership at an early age, its formulation always differing, asking a different question. Moving me along. I was grateful for the movement this time, its self given duty, its scenes anew at each kilometre passed. The dipping sun across the river fragment, wind ripples on forest banks, clouds chasing stars, feeling compacted in the grandeur of the landscape and equally free, wide, fleshed out, for all of you is embodied in the road and your little understanding of it. A few times a little crumb of the past, a street, a snippet, a scene refreshed from brief childhood memories. Reminders that felt like the soft warm that poured in the passenger window. A hopeful circular joy to remember and discover all over again. To be eastbound, then west. To see the sun swallowed by the roto only to be spat out on to a pink dawn another season, not too far from now. Weaving the routes together, peering back at the year past, my four wheels and a hopeful little grin. 

(original work, aug 2022 1st draft & refined sept 2023)

[thevoidable]

Does Chief know that Arbiter was behind the fall of Reach?

This is a question that I'm sure has crossed a few people's minds, especially if you're someone who enjoys the dynamic that Chief and Arby share.

Reach was basically Chief's home; he grew up there, he was trained to be a Spartan there. That planet holds a lot of fond memories for him, and losing it to the Covenant was a devastating blow that only made him all the more angry towards them. So, you can imagine that he would be pissed if he ever came face to face with the one responsible. But when he did, there was no malice beyond shoving a magnum in Arbiter's mouth. They're good allies by the end of H3, so, does he know?

Well, the short answer is: yes. He absolutely does.

So, the real question here is: when did he know?

In order to answer that, we first need to look at what confirmed Chief's knowledge of the Arbiter's dark past in the first place.

Halo 2 Anniversary introduced terminals that gave lore fanatics incredibly juicy details about the in-game universe, and the very first one on Cairo Station is a report by Jameson Locke that details EVERY major crime committed by Thel 'Vadamee. Upon opening up the terminal, we are greeted by this:

A "blink and you’ll miss it” detail that I think a lot of people's eyes glaze over upon first watch. Now, I know what you're probably thinking - "Oh, he's viewing this report on Cairo, so he knew this back in Halo 2 then!" Ah ah ah, not so fast.

Locke specifies the date of the report as September 26 2552, but the events of Reach and the original trilogy all took place two months prior in July - if you remember how Halo 3 ended, that means that Chief is stranded in space by the time Semptember rolls around. Unless he has time travelling powers, there’s no way he’s reading a report from the future on Cairo, especially while it’s under attack. 

So, that said, when did Chief have a chance to read the report? 

Well, the answer is actually very simple: directly after the end of Halo 4.

If you need a refresher, Chief was thrown right into the conflict with the Didact from the beginning of the game, and it was non-stop action for him ever since. However, the ending cutscene of the game shows us his armour being removed (presumably for repairs), and he gets his first real downtime in years. This is when we can best assume that he found the report.

Now, allow me to paint you a picture.

Chief has just come back from defeating the Didact, but in the process he’s lost his closest friend. Fresh out of his armour and knee-deep in grief, he seeks to distract himself by digging through some files to find out what he’s missed. The last thing he remembers before entering cryosleep four years ago is discovering that the Foward Unto Dawn was torn in half, and the Arbiter was nowhere to be found. So, what happened to him? Did he survive? Is Chief’s newfound ally okay?

The database has several files listed under “The Arbiter”, but he ignores each in favour of one that immediately catches his attention, marked by ONI as highly classified.

He came looking for a distraction, but found only anger instead.

For the entirety of his time between the end of Halo 4 and during Halo 5, Chief had been dealing with his grief over Cortana and the indirect betrayal of someone he once trusted. Repressing those feelings led him to take on mission after mission back-to-back without rest, so much to the point that even ONI noticed. Blue Team was thankfully there for him through it all, but there wasn’t much that even they could do for him beyond supporting him. 

Fast forward to the end cutscene of Halo 5 - Chief doesn’t see Arbiter until he’s lost Cortana again. He failed to save her again. He’s at his lowest, the worst he’s ever felt, and there’s little anyone can do to cheer him up, if they can even tell he’s hurting.

But then in comes Arbiter, who - thanks to one of the books - provides the perfect distraction, taking Chief off to the side to have their first real conversation together, reminiscing about the past and catching up with each other. Chief gets to see how far Arbiter has come now, and just how much he still wants to do better. In the midst of Chief’s pain and guilt, he probably no longer has the energy to be angry, and he can see how holding a grudge against the Arbiter will benefit no one.

Forgiveness may not be in the cards just yet, and maybe one day Chief will get closure for the things Arbiter has done to him and millions of others, but for now, Arbiter can still inspire him to keep fighting, and he’ll value their alliance for as long as it lasts.

EDIT:

So I appear to stand corrected and have been informed that the original trilogy does NOT take place in July (Halopedia is the most convoluted rabbit hole I s2g) - CE takes place in September, and then Halo 2 starts in October with Halo 3 ending in December.

That complicates my theory a little BUT my point still stands that Chief is a busy guy and wouldn’t have read the report on Cairo while it was under attack (if you take accessing it during gameplay as canon). He also wouldn’t have an incentive to go looking for the information nor would he even know what to look for until Halo 4. There’s also a possibility that he was briefed about Thel at some point prior to H2, but wouldn’t have been able to make the connection that the silver-armoured elite he briefly met via the Gravemind and then fought alongside later was Thel. He just knew him as “The Arbiter”.

Either way, he still knows regardless, and it’s incredibly fun to think about the ramifications thereafter.

[gisellelx]

Drying Up

(~2,000 words)

The smell of drying paint was still fresh, sharp and chemical and both refreshing and noisome at once. Benjamin Moore’s Sundance, his mother had told him, a pale but somehow rich yellow. A classic choice when you were painting a room for a grandchild whose gender was unknown. The crib was here, too, now, and Edward suspected from the stray thoughts Esme seemed to be keeping from him that there was much more stashed away—bought in fits of her relentless optimism even as the rest of them had panicked. 

He was fingering the crib sheet, his fingers taking note of the soft jersey fabric and the stiff plastic texture of the mattress protector underneath, when the door to the cottage opened and a blast of unusually humid early fall air hit him. On it rode another scent: rich, earth, spice. The scent he’d known first as a vampire. The footsteps came only a short way over the threshold and then stopped, the slightly disjointed thought following quickly thereafter. 

Intruding…

It made sense. Even with all the space he had always been granted, the freedom to stay or go, to bring on his self destruction if he chose to, to return and be held and welcomed…the homes had never been his. Never before had the threshold of a door leading outside belonged only to Edward. 

That his father had stopped was so very characteristic of him.

“You can come in, Carlisle,” he said. 

At once, he was no longer alone in the room. After so many years, Carlisle’s senses felt like an extension of his own, and so Edward took in again the pant color, the delicate curvature of the wrought-iron crib, the plushness of the rug under their feet. Then came the emotions: surprise and pleasure and suddenly, a self-deprecating bashfulness.

Edward raised his eyebrows. 

“You’d think after eighty-five years I’d know not to doubt her,” Carlisle said, chuckling. When Edward said nothing, he added, “She wanted to do this as soon as you came home. I thought…” 

The terrible outcome flashed in Carlisle’s head for a moment, quickly shut down but not before Edward could see the whole thing play out. The funeral. The move. The cover story. 

“I’m sorry,” Carlisle muttered. 

A head shake. He hadn’t been wrong. Edward had worried all the same things, to such a greater depth. Bella’s life slipping from her and with it their child’s, and with that, surely his own. For a brief moment he was grateful that his father couldn’t read his mind, that he would not see how fervently focused Edward had been on the same self-destructive intent that had so tortured his parents scant months before. 

And yet his mother had ignored all that and had gone on what he felt sure had been a frantic spree of catalog and internet ordering, of trips to the True Value on the 101, to what must have been side excursions to Olympia and Seattle and perhaps even LA? She had been gone for a full forty hours at one point five days ago.

“Her optimism is so irritating,” Edward said under his breath, and his father guffawed. 

“It is, isn’t it?” A hand came to his shoulder. “And then on top of that she has to go and be right.” 

This time, they both laughed. 

Carlisle’s hand was as reassuring as it ever had been, and Edward let himself get lost for a moment in the breaths at his side. The same sound that had met him as he sat, internally panicking, four days ago, as his rational brain told him that yes, he’d made it in time, that yes, his wife’s heart was still beating. He had wanted to believe it, but he hadn’t been able to allow himself to until his father had returned.

He played that moment back now in his mind. Alice, his confidante, and his brothers–they had never held an infant and so within a few short hours he had grown accustomed to only handing the baby to Rosalie. He’d managed, therefore, to forget the centuries of birthing beds to which his father had attended, and so it had seemed strange, the utter naturalness with which Carlisle’s right hand had supported the tiny cervical spine and guided the rest of the stumpy body into the crook of his arm. So utterly fluid, as though holding his granddaughter was an everyday thing. 

That the cottage was out earshot of the main house had been the whole point in the first place, but Edward found himself anxiously searching the fleeting, minutes-old memories at the edges of Carlisle’s mind, reassuring himself that his daughter was still napping; that his wife and his sisters were still mapping out the latest round of “normal kid” photo album fakes; that Jacob Black was still standing sentinel at the back door. His father’s footsteps, descending from the back porch, carrying him lightly across the forest floor, both following Edward’s scent but also his own surety of where his son had gone, because he was on an errand…

Edward looked down to Carlisle’s other hand, now realizing this wasn’t merely an idle visit. “What is that?” 

Carlisle looked at him guiltily and held out his right hand. In it was a pile of fur which at first Edward took to be some small animal, but realized at once it couldn’t be for the scent, and then realized that no, it was a small animal but not the kind he thought. He took it from Carlisle, holding it up for inspection. The beaded eyes were slightly loose, one string of the smile had gone loopy as well, giving it a lopsided expression. Its body was jointed, the legs splayed at a strange angle, and he instinctively patted one of the arms back so that it matched its partner. The scents it carried with it were old: sawdust; long rancid cookie crumbs; a few flecks of dirt. An antique, he was sure. 

“Where did you get this?” 

His father shrugged. “Your attic.” 

His attic? Edward’s eyes cast upward, and he frowned.

“Not here,” Carlisle answered, his smile gentle. “The Chicago house.” 

Even at his full, vampiric processing speed, it took Edward a moment to understand. He ran his hand over the head of the bear, feeling the brittle, aged fur under the tips of his fingers. His brow furrowed. 

“How long have you had this?” he murmured.

His father coughed lightly. Nineteen twenty-five.  

Edward turned the bear over in his hands. Its scent was unfamiliar; its texture, too. Like so many things, it seemed whatever wisps of his memory existed for this remained almost completely obscured, and when he tried to grasp them more firmly, they scurried away into oblivion once more.  He ran his hand over the head, gripping it, knowing his hand was now too large to remember what it must have felt to hold this toy, but trying anyway.

And abruptly, the memories came. The corduroy paw, clutched in a small hand; the bear dangling from the fist of a copper-haired boy, hitting him at his bare knees between the hem of his shorts and the white socks pulled smartly up small calves. Sitting sentinel, staring over the bath, fur slightly dark from where it had endured some exuberant splashing, a gleefully naked boy giggling over the proliferation of bubbles. The fake fur, tangled with bits of tree bark and the pungent smell of sap, stuffed in its owner’s shirt as long arms and spindly legs spidered their way up a young birch. The bear, dressed up as a navy soldier; the boy taking aim with a toy gun over the back of a delicate sofa.Tucked in beside its owner, his face barely visible above the quilt, his cheeks full as his hair spilled over a flat pillow. 

A hand reached out. Adjusted the blanket over the boy’s shoulders. Stroked the unruly copper hair. Repositioned the bear so that it nestled more carefully under the small chin. Found its way to the boy’s back, stroking it. With it, a deep sense of satisfaction and pleasure as the hand’s owner watched the boy nestle into even deeper sleep. And beneath it all, there was a longing, searing sharpness of regret; a raw, stomach-churning grief for the boy and his bear and these lost times… 

“Carlisle…” was all Edward could manage, and what he knew now were not his memories abruptly disappeared. 

I’m sorry, came the mental voice, which, after a century, was almost as clear as his own. I didn’t mean to…

“This is why I didn’t know you had this,” Edward whispered. “Because you couldn’t endure these thoughts.” 

His father’s eyes closed as he nodded. And then Edward was seeing again the same image he himself had thought of, what–fewer than ten minutes ago? His father’s hand, splaying beneath his daughter’s neck, except that her face was different; her eyes much paler, the chin the same shape he saw in the mirror. 

It made sense, suddenly. For Rosalie, these sorts of thoughts came almost daily–the chubby baby boy with Emmett’s dimples and his curly dark hair. Esme’s were less frequent and more scattered; sometimes the older boy, a strange mix of her actual husband and Carlisle. Every now and then not her son at all, but other children–the family she had daydreamed of making some day with the handsome doctor she’d met as a teenager. Alice, who remembered nothing of her human life, never thought of children, but Jasper sometimes did: a girl with Alice’s dark hair in a single braid down her back beneath a wide brimmed hat as she sat astride a dappled gelding. 

But Carlisle’s thoughts of this nature had always been rare and when they did come, they seemed guarded; the face of the child obscured, the images fleeting. Sometimes, Edward had caught the edge of a nickname, the meaning of which was abruptly clear as day…

“Spaghetti,” he murmured. “It’s a rhyme.” 

The boy and the bear reappeared, the boy’s eyes casting from side to side anxiously even as a smile played on his lips. And then suddenly there was a thud of two heavy feet jumping out of the shadows and the roar of a grown man’s voice. The boy dissolved into shrieking giggles and took off running, the bear tagging beside him in one hand, slowing him down so that the man could catch up to him. The strong arms coming around the small waist and pulling the boy into the air. 

“I caught you, Eddie Spaghetti,” came the deep voice. “I caught you!” 

The boy kicked and shrieked and laughed, and the man laughed even more heartily. Edward pulled the bear to his chest with one hand as the thoughts faded back to the nursery. 

“It’s me,” he said, dumbly after a moment. “It’s always been…me.” 

The hand on his shoulder squeezed, and Edward heard the wet sound of the reluctant gulp as his father nodded. 

“Anyway.” Carlisle gestured to the crib and his voice was suddenly cool and professional. “The AAP would suggest you shouldn’t put it in there until we feel like she’s about whatever is going to be the equivalent of a year.” But she can play with it when she’s awake.

It was something Edward had inherited; this tendency to get clinical when he was on the edge of something overwhelming. The bear still clutched in his fist, he flung his arms around Carlisle, and took a deep, steadying breath. A moment later the embrace was returned, his father’s strong hand in the hair at the nape of his neck. 

“Thanks, Carlisle.” 

Just don’t waste this time, came the forceful thought, and then they were back in the imaginings so rich and detailed they felt like memories. Edward let his own thoughts wind around Carlisle’s. The copper-haired baby girl blended with the copper-haired baby boy. Bathtimes imagined, both ones in the past, and ones yet in the future. Toys from the turns of two centuries, expressions of wondering glee on two so-similar faces. 

Edward nodded. “I won’t waste it. I promise.” 

He placed the bear in the corner of the crib, and allowed his father’s arm to come over his shoulder once more. And together, they stood there in the brilliantly yellow nursery, just the two of them, together contemplating the wonder of two childhoods: the one lost forever to them both, and the one before them to behold.

Montage masterpost

[ironmandeficiency]

i miss sparkling

pairing: dieter bravo / reader

word count: 1234

summary: dieter is feeling himself after breaking off an unhealthy relationship and meets you, finding that you’re bejeweled just like him

a/n: the idea of dieter just strutting into the club post-breakup with the confidence of yung gravy has me on my knees. there’s VERY little dialogue in this, heads up

rummaging through his closet, dieter realized it had been far too long since he’d worn an outfit worthy of the vip sections of clubs he would frequent. for weeks, it’s been the same rotation of sweats and threadbare band tees from concerts he didn’t remember attending.

his excuses for basically yeeting himself off the deep end have no legs to stand on and he knew it. the lack of clean clothes? he has people on his payroll that could easily be goaded into washing a few loads. his regular haunts not having food he felt like eating? there have been at least two occasions where he brought an entire rotisserie chicken to the club and no one stopped him.

after weeks of moping and recovering from the heartbreak caused by the one who shall not be named, he was finally ready to face the world once again. most importantly, he was ready to face himself again. 

sadness became his whole sky once the truth came out, every painting he tried to throw himself into subconsciously tinted with sapphire. it made him throw out every shade of blue paint he owned in a fit of melancholic rage, wondering why why why did this happen as wet diamonds fell from his eyes.

he bathed for the first time this week and made it look like he put effort into taming his wily hair. in all honesty, he couldn’t remember the last time he wore underwear and putting a clean pair on felt oddly satisfying. he was putting himself back together piece by piece and damn was it refreshing.

dieter has been (slowly) getting clean for the past several months with help from his na sponsor, an army vet who could cook mean barbacoa. it was francisco who kept dieter from relapsing at the revelation of what the one who shall not be named did to him. he was the one who brought home-cooked meals and stayed to watch shitty action movies on the pretentious leather couch dieter planned on throwing out as soon as possible.

but he couldn’t remain a hermit for much longer if he wanted to keep his head on his shoulders, so going out was tonight’s plan.

the vip sections of his normal clubs would be crowded with people who would ask too many questions about what happened, and that was the last thing dieter needed. he just wanted to get drinks and dance his feet into nubs, so he found a place he’d never been and had his team feed false rumors to the paps about where he’d be.

tonight was about him.

░

work has been royally kicking your ass. there was always something going wrong, someone who took issue with how you ran things, and several ill-timed disasters in your personal life that almost had you pulling your hair out. your friends were sympathetic to your plight, but instead of encouraging you to curl up on the couch with a gallon of blue bell, they all but forced you to get ready for a night on the town.

of course, they wouldn’t be going with you. this was a night “destined” to be about you and you alone, about you taking much-needed time to recoup from the shitstorm your life has been lately. having other people come with you would only “inhibit the good vibes from focusing on you” and they couldn’t have that.

by the time the makeover fairies left your place, you were glammed up and genuinely excited for a fun night out. you were looking forward to dancing with strangers to loud music and having just enough to drink so your edges are just this side of blurred.

with a spring in your step, you get in your car and set your destination for your favorite club. the excitement is already flowing through your veins and you haven’t even pulled onto the highway. this was definitely what you needed.

░

dieter sent a quick text to francisco to check in before heading inside the club, a ritual dieter adopted early into their sponsor/sponsee friendship to hold him accountable. it worked for him; knowing that his friend cares about him works wonders to curb his now-seldom urges to use. upon telling him that he’s finally going out, francisco sends a congratulations and wishes him luck.

it’s a sign he was meant to be here when he realizes the dj is playing one of his favorite songs right as he walks through the door. he proudly struts to the bar, his easy confidence granting him a spot at the counter. he really is proud of himself, he thinks; enjoying and being himself again is progress.

he orders his usual and once it’s in front of him, he downs it in one gulp, eager to dance with the first person that piques his interest. the bass reverberates through him from the floor up and it gets him moving to the dancefloor with vigor. he has returned to himself and it’s an amazing feeling.

dieter suddenly feels like he’s surrounded by dozens of people like him who simply want to enjoy life while they can. all eyes are on him not because he’s an oscar-winning actor, but because he’s a diamond among playground pebbles, he’s the sun beckoning to the sunflowers in the fields. the combined energy of everyone in the room feeds his confidence in a way he hasn’t felt in a long time.

he’s dancing, basking in the flashing lights. all of his focus is on embracing these feelings and acting on his desire to find the happiness he’s missed. drinks are passed to him like offerings to the gods from devoted worshippers. nothing could bring him down, and he doesn’t think he could soar any higher.

then his eyes find yours and just like that, he’s among the stars.

you’re sitting at a table on the outskirts of the dancefloor, casually sipping your drink with an amused smile. there’s a fire in you that ignites the gasoline that flows freely through his veins. before he knows what he’s doing, his feet are carrying him towards your warm flame.

normally, when a man approaches you with that much confidence, they have one solitary goal: sex. that’s not what you’re looking for tonight and you’re about to tell this stranger to go away, but there’s something about him that makes it difficult to look away. you notice his outstretched hand and then he asks you to dance. just like that, you’ve been pulled into his orbit and onto the dancefloor with a laugh.

names are quickly exchanged before you’re both drowned out by the music.

what dieter lacks in skill he makes up for tenfold by his enthusiasm and the vibrance of his personality. all the attention was on the two of you, but you were oblivious, too focused on dieter and the shimmering of stray glitter on his sweat-kissed skin. this is what you’ve needed and it was exhilarating to share this moment with someone who understands.

he’s enchanted by you and the shared energy that carries him along the dancefloor. he missed sparkling the way he did before his world went to shit because of- no, he’s not important enough to remember. this is my night. his attention returns to the wide grin on your face, your aura absolutely sparkling like moonstone.

you’re bejeweled, just like him.