#diego: pick your poison

[scoutxbaker]

@diegooooreyes

Leave it to Scout and Diego to find trouble even in a lockdown scenario. There was only so much good behavior either was capable of exhibiting, so wandering off into the tunnels just made sense. Especially because Scout had managed to smuggle in some alcohol she had been saving for a rainy day. Well, it was currently pouring... fire, but it still counts! It hadn't taken much convincing to corral Diego into her little scheme, and now they were down some dark tunnel, the light of a flashlight guiding them down unfamiliar hallways. Twisting and turning until, finally, they landed at some enclave that would be ideal for a tiny bit of debauchery. There was enough light, too, that they wouldn't have to drink by the glow of a single flashlight. "Amazing, the greatest adventurers strike again." Scout flicked the flashlight off, and adjusted the bag off her shoulder. "Alright, bud, pick your poison, let's have some fun before they send us back up." Which would hopefully be sooner rather than later.

[whatislovevavy]

Tia Maria and Whiskey on the Rocks

Pairing: Jake 'Hangman' Seresin x OC (Cherry)

Masterlist

Author's Note: hey y'all, apologies for the extremely late posting, I've been going through some life transitions and finding time and motivation to write has been difficult, but here it is now :) This is part two of Most of Freedom and Of Pleasure, and is apart of @thedroneranger 's Pick Your Poison Writing Challenge with the prompt being Espresso Martinis I'm glad I got to include one of my favorite drinks with one of my favorite songs with a character I love writing for <3 I'm most likely going to do a third part with smut in it, so let me know if that would be something you lovely people would like to read :)

Warnings: Mentions of Smut, Fluff, Alcohol, Pilots catching feelings

WC: 5.2k

All of my writings will be added to my writing side blog @sophs-writing-nook 

This is an 18+ fanfic, so minors scoot pls. You are responsible for the media you consume. Do not copy, plagiarize, repost, or translate this fic without my explicit permission as it is my own creation. 

Goddamn it. 

You slid the end call button as Phoenix didn’t pick up, fighting with the raindrops that fell and streaked down your phone screen, and trying to keep your jacket secure around your frame that didn’t seem to be saving your red dress from being soaked by the rain. The overwhelming damp and cold feeling seeped into your scalp and made the floodgates that held your tears back crack and crumble all the more. 

You regretted this date, much more than all of the others. 

A shaky sigh left your lips, frustration, and anger forming its potent mix in your mind. 

You tried to keep your eyes on your phone and to stay calm; you didn’t need the people eyeing you on the sidewalk feeling sorry for you. They had nothing to feel sorry for anyway.  You were just a person that had a disaster of a date and was stuck out in the rain trying to get home. Absolutely nothing to feel sorry for. You huffed, tensing your jaw as you found cover under an awning of a bookstore. Trying not to look at anyone that gave you that characteristic look of pity as they walked by. Biting your lip, you contemplated calling the last number you wanted to be calling late on a Friday night. 

Just get it over with, you thought. 

You quickly tapped the call button next to the infuriating little contact icon. Biting into your lip harder, finding the puddle reflecting the San Diego city lights more appealing than attempting to meet any passerbyers gaze as each tone brought you closer to a ride home. Or the teasing of a lifetime. Maybe both. 

“Cherry.”

That familiar silk laced drawl made you shut your eyes and wish anyone else had picked up when you called. But alas, here you were.

“Wasn’t expectin’ to hear from you. I thought you were busy entertainin’ what’s his name, Dylan? Derrick?” 

The humor in his voice brought a hot surge of frustration to the tips of your fingers as you gripped your phone harder, jaw tensing. 

“Look, I’m not in the mood for this right now…” Your voice losing its bite, but only by a little, “I’ve had a really shitty night, and,” you took a shaky breath, the frustration of the evening coming in full force on your psyche, “I need a ride home.” Jake's teasing grin wilted. You never would have called him, unless it was serious. He licked his lower lip, turning to look back at his friends finishing up a game of pool from the corner near the bathrooms, the steadily growing chatter in the bar making it more difficult to hear you as the seconds passed. He rubbed the back of his neck, swallowing. “Ok, sit tight, sweets. I'll come get you, you're still at Benny’s?” 

Your eyebrows furrowed. That’s…odd. You never told him where you were going. The wind and rain made you pull your jacket tighter around yourself. The evening rain makes you shiver, jaw chittering. Taking a deep breath, “yeah, I'm outside,” eyes diverting from the passing traffic to the worn, gold tinged cursive on the window, “Clara’s bookstore.“Your eyes trained on the rain soaked overhead awning dripping to the sidewalk in front of your painted toes peeking from your heels as you waited for his response. 

Jake's eyebrows furrowed, eyes diverting from his phone screen to the rain streaked windows facing the beach. That's a decent walk from where you ate, he thought, eyebrows raising. Must've been quite a guy to make you leave early. And in the pouring rain, no less.

“I'll be there soon, Cher. Are you somewhere safe? Somewhere out of the rain?”

If you didn't know any better, you'd say the insufferable, look-out-for-number-one-only, selfish, arrogant  Jake ‘Hangman’ Seresin, who spent each free moment he wasn't peacocking around base, making your nerves burn and fray, sounded concerned about your well being. 

As soon as Jake heard your dreary, evidently rain soaked confirmation, he opted out of the game, forcing Bob to take his place with little to no explanation besides that  a commitment came up,”  striding down the Hard Deck steps to his parked truck. 

He's not ditching you. He wouldn't do that. You repeated what felt like mantras as the minutes ticked by. Hot tears started to brew at the corners of your eyes. You clutched your now soaked jacket over your dress, your toes sinking into the soggy faux leather of your heels as you leaned back against the concrete column of the closed store. The amber overhead lights making warped reflections in the puddles of the buildings and cars passing by.

Your breathing was ragged as you felt the familiar flames of frustration lick at your brain, something that had only stopped when Jake said he was going to go come get you. 

You felt so stupid. Wearing this dress. These heels. Your smudged make-up that, at one point, looked presentable. You just wanted to go home and eat a pint of ice cream. 

God, why hadn't Phoenix picked up?

You clenched your eyes in frustration, a rigid breath leaving your throat as you leaned your head back against the column. 

The familiar hum of Jake's truck brought your teary gaze up to the almost barely visible silhouette in the driver's seat. 

Jake's door flew open, jogging with a jacket clutched in hand. Your eyes widened as he got closer to you, wrapping you up in his jacket. 

By the time he reached you, his hair was drenched, now a more dull golden hue. His charm remained, unfortunately, in the city’s downpour. 

“Come on sweets, let's get you inside.” Your mouth parted slightly. The sight of his shirt clinging to his biceps and broad shoulders, and the subtle scent of sweat, his natural musk, and rain almost made you miss his statement. 

His rich jade eyes traced the soft reflection of the street light off of your soaked hair, to your smudged make up, to the drenched portions of your dress and jacket to your slight shiver you were evidently trying to repress. 

His lips curved into a slight frown. You didn't deserve to be treated this way on a date. Especially not when you looked so-

His eyes returned to your deep brown ones, undertoned by your smudged mascara, finding them already on his; sharper than a moment ago, daring him to pity you. 

He carefully wrapped his jacket tighter around your shoulders, guiding you to the passenger door of his truck, headlights still blinding, and refracting with the incoming rain.

The car ride was silent except for the quiet sounds from the radio. Jake would take occasional glances your way at stop lights, but your gaze remained on the road ahead; head leaned against the side rest of his car, body still wrapped in his jacket. You had to stop yourself from unintentionally cocooning yourself deeper into it. 

“You want me to drop you off at your apartment?” 

You glanced at him, “yeah.” 

His frown curved deeper. Your tone lacked the usual spitfire attitude you always bared him, instead replaced by a sense of accepted defeat. A few beats of silence passed before Jake cleared his throat. “This Dylan guy must've been some date…you want to talk about it?” Your lip quirked up a bit. His name was Derrick, but you didn't have the heart to correct him. 

You adjusted closer to the side of the passenger seat, leaning your head on the window. 

“Not really.” 

There was that same defeated tone again, the one that made Jake's heartache in a way he had never felt before for you. Or for anyone for that matter. 

Jake brought his truck from a coast to a stop in front of your apartment building. His comforting gaze settled on your face, gaze still avoiding his. “Thanks for the ride home.” Your cherrywood eyes met his, giving him a tight smile before grabbing your purse, soaked coat, and leaving his jacket on the leather seat. His frown deepened, jaw tensing a bit as he watched you open his truck door. How dare this pathetic excuse of a man bring you to this state, a complete 180 to how he saw you every day since he met you. 

“Wait,” you looked back towards him, expecting some usual hangman-esque comment that would surely make you throw your soaked shoe at him. “Look, Hangman, I appreciate the ride home, but I'm not in the mood to sleep with you as a ‘thank you’.” His eyebrows pinched. Did you really think that low of him? And in that same defeated tone? “That,” he sighed, “that’s not what I was going to say,” he reassured, pushing his hair back with his hand. Opposing hand still on the steering wheel, watch gleaming in the glow of the radio. 

“Let me buy you some food and a drink, I know you like the Cajun fries at that bar downtown.” 

You were taken aback by the offer. Frankly, you weren't in the mood if this was a joke. “It'd be my treat,” he lightly pressed with a comforting tone. You bit the inside of your lip, examining his face for any sign of ill intent, but you found nothing in his warm sea glass eyes or the defined features of his nose and jaw. 

Cajun fries sounded nice. 

Really nice.

And a drink sounded even better. 

“Plus, I heard your stomach grumbling so you can't lie to me.”  A smile almost broke out across your lips. 

Almost. 

“I don't know, Hang,” you sighed.  The thought of snuggling up on your couch in a warm blanket, with a pint of ice cream and watching some trash reality show sounded appealing. But you were hungry and you had yet to go grocery shopping. And you had no booze.

“I promise, I'll make it worth your while…” 

You bit your lip, “a drink does sound really nice…”

His lips twitched into a smile, eyes twinkling. 

“Don't make me regret this, Hang…”the familiar spark in your voice slowly returned, making his heart skip a beat, “let me just change shoes first.” You grimaced as you remembered just how soaked your shoes were as the rain finally let up. 

“Wouldn't dream of it, Sweets,” he reassured as you left him towards your front door, a concealed smile on your face that cracked with each stride to your door. He let his eyes skim from your bare back to your concealed hips with an appreciative gaze as the red material of your dress flowed around your bare thighs. His view closed off as you shut your front door. 

You let your eyes drift across the interior of the bar at your booth, leaning your cheek on your hand. Jake had left you at the booth to get you a drink. You tried to give him a request, but he left before he could hear you. At least whatever concoction he brought you would be free. You let your eyes drift shut, listening to the sound of the bar top and the music player in the corner. 

“One Tia Maria Espresso Martini for the lovely lady, and the fries are on their way.” You opened your eyes to see the almost onyx colored elixir with a layer of frothy foam in the glass, a triage of espresso beans that looked almost weightless on the foam layer. 

How did he know this was your favorite? You had never ordered them at Penny’s since she didn't have Tia Maria. You looked at him, eyebrows raised, expecting some sort of explanation for how he knew about this. 

“I remember you tried to order one of these at Penny's and thought you'd like it,” he said with a subtle tone of shyness, like he was apprehensive that he had overstepped, making your eyebrows knit together.

“I don't fully understand why you like them,” he teased, stirring his whiskey on the rocks in his glass, an effortlessly charming smile beginning to form on his lips, “but it makes sense.” 

Your eyes narrowed at his playful ones, “what's that supposed to mean?” 

He leaned back against the booth, eyes tracing the pretty features of your face and caramel skin tone, the neon lights above your seat adding to the gleam of your wavy, soft, dark hair. 

Taking a sip from his glass, you tried to focus on his face and not the subtle bob of his adam’s apple as he took a warming sip of the amber liquid. 

“You're kind of an acquired taste,” he took another sip, “bitter, but have a sweet side deep down.” Your eyes narrowed, “I'm not an acquired taste, you're just annoying and insufferable 99% of the time, so you never see my sweet side,” you clipped, eyes slowly sharpening. His lip quirked. To anyone else it would seem like you hated his guts. But he knew better, knew you better. He playfully put his hand over his heart, “Oh, Sweets, annoying and insufferable? You wound me.”  You rolled your eyes, a smile slipping around the rim of your martini glass. The bittersweet elixir flowing down your throat. His grin widened, “there's that smile,” he teased. Before you could quip him back, the root of your culinary desire was placed on the table with a soft tap and a gentle "enjoy" from the waitress. The savory, warm smell of the spices and fries almost made you moan, only now realizing just how hungry you were. You had left your date just as you were barely through your starting salad. 

“Easy there, Sweets, don't want you to choke,” he teased, giving you a wink.

You rolled your eyes at the poorly disguised innuendo, “don't tell me how to eat my fries, Bagman.” 

He barely held back his laugh at what was essentially a growl. He contemplated telling you that technically they were his fries, but he opted to keep them to himself. If having three sisters had taught him anything, it's to never get between a woman and her food. 

A comfortable silence fell over the table as he glanced around the bar and back to you, still picking at your fries. Eyes tracing over the defined round edges of your sinful red colored nails that he tried to not think about how they would feel pressed into his shoulder blades, to your necklace that dipped teasingly between your breasts. The subtle rise of your chest. The sprinkle of freckles and gentle flutter of your eyelashes on your cheeks. The touched-up mascara on your eyelashes. The soft flush of your cheeks. The cute curve of your nose. The gentle slope of your lips. 

“You listening?”

His eyes shot to your own, his face a bit pink after having been caught. 

“Of course, Sweets,” 

Your eyes narrowed as you put your fry down in the basket, scoffing. 

“I asked,” you leaned forward, arms crossing on the table, his eyes doing their damnedest to not dart down to your cleavage, “why you brought me here, because I don't buy it was only because my stomach was making noises.”

Your tone wasn't sharp or accusatory, but it still put him a bit on edge. 

He took a deep breath through his nose, trying to get comfortable in his seat. You had a habit of putting him on edge, but in a way that made him crave more. It was almost adrenaline inducing. 

“Just wanted to treat you a little, that not allowed?” 

His collected, charismatic answer made you narrow your eyes. 

“You're not a very good liar.”

His lip quirked into a grin, diverting his gaze down to his empty glass before bringing his warm eyes up to your own again. His grin settling into a thin line. It wasn't exactly a lie.

“I didn't want you to wallow on your couch thinking about that Danny guy. You don't deserve to feel that way.” 

Your eyebrows rose, lip quirking. That definitely wasn't the answer you were expecting and it was still the wrong name, again. 

His eyes dart away from yours to the bar top. Clearing his throat, “you want another martini?”

You blink, breaking your thoughts, toying with the empty glass,  “yeah, I'll take another.”

Your eyes followed the way his body moved under his button up shirt that exposed a delicious amount of chest hair, and his worn, rich burnt sienna leather jacket. The way his stride exuded a rare sense of carefree confidence. The broadness of his shoulders under his jacket. The thickness of his fingers around the delicate glass of your martini. The way his golden locks of hair reflected the overhead lights of the bar and various neon signs on the wall you both were seated at. 

It made you almost forget that you knew what it felt like to have his bare skin against your own. It made you forget, for just a moment, that you’d been fucking this man with no strings attached. 

“Here you are, Sweets,”His smooth drawl derailed your train of thought that would have surely made you clench your thighs. 

He placed the martini on the table with an almost silent clank against the table, eyes bright and playful, the rich green color added by the neon cloverleaf above his head. 

Your lip quirked, “thank you…. You know I don't like it when you call me, Sweets, Hang.”

A smirk grew on his lips, “I think it suits you,” his gentle gaze on yours. 

You scowled, trying to repress the smile that threatened to break through. He didn't need more encouragement to call you these…you wanted to say demeaning titles, but that felt a bit cruel. It was more like a pet name, a source of teasing that wore your nerves down faster than any other trick he had in his well developed arsenal. He'd always been something akin to a wart. Once you caught him, he was hard to leave. 

“Fries any good?”

You looked down to the near-empty basket to his teasing features.  A small smile broke through as you gently pushed the basket to him. After all, he did pay for them.

You watched as he took a few and brought them between his perfect teeth, eyes darting between the sight of him dipping a few more in ketchup, to picking at your red manicured nails. A comfortable silence fell over the table and quiet conversation followed, from what plans were set for their work colleagues to hang out next, to whether Bob was going to ask Admiral Simpson’s new secretary out.

“I don’t think he’s gonna do it.” Jake said confidently as he leaned back against the booth, his arm over the back, his other hand holding his near empty glass of whiskey. Your eyebrows rose, feeling a bit more loose and warm since first sitting down, mostly attributed to the fact you were finishing up your third martini. You cracked a smile, eyes comfortably heavy, “you don’t know Floyd very well then.” His eyebrows rose, encouraging you to go on. You leaned forward, eyes bright and intense, just how Jake liked them, “you do know what Bob stands for don’t you?” His lip quirked, eyes bright and mirthful, “of course, baby on board.” You took a sip from your glass, rolling your eyes at his typical cocksure tone, “No, it stands for…” His brow quirked waiting for you to finish, his grin starting to form as he watched your eyes dance across the ceiling looking for the words in your impaired state. 

You leaned forward closer across the table, putting your pointer fingers up, biting at the inside of your cheek, losing your battle with the grin that wanted to gleam on your face, “it stands for Big Ol’ Balls.” His own laughter bubbled up in his throat as he watched you crumble into near hysterics at what had just left your mouth. 

His laughter settled while yours continued, failing to do anything else but just listen to the sweet noise. He had heard your laugh before, but he’d never had any significant part of bringing it out of you. He let a smile grace his lips at the sweet noise. As your laughter died down, he let his eyes wander to the jukebox in the corner and the thinning out crowd at the bar. He bit the inside of his cheek, the creases of his forehead showing as he listened to the song emulating from the speakers. 

“Do you wanna dance?” Jake asks, not fully thinking about the question. 

Your espresso martini almost did a full stop in your throat. Tonight had been a series of firsts with Hangman; sharing fries, him buying you drinks, and seeing you in your romantic element. Dancing together was an oddly intimate first. Sure, you’d both fucked each other’s brains out almost every other day, but dancing, well, dancing was something that seemed to be a step further than that. It didn’t involve a physical closeness attributed to taking your frustrations out on each other; it was two people flowing together, not trying to wrack each other’s physical resolve. It completely contradicted the original purpose of getting physically close to this insufferable, arrogant man; an outlet for pent up frustration through deeply satisfying, carnal escapades. 

Before you could stop yourself, you nodded. 

He rose up out of the booth first with a squeak, offering you his hand. Your deep brown eyes looking up at him, then darting to his outstretched hand, your lips parting. 

This was new, uncharted territory.

“I promise I won’t bite,” he reassured with a smile. He tried to not think about the way your red dress hugged your curves so deliciously, or how your cleavage almost spilled over the top of your garment. You had already had three martinis, and were definitely feeling the effects of them. He didn’t want to make you feel pressured into anything that you both typically took part in when you were this close physically. But he still wanted to be close to you. 

You bit the inside of your lip and, for reasons only God could tell you, you took his hand. 

He led you to the corner near the jukebox that was otherwise mostly emptied out. The beginning of England Dan and John Ford Coley’s I'd really love to see you tonight flowed from the speakers as Jake settled his hands on your waist, your own apprehensively around his neck, keeping your body upright as you let the initial beats flow through you in your relaxed state. His evergreen eyes traced over your melted brown ones, admiring the subtle flush of your cheeks to your low, lidded eyes. 

Hello, yeah, it's been a while

Not much, how about you?

Your eyes darted around his face, avoiding his eyes that seemed to solely focus on your own. His hands squeezed your hips. In attraction or comfort, you couldn’t quite tell. 

I'm not sure why I called

I guess I really just wanted to talk to you

You should have felt more alarmed by the close proximity and unorthodox reason behind it, but, and you didn’t want to admit it, the proximity felt nice. Maybe it was because of the drinks? It had to be  because of the drinks.

And I was thinking maybe later on

We could get together for a while

One of his hands left your hip to softly, ever so softly, to lift your chin up to meet his eyes. “What are you getting shy about?” The gentle smirk on his lips paired perfectly with his rich green eyes.

It's been such a long time

And I really do miss your smile

You swallowed, eyes trapped in a jade coated trance. “I think I just had too much to drink.” His lip quirked at your soft, almost whispered tone, holding you as you both swayed to the music. He knew you could hold more alcohol, but didn’t press. 

I'm not talking about moving in

And I don't want to change your life

He brought you closer to him, resting his head against the side of your own. Savoring the soft smell of citrus from your hair and the warm skin of your lower back against the palm of his hand, and the silk texture of your hand in his own. 

But there's a warm wind blowing, the stars are out

And I'd really love to see you tonight

This felt like the most alien and natural thing he had done with you. It almost made him forget that within only the last few hours, he was fucking you against the hunter green lockers, feeling you cum on his cock. 

We could go walking through a windy park

Or take a drive along the beach

He tried to not ruin the delicate moment he was having with you, and he figured his dick pressing into you might make you forget about all the good the night has brought between you two. A larger part of him than he cared to admit didn’t want to go back to the no-strings-attached arrangement he’d had with you for the past few months. 

Or stay at home and watch TV

You see it really doesn't matter much to me

He wanted more moments like this with you. But he could feel the apprehension that, as much as he didn’t want to admit, was mostly attributed to his reputation. In the months since first feeling you fall apart under him, he hadn’t slept with anyone else. Not even the desperate tag chasers in form-fitting maxi dresses at the Hard Deck. And that had to count for something. 

I'm not talking about moving in

And I don't want to change your life

He couldn’t help the pang in his chest; you were definitely open to dating other men. Could he really change your mind about him? 

But there's a warm wind blowing, the stars are out

And I'd really love to see you tonight

You had to admit, if someone had told you months ago that you would be slow dancing with Hangman in a nearly empty bar, and you wouldn't be trying to claw his throat out, you would have told them they’d been breathing in too much jet fuel. As much as you hated to admit it, it felt nice and, dare say, comforting being here with him. 

I won't ask for promises

So you don't have to lie

The soft texture of his jacket, warm hold, and soothing scent around his neck made you sigh. It was different from his usual mix of jet fuel, sweat, bergamot, and cedarwood. A part of you really hated how anything looked good on him and that he smelled amazing in whatever scent wafted off of him. 

We've both played that game before

Say I love you and say goodbye

“I’m sorry your date didn’t go well tonight,” You gently leaned back from his head, eyes meeting his own. Your eyes drooped comfortably as you looked over his face, trying to detect any sense of pity or ridicule. But all you found were warm, soulful, malachite eyes looking back into your burnt sienna ones under the neon lights. If your mind was clearer, you’d say it was romantic. But this was Hangman, and what he did best was no-commitment hookups in the dead of night. Not romance. It would take more than three martinis to make you forget that. 

I'm not talking about moving in

And I don't want to change your life

“Yeah, me too,” you muttered before leaning your head back on his shoulder. He swallowed gently, afraid that the movement would disturb you. 

But there's a warm wind blowing, the stars are out

And I'd really love to see you tonight

Jake continued to hold you close as slow songs continued to ebb and flow from the speaker, one after the other; trying to not let his mind drift to how this would play out tomorrow in your more sober mind, until he could feel your weight grow heavier against his body as you swayed gently. 

“Hey, Sweets,” he whispered against your hair. You hummed, eyes fluttered closed. “I should get you home.” You hummed in agreement, not having the strength to fight him on the pet name. Your sequoia-colored eyes peeking open, making him smile. 

He settled the tab, placing his leather jacket around your shoulders that wrapped you in warmth and the soothing smell of cedarwood and cinnamon. 

He walked you back to his truck, opening the door for you and making sure you were settled before closing the door. 

The car ride back was silent as you tried to stay awake, listening to the slow country song on the radio, your eyes drifting shut. The smooth stall of the truck made your eyes flutter open. Jake gently reached out to you, gingerly rubbing the knuckle of his forefinger against your exposed forearm to get your attention. You flinched at the unexpected, soft, almost non-existent contact, body tensing. “We’re here, Sweets,” his gentle tone letting your body ease back into the seat. 

Before your mind thought to open the door, he was already on the other side opening it for you, and offering you his hand to step down. It was truly unfair how good he looked under the streetlights outside your apartment, with his unbuttoned shirt, sunglasses hooked in the front, and slightly disheveled hair. It made you wonder how you came to hate this man in the first place. But then again, hate was a strong word and maybe he didn’t deserve to have it placed on him. Maybe it was only because of the three espresso martinis he bought you, tinting your vision of who he was tonight. 

Jake didn’t ask if you wanted him to walk you to your door. He held your hand gently in a way that seemed unusual for him as he walked with you up the stone steps to your front door. “Thanks for tonight. I really needed it.” His face broke out into a soft, sincere smile, “anytime, Cherry.” Your lips tugged into a smile, diverting your eyes to the house keys in your hand. His eyes couldn't stop drawing to the strand of dark hair that kept getting in your eyes. Your gaze shot to him as he let his forefinger sweep the hair behind your ear. 

“You deserve to have fun every once in a while.”He murmured, eyes tracing over the fine features of your face and the rich color of your hair under the porch light. His soft eyes brought a certain warmth that you'd never experienced with him. 

You gave him a smile, as you fiddled with your keys, fighting off the blush that threatened to break through. 

“Do you think,” you swallowed, “that you could not tell anyone about my really shitty date?” Jake, putting on a small smile, nodded, “yeah, of course, Sweets. I mean, I think I did a pretty good job at rectifying the experience.” 

His gentle, carefree smirk made your lip tip up into a small smile and shake your head. 

You let go of his hand, resisting to admit that you missed the contact already. 

“I’ll see you on Monday, Hang,” you bid farewell. 

He watched with a gentle smile and warm eyes as you closed the door behind you, giving him a soft wave. 

His lips pursed, morphing back into a smile as he walked back to his truck. The night seemed to fulfill him more than all of your trysts combined.

It had to count for something that you didn't ask him to never mention your... date? if he could even call it that...

You leaned back against your shut front door, a smile on your lips that he had never brought past your lips. 

Maybe it was only because of the three espresso martinis and this haze would lift in the morning, and he’d go back to being Hangman. 

Or maybe, just maybe, he truly wasn't as bad as you thought. 

People who may be interested <3

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[beyondthesefourwalls]

The Great Escape

Summary: All you wanted on your wedding day was some time alone with your new husband. Luckily for you, Javy was more than game to make an escape and has just the hiding place in mind.

Pairing: Javy Machado x Reader (no use of y/n)

Word Count: 1.4K 

Warnings: Suave Javy and fluff for days. 

Notes: Back on my Javy agenda. Written for @thedroneranger's pick your poison challenge, with one of the prettiest boards I’ve ever seen. I’m so excited to be able to post it on her birthday of all days! 

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You couldn’t contain your giggles as you slipped out of the ballroom, the sound of laughter, clinking glasses, and early 2000’s hip hop quieting as the ornate doors closed. All of your loved ones remained behind it, celebrating and more than halfway drunk from the open bar. But you and Javy craved a moment alone, and you were determined to get it, even if it meant sneaking out in the middle of an orchestrated dance battle Jake had agreed to start on your behalf. 

One hand held the skirt of your dress up as the other was held firmly in his as you hurried down the long hallway, the sound of your heels clicking against the pristine granite floors mixing with both of your laughter. 

“Hurry, hurry, hurry,” you urged, picking up your pace. Your mother hadn’t been far away from you all night, and you knew without a doubt she would notice you missing immediately and go looking for you. Like you thought it into existence, the door to the hotel ballroom opened just as you rounded the corner, Javy skidding in his shiny black shoes as he tried to keep pace with you without losing his grip on either your hand or the chilled bottle of Prosecco he had swiped from the bartender on your way out. You picked up into something closer to a sprint as she started calling your name. 

You made a split-second decision and veered off into a stairwell, the heavy metal door hitting against the walls and echoing in the space. Javy’s body pushed yours into the cold, tiled wall, shushing you quietly even as he struggled to contain himself. You tried to stifle your echoing giggles, hoping to remain hidden. You both held your breath at the sound of clicking heels right outside the door, but once they passed by and didn’t return, you burst into more laughter. 

“Wanna hang out here for a minute?” you asked, leaning against the wall as you caught your breath. Javy looked at you with a warm glint in his dark eyes, his lips curved into a smile just for you. The dim light filtering through the narrow windows cast gentle shadows on his face, and you could see when the look turned mischievous. 

“I have a better idea. Come on, Mrs. Machado. Hike up that skirt, we’re going up.” 

You squealed when he slapped your butt playfully, but the name sent a thrill through you that you didn’t even try and hide. You followed him up the stairs, your dress once again bunched in your hands. By the time you made it to the top, there were tears in your eyes from how hard the two of you laughed as you tripped over the material more than once. 

“Why did I wear a ballgown?” you panted as Javy pushed open the door to the roof. He snorted, and the two of you spoke at the exact same time when you said: 

“Your mother.” 

“My mother.” 

You laughed again as you stepped out onto the rooftop terrace, the cool night air hitting your flushed cheeks and providing a welcome respite from the chaos of the wedding reception. The San Diego city skyline twinkled around you as you took a deep breath of fresh air, taking it all in.  The night breeze tousled your hair as you stood there, reveling in the stolen moment of solitude and embracing the peace that came along with it. It was the first time you had been alone with Javy since you slipped the new piece of hardware on his finger and said I do just a few short hours ago. 

He wrapped his arms around you from behind, the cool bottle of the prosecco still clutched in his right hand chilling you when it bumped against your arm. "Mrs. Machado," Javy whispered against your ear, his voice filled with tenderness. He peppered gentle kisses along your neck, sending shivers down your spine. You tilted your head to the side, savoring the sensation as he continued to shower you with his affection. 

“I love the sound of that,” you admitted freely. 

Javy hummed in response, turning you in his arms so that you were facing him. He looked down at you with that same devastatingly handsome smile you fell in love with the moment you met him. He brushed a kiss across your painted lips, soft and sweet and not nearly enough for what you wanted. “Me too.” He leant his forehead against yours for just a moment, savoring the feeling. When he pulled away, he smirked at you and held up the bottle in his hand. 

“Feel like popping this with me?” 

“God yes,” you nearly moaned. 

His eyes were fixed on yours as he carefully twisted the wire cage off of the bottle. The anticipation in the air was palpable as he held it at an angle, and with a swift motion, he twisted the cork and a loud pop echoed through the night air. Neither of you had taken into account all the running you had done to get to your rooftop destination so when the bubbles frothed over the rim, cascading down onto your hands and his, you both laughed in surprised delight, jumping away from the overflow. 

“Smooth,” you joked, “you’re a regular casanova.” 

Your husband winked dramatically, shaking off some of the excess liquid from his hand. “You know it, baby. To us,” he toasted, taking a swig before handing you the sticky bottle. 

“To us.” 

The taste of prosecco danced on your tongue as you took a sip, savoring both the sweetness and the moment you were having it in. You passed the bottle back and forth as you leant against the railing of the rooftop. Javy pulled you closer, his arm draped around you, pressing your body to his. 

"I can't believe we did it," he said, his voice filled with awe. "We're married now."

You smiled up at him, feeling your heart swell. You couldn’t quite believe it either. "I know. It still feels surreal."

He pressed a gentle kiss to your forehead, sighing. "I couldn't be happier, Mrs. Machado."

"Me either, Mr. Machado," 

His eyes sparkled with a mix of love and adoration as he leaned in, his lips ghosting over yours in a teasing caress. The taste of bubbles lingered on his breath, intoxicating you even more than what was in the bottle. You melted into his embrace, wrapping an arm around his neck and deepening the kiss. Javy’s hands wandered down your back, his touch igniting a fire within you. You gasped against his lips as his fingers traced the delicate curve of your spine, sending electric currents through your body. The taste of the wine mingled with the heat of your kiss, creating a heady blend that you wanted to bottle up and keep forever.

Time seemed to stand still for a moment, the world around you fading away into a blur of lights and distant laughter. It was just the two of you, the way both of you preferred. 

When your lips finally parted, Javy's eyes locked with yours, full of an intensity that took your breath away. His voice was husky as he whispered against your mouth, “What are the chances we can go down and say our goodbyes and ditch the rest of the party?” 

Your heart raced at the suggestion, unable to resist the allure of being alone with him. But you huffed out a laugh, absolutely knowing better.  “You’ve met your new mother-in-law, right? We probably have ten more minutes max up here before she threatens to call the police and send out a search party.” 

He groaned, cursing under his breath, though you knew it was playful. “Well, you know what that means then.” 

You arched a perfectly sculpted eyebrow, scratching lightly at the back of his neck as you waited for him to elaborate. 

A mischievous smile played on Javy’s lips and he pulled you impossibly closer with a hand on your back while the other covered the one holding the bottle of prosecco, raising it. He took a sip before speaking, the look in his eye wicked in the best of ways. “We have ten minutes to finish this bottle, and I have ten minutes to kiss your lipstick off so that everyone knows exactly what we’ve been up to.”  

You giggled happily just as he kissed you, and you thought the taste of the sparkling wine would never taste as good from a bottle as it did from his lips. 

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Main Masterlist

Notes: Happy Birthday, Jay! I hope I did Coyote Casanova justice for you💚

Thanks to @roosterforme and @mak-32 as per usual!

[startrekfangirl2233-writes]

Firebird

A Natasha 'Phoenix' Trace Origin Story

Slight Natasha 'Phoenix' Trace / Jake 'Hangman' Seresin

Description: Natasha Trace is used to being marveled and stared at. She's the only woman in her flight class. For the most part, the staring only leads to occasional requests to join the remainder of her cohort for drinks at the nearest bar to base. She always refuses. Her COs have enough to say about her without resorting to the usual criticisms of her gender, which going to a bar would garner.

But Natasha's only human. When she seeks out a bar to get drunk where nobody knows her name, she's surprised to find the one man she never wanted to see off base dropping into the seat next to her. The conversation that follows changes her life and gives her a callsign.

Warnings: Mysogyny, Discussions of Strength and Power as a woman in a male-dominated field

A/N: Hi everyone! Nice to see you here! I wrote this fic for @thedroneranger's Pick Your Poison Challenge to accompany her fabulous Phoenix Cocktail Moodboard Grit & Glam. I wanted to explore a headcanon of how Jake gave Phoenix her callsign and ended up venturing slightly into Hannix territory. I hope you all love it! The italicized lyrics at the end are from the song Firebird by Galantis.

AO3: Cross-posted here!

Wattpad: Cross-posted here!

My Masterlist

“Oh, come on, Trace.” This, she’s used to. It’s what she gets when she’s the only woman in her flight school class. “It’s just a few drinks tonight!”

It’s the overly insistent, ridiculously charming blond man who’s asking her that Natasha’s not used to. Seresin, at least she thinks that’s his name, asks her to go out with the rest of the class every night despite her refusals. 

“It’s not happening, Seresin.” She keeps her tone light and her eyes on the NATOPS she’s rifling through and making notes on. After all, there’s no denying that Seresin is easy on the eyes, with his green eyes and shining blond hair, broad shoulders, and muscular physique. Maybe in another life, she’d have fallen for the lines he feeds girls at the bar hook, line, and sinker. But in this life, she wants to be a Naval Aviator, wants to be the best of the best. No six-foot blond is going to stop her, not when she’s so close.

“C’mon, Trace. It’s just one night of drinks.” He sounds oddly frustrated at her lack of response. “You don’t have to be so frigid all the time, you know? What’s one round of drinks amongst friends and colleagues?”

“Well, Seresin,” Her voice is sardonic and a little sarcastic as she packs up her notebook and her NATOPS. “There’s nothing wrong with a round of drinks amongst friends and colleagues. But you’re neither of them. So I have to say no. Goodnight, Seresin.”

Her voice is just loud enough, cutting enough, that the others hear from the huddle they're in on the other side of the room. They're ooh-ing and aww-ing and ribbing Seresin with every iota of their limited intelligence as she sweeps out of the room. Of course, Natasha also hears the way one of the others, Williams or maybe Monroe, calls her an ice-hearted bitch, but that's nothing she hasn't heard before. Seresin is awfully quiet, and she's sure he would normally have joined in on their censure of her if she hadn't seen the small flicker of hurt that wafted through those crystalline green eyes as she swept out of the room.

She can't figure out why he's so adamant about her socializing, though. It’s not as if Natasha is a stranger to having fun. Once upon a time, when she was a young tomboy, she used to sneak out to bars and other unsavory establishments and party all night long. It had been fun roaming around wild in the hot, sticky San Diego summers, dangling out of an old Pontiac Firebird. She’d slept half-naked under the stars, smoked hand-rolled cigarettes, and drunk too much alcohol. Of course, joining the Navy had put a stop to that kind of reckless, foolish, youthful abandonment. 

It still doesn’t explain Seresin’s behavior. He’s never once attempted to be cordial or nice or even kind for the entire time she’s known him. All Natasha knows is that Jake Seresin is filled with the same urge to be the best that she is. It’s a conundrum that she turns over in her mind late that night and in any spare moment in which her brain isn’t being crammed full of more flying techniques and NATOPS sections. The same conundrum seems to be captivating Seresin as well. Each day for their classes, he takes the seat behind or near hers and spends the time boring a hole into the back of her regulation slicked-back bun or into the side of her face. She spends the week with the heat of his gaze prickling across the back of her neck and distracting her thoroughly.

That’s the only reason why she fucks up on Friday afternoon. It’s supposed to be an easy maneuver. It’s one she’s had swimming in front of her eyes whether she’s awake or asleep. But she messed up. Others in her cohort messed up on the hop, too. But of course, it’s Natasha who’s standing at parade rest facing down their CO as he spits in her face all of the reasons why a woman isn’t talented or determined enough to fly a fighter jet. It’s the snickering Natasha can hear in the background from the others, which has her spine straightening. It shouldn’t be so common to be lambasted over every mistake just because of your gender. But there’s a reason why so few women in the armed forces are aviators. There’s a reason why Natasha has faced only one of these particular dressing-downs only once in her career prior to today. But nothing her CO is saying can even touch the dressing down she’s giving herself.

When she’s dismissed, she stomps her way into the ladies’ locker room and tries her best not to sob where anyone important can hear it. The deluge of hot water drums over her head and beats her stiff muscles into some form of flexibility, but it doesn’t beat the whiff of failure from her skin. She stands under the deluge until her fingers prune and the water cools. She’s shivering and shuddering as she towels off and pulls on her clothes. But the clothes she pulls out of her gym bag aren’t jeans and a T-shirt but a sundress. Natasha slams her forehead against the locker door because this is yet another symptom of her distraction. This was the dress she was supposed to wear to brunch with college friends in town. Not the outfit she wants to walk out of base wearing. At least she’s managed to pack the matching heels as well.

Unsurprisingly, Natasha hears wolf-whistles a-plenty as she clacks her way out to her car. The comments make her angrier and feel even worse. At one point in time, sometime between the beginning and end of that long, unfulfilling shower, she’d made up her mind to drive home and collapse onto her sofa and maybe drink an entire bottle of wine. But the more the pigs she has to fly with notice her uncharacteristic attire, the more her mind changes. Now, all she wants is alcohol, enough to drown out her thoughts and to lift her mood. It might be time to bring back the wild little thing who’d run circles around folks back in San Diego.

The bar she ends up at a couple of hours later is what people would pick for a night out on the town. In truth, Natasha had two major criteria for picking this place. It’s not within five miles of the base, and it serves an elderflower and gin flaming cocktail. Something about it feels fitting to her current state of mind.

The sky has darkened in the time between when Natasha sat down and now. Natasha’s not sure how long it’s been, but she feels a million times better than she did before. The bartender was very kind and plied her with round after round of Phoenix cocktails all afternoon long. It’s just her luck that she’s tilting a drink between her fingers, watching the pinkish-purple shimmering liquid dance in the light, when a body drops heavily onto the barstool next to her. It's a bar, so obviously, bodies have been dropping into the seat next to her as the night progresses. But this particular body is wearing a very recognizable cologne and speaking in a very recognizable tenor to the bartender.

“Can I get a whiskey on ice for myself and another one of those flaming things for the pretty lady next to me?” 

“It’s not a flaming thing.” Natasha's words are slurring but still sharp as she rotates on the fiddly little base of the barstool and faces exactly who she thought she'd be facing - Jake Seresin. Her voice is gritty with the burn of over-proofed smooth liquor as she responds.

“It's a Phoenix cocktail. What are you doing here, anyway, Seresin? I didn't think fancy bars were your idea of fun.”

“Mmm, they’re usually not.” There isn’t a bite to his words tonight. “I like my bars to come with their own history, usually.”

He pushes the Phoenix cocktail he'd ordered over to her and watches, enraptured, as the bartender snuffs out the flames.

“You don’t seem the type, Trace, to get rip-roaring drunk in a bar all by your lonesome.” 

“Whatever gave you that idea?” Natasha is ginger as she sips from the warm glass, careful not to scald her mouth on the flame-kissed surface.

“You did.” He purses his plush lips, rolling the whiskey from the sip he just took on his tongue with his eyes lidded in the lowlights of the bar. He looks like a man who has cultivated that expression solely for the purpose of making a lady weak at the knees, not that Natasha would ever call one of his usual types a lady. His pink tongue slips out of his mouth and swipes away a droplet of the amber-colored liquid. He leans forward, gently tucking a loose tendril of hair behind Natasha’s ear. 

“When you told me you’d only have drinks with your friends and colleagues.” He leans in closer until all Natasha Trace can hear is Jake. All of a sudden he seems to surround her with his presence. She can smell the smokey whiskey on his breath, the rich scent of his cologne, and the gentle scent of soap crowding out the scents of the bar. And then there’s the heat of his skin, elusively, unbearably comforting against the bare skin of her shoulders.

It feels good being this close to somebody else. But Natasha can’t let Jake Seresin, of all people, know just how lonely it feels to never be able to let her guard down. He can’t know how much it will set her apart from the others in their cohort above and beyond the way her gender already does.

“I did.” Her voice comes out in a whisper so quiet Natasha’s not sure he can hear.

“Yet you’re out here drinking something purple and pink and ridiculously sweet, all while looking like there is something you’d desperately like to forget.” He settles back in his stool, a long leg hooked on the footrest of her stool as he peers knowingly at her. “Are you trying to forget the dressing down Smith gave you today?”

Natasha shrugs, alcohol making her limbs uncooperative. “Others made mistakes, too. Why were mine so severe that they deserved a public audience? Or if they were severe, surely someone else had made a mistake equally as severe and deserved the same treatment?”

She sips on her drink, trying to ignore how her eyes sting, and her throat is tight. “Of course,” she rasps after swallowing, “it’s not like the perfect Jake Seresin knows how to make a mistake.” Natasha realizes that she’s murmuring that fact like it’s a secret, leaning into his lushly scented space like she craves the nearness of his skin. Maybe she’s already drunk too many of these pretty little drinks for her sanity?

“I make mistakes, Natasha.” He’s just as close as she is to him; the two of them nearly braced against each other like they’d collapse, marionettes without strings, if they weren’t so close and if they couldn’t prop each other up.

“Who said you can call me Natasha?” Her words are as spicy as the sips of top-shelf liquor dripping down her throat, but her smile is as sweet as the syrup of a maraschino cherry. He chuckles, dimples on full display as he tugs her stool closer to compensate for her listing sway on her tri-legged perch.

“What made you start drinking these lovely Phoenix cocktails, hmm?” 

Oh, the room seems to be swimming a bit more. Jake’s so close Natasha can see motes of amber in the mercurial stormy green of his eyes.

“How much do you know about phoenixes, Seresin?”

“No matter how much I know, I get the feeling you’re going to tell me anyway, Natasha.”

She snorts, swigging back the last bit of her drink, running the tip of her finger along the rim of her glass, mesmerized by the sparkling residue left behind on her skin.

“Phoenixes are mythical beasts found in Greek, Roman, and Egyptian mythology. Of course, you probably know how they set themselves on fire and are reborn from the flames. As a result of this imagery, they were associated with immortality.” Huddled in against the counter as they are, Natasha can’t say if there is anyone else even in the room.

“But they’re more than that to me.” Her inhale is shaky even as she sips from the cup of water, cold and crisp, which has suddenly appeared at her elbow. “It’s probably painful to be burned alive and then reborn as a chick. But it also takes a lot of strength.”

To her surprise, Jake is still listening, one long-fingered hand tapping at the water glass in her sweat-damp palms when she pauses, prompting her to drink sip after sip.

“I…” She swallows with a mouth as dry as the Sahara Desert. “I, well, I hope to somehow have that same strength. So when a day like today happens, I find a bar that serves Phoenixes, drink them all night until the sting of failure and my despair and my loneliness wash away.”

“Is it working tonight?” 

Natasha hums as she drinks yet another sip from her never-ending, always full glass. “I’m not sure it ever really did.” 

“For what it’s worth, we both know you weren’t making more mistakes than any of those other idiots we fly with.” His smile is special and soft, filling the cavity of her chest with a softly flickering warmth at odds with the sharp burn of the liquor. “You’re good at what you do, Natasha. You could fly circles around all of them. You fly circles around me, too.”

Natasha can’t believe what she’s hearing. There’s no way Jake Seresin is admitting that Natasha Trace can be better than he is. She stands without realizing, her legs about as sturdy as those of a newborn giraffe. All of the alcohol rushes to her head with a vengeance.

“Have you closed out your tab?” She nods, desperately trying to keep a hold of her swimming head and her roiling stomach. She staggers her way out of the bar, trying desperately to navigate to the Uber app without stumbling over her high heels or face-planting into another of the patrons. An arm wraps around her waist before she can even get to the doors.

“C’mon, Natasha.” Her feet are steadier due to his support. “I’ve got you, darling.”

The endearment, in an undertone colored by a Texan twang, sounds tenderly fond as it’s rasped into her ears. The air is cool outside the bar as she staggers to a stop against a truck in the parking lot. There’s a click as the doors unlock, and when Jake opens the door, the step is so high that when she lifts her leg up, she nearly falls into the gravel, so impaired is her sense of balance.

“I’ve gotcha, darling.” Those same big hands brace her under her knees and behind her shoulders as they heft her into the seat of the truck. Sitting in the cab, she’s even more surrounded by his scent. But he doesn’t close the door immediately. Instead, Jake Seresin unlaces each of her strappy heels and sets them in the footwell of her seat. His fingers, warm and calloused, massage firmly at her stiff, aching arches until she feels like putty in his hands.

“You’re pretty good at that, Seresin.” He smiles again, a devastatingly tender quirk of his lips that barely creates that dimple in his cheek she’s quickly coming to adore.

“I like working with my hands.” It seems like he’s downplaying the true reason. This humble side of Jake Seresin is something she’s never seen before, something she likes. She fists her hands in the collar of his soft pullover and tugs him up until his arms are braced on the seat on either side of her, and his face is inches from her own. Thinking back on it, Natasha’s not sure who made the first move. All she remembers is the taste of whiskey on his tongue as her fingers grasp at the soft curls against the back of his neck. His mouth feels divine, thin lips just the right level of wet and soft as they move against hers. There’s heat making her flush as his hands cup the back of her neck.

When Jake Seresin pulls away with a question in his eyes, Natasha’s almost sure she can guess the words about to leave his lips. It’s going to be some variation of ‘Would you like to come home with me’, no doubt. But instead, he presses more of those warm, tender kisses across her bare shoulders, throat, collarbones, and cheeks. When he presses a lingering kiss to her forehead, Natasha’s eyes flutter closed.

“Let me take you home, darling.” 

Those words, in a hauntingly tender tone, stick in her mind all weekend long, even when she’s hungover and curled up under her sheets. It feels like something has changed between her and Jake Seresin, inexplicably and totally. Or maybe it’s the sense of confidence Jake Seresin has instilled in her. One night, a few drinks, and his presence are all she needs to boost her mood? It’s ridiculous. Walking into the classroom on Monday morning at 0700 hours sharp and seeing Seresin laughing with the others like nothing has happened feels almost like a slap to the face. He doesn’t look at her or speak to her. Natasha’s sure the Jake of that hazy dream-like Friday evening was only looking for one thing, which he didn’t get when he needed to babysit her drunk ass.

By the time she’s in her flight suit and kitted out with her helmet in hand, she's ready to smoke every man she has to fly with, especially one Jake Seresin. Sure enough, Natasha’s cold, calculated, and on her game that day. She doesn’t make a single mistake. Of course, Smith doesn’t so much as nod in her direction, but it’s enough to hear the men grumble as her flight is used as the exemplar for their hop. When they’re dismissed, nobody tells her goodbye. Monroe and Williams are still whining and moaning about her success and their subsequent dressing down from Smith. But Jake Seresin’s smiling at her, that crooked tender grin, and saying, “See you tomorrow, Phoenix!”

Under the stars awaken To the sound of a firebird

I DO NOT CONSENT TO HAVE MY WORK POSTED, TRANSLATED, OR PUBLISHED ON ANY SITES OTHER THAN ON AO3, ON WATTPAD, OR ON TUMBLR BY ME. IF YOU SEE MY WORKS ANYWHERE OTHER THAN HERE, ON WATTPAD, OR TUMBLR, THEN THEY HAVE BEEN POSTED WITHOUT MY PERMISSION AND I WILL BE WORKING TO TAKE THEM DOWN.

Taglist:

@desert-fern @horseshoegirl @dakotakazansky @sarahsmi13s @teacupsandtopgun @callsignspitfire @roosterforme @mak-32 @beyondthesefourwalls @thedroneranger @cherrycola27 @kmc1989 @chaoticassidy @shanimallina87

[finneyfinland]

I think We're Alone Now Chapter 3

SUMMARY: Billionaire Reginald Hargreeves adopts 8 children all born on the same day of the same year. 7 of which were soon introduced as the umbrella academy. To you, the umbrella academy was nothing but a man using his power to traumatizes children. You’d know, as you were number 8. The Vampire

WARNINGS: mentions of child torture (experiments), starvation, body horror (vampire). Child abuse, blood, childhood trauma, arguments, assault, body dysmorphia, abandonment issues

A/N: Sorry this took so long, I've been taking writing courses so I've had no time to write as a hobby. ANYWAYS- fight scene time

Vacations are always weird for you. Most 'vacation' activities are off limits, no beaches, no trying new restaurants. You could go to the library, but the only books that you haven't already read, or aren't revolved around your job, leave you with slim pickings. You tend to spend the day in your apartment, watching new shows or coming across new content creators. Not to mention you're only on vacation because your father finally kicked the bucket. It was only when the sun grazed the middle of the cloudy sky when you headed back to the house.

To your surprise some of your sibling were gathered in the parlor. Five, Vanya, and Allison were missing. When they saw you walk in they rushed you in front of the old box tv, "Oh (Y/N) I'm glad you made it." Luther says as he catches you quietly walking in. "What's up with the old tv?" You ask, you haven't seen the thing since you were very young. "Apparently Allison and Luther have something 'important' to show us" Diego sarcastically rolls his eyes. As the boys glare at each other you notice Klaus as he scarfs down some chips he must of stolen from somewhere. He's always had stress related problems, whether that be alcohol, drugs, or simply eating, or not eating. You move to lean against the back of the couch next to him, in hopes of your presence maybe having a positive affect on his current mental state.

Soon Allison enters with Vanya trailing behind, Luther finally starts up the old tv for the group to see what was so important. As the low quality security camera footage plays, you stomach twists at the sight of Father's death. "I mean, do you really think Mom would hurt Dad?" Vanya asks in disbelief. "You haven't been home in a long time Vanya, maybe you don't know Grace anymore." Some part of you doesn't appreciate Luther's tone. Mom wouldn't hurt anybody, there's just no way. "If he was poisoned, it would've shown in the coroner's report." Diego says tiredly, Allison swirls her glass full of alcohol as the rest of us sit back and watch the two boys start up another argument.

"Maybe all that low gravity in space messed with your vision." Diego rewinds the tv and points out Mom taking Father's monocle as she leans over him and walks back to his tray. Diego walks back as Klaus agrees with him. "She wasn't poisoning him, she was.. taking it. To clean it." Klaus strides back behind the bar to get a drink. "No I've searched the whole house, including her things and she doesn't have it." Luther still argues as you pace to stand against the pillar next to Vanya. "That's because I took it from her, after the funeral." Diego's words turn the group against him. As they start to square up you rush to try and deescalate the situation, not wanting another ugly fight, putting a hand on Luther's arm.

"Calm down." Vanya jumps in to help you, "Look, I know Dad wasn't exactly an open book, but I do remember one thing he said. Mom was, well, designed to be a caretaker, but.. also as a protector." Klaus saunters over to lean against the pillar you're standing by. "What does that mean?" Allison asks, confused. Vanya walks slowly towards the middle of the group as they explain, "She was programmed to intervene if someone's life was in jeopardy." You nod, remembering one of Father's introduction to our new caretaker.

"Well, if her hardware is degrading then.. We need to turn her off." The reaction is immediate, "She feels things, I've seen it!" Diego raises his voice as he points one of his throwing knifes. "She just stood there and watched our father die!" Luther argues back, "I'm with Luther." Allison butts in. To no one's surprise, you think to yourself. They look back to Vanya and you for your vote. You decide to speak up. "Mom isn't some robot you can just turn off, she has feelings and would never just standby, regardless if her wiring is starting to fail." You cross your arms tightly against your chest as Diego nods along. Luther rushes to hear from Vanya. Vanya stutters in surprise at being involved and Diego interrupts before they get the chance. "I was gonna say that I agree with you." Vanya says, shocked. "Okay. They should get a vote." You shake your head and lay your hand on Vanya's shoulder. They reach up a hand to cover yours. "What about you. Stoner boy? What do you got?" Diego gestures to Klaus, "Oh, so, what? You need my help now? Oh, 'get out of the van, Klaus. Well, welcome back to the van." Luther scoffs, "What's it gonna be, Klaus?" Klaus swallows, "I'm with Diego, because screw you!" Diego points to Klaus victoriously. "And if Ben were here, he'd agree with me." A small part of you shakes it's head, no he totally wouldn't.

As Diego starts to celebrate Allison shoots him down, "Votes not final yet, Five's not here. The whole family gets a vote." Of course, just when they're losing they change the rules. As always with this family. With that you all take you leave. As you walk behind Klaus the sight of Mom standing in one of the doorways breaks your heart. She's not smiling, just silently observing. I hope she just got there, that conversation was nasty. You head to your room, wanting to get a quick reprieve from the never ending drama that is your family.

As the alarms continued to go off your siblings ran from room to room around you. You were sitting on your bed waiting for everybody to be ready. Mom had already helped you get into your uniform, your body still too small. Your siblings had already began to grow. Limbs too long, baby fat still prominent on their cheeks. But your body didn't seem to get the memo. Your mind was years ahead of your body. Inside, you looked the same as your siblings, but outside, you were still only eight. So you waited, until Father came down to yell at your siblings for being tardy. Mom made her rounds checking up on us. When she stopped at your door she walked in with a bottle of sunscreen in her hands. "We can't forget about this, now can we?" She asked with a smile. "But it's cloudy today, Mom" She opened the bottle and lathered her hands before moving to apply the sunscreen to your face. "Just because the sun isn't out-" "Doesn't mean you're in clear" You finished with a pout. Mom giggles before handing you your domino mask. "That's right, dear" She stands and walks to the doorway but waits to make sure you manage to put your mask on your own. When she sees you're all set she moves next door to complement Vanya's playing.

Before missions you always stop in Vanya's room to make sure they'll be ok when you leave. They opened up to you about how staying behind felt for them. Never wanting to hurt them you've been personally saying goodbye as your group walks out the door. When you come back, they're always waiting at the door to make sure everything went well.

The sun has soon since set past the horizon. The dark and heavy clouds have thinned out to wisps breezing by. You're standing outside in the backyard pointedly ignoring Ben's broken statue behind you. You're on the phone with your shift manager, discussing your schedule. As much as you love your family, it's only been two days and you're ready to get back to work, halfway across the state. Your superior doesn't seem to get the memo however, insisting you haven't had enough time to properly mourn your 'terribly tragic loss'. You pinch your nose and sigh softly to yourself as they continue to reassure you that the hospital with still be standing a week from now. You gaze up to the quarter moon, silently greeting your old friend. While everybody shared the sun, you practically had the moon all to yourself. Faintly seven hearts beat together from inside the house. Wait… seven? Isn't there supposed to be only five right now? You turn to the house and see two unfamiliar figures pass by one of the windows. "Sorry Maureen, I think my brothers' calling me back in. I'll get back to you as soon as possible. Yep, thank you. Bye" You wrap up the phone call as fast as you can and pace into the house.

As you get closer to the main foyer the scent of blood hits your nose. You break out into a sprint when Vanya's heartbeat overlaps with one of the strangers. You step into the main foyer and come face to face with Luther fighting a masked man. I need to get to Vanya, but he's probably not gonna let me pass. You reason to yourself. You pull off your gloves and stuff them into the pockets of your coat. As the masked man lifts Luther up you rush behind him and slice through his pants. Your nails cut through down to the man's Achilles tendon, causing him to fall to the ground on top of Luther. While he tries to recover you run into the parlor where Vanya's laying on the coffee table. Thankfully Luther covers for you, aggroing him so you can reach Vanya. "(Y/N)" They say weakly as you pull them up. "(Y/N) get them out of here!" Luther yells to you while pounding the man's back. You quickly grab their hand and run to the space between the doorway and the wall, pinning them against it and using your back as a potential shield. "Stay quiet" You whisper to them as Luther calls out Vanya's name.

They meet your eye with hope, but you shake your head. It's not over yet, the man's still moving. Just then a yell comes from the foyer followed by a loud thud. Vanya squeezes their eyes shut, heart racing inside their chest. You try to push them further into the wall as heavy step approach the parlor. You put your chin on their shoulder and lean your forehead against the wall. The man takes a few steps into the room before turning back and heading towards your bedrooms. Vanya signs from relief and slumps their head onto your shoulder in return. You pull you head back and reach a head up to their hairline. Blood trickling down from a gash. But before you get to fully assess the damage Allison's voice rings out through the air.

"Luther!" Her and Diego approach Luther squirming on the ground and help pull him up. Just as they steady him, a metal clang covers their heartbeats. "Out of the way!" Is all you hear before the chandler comes crashing down. Luther pushes Allison and Diego out of the way and falls to the ground, pinned down by the metal chandler. For a couple seconds all is still, but Luther stands, pushing the chandler off his back, tearing his top in the process. As you and Vanya step into the doorway something catches everyone's eyes. Luther's torso is covered in thick dark skin and patches of hair. Well, that explains the smell.

As Luther turns he sees several pairs of eyes on him. He quickly runs up the stairs with blood dripping onto the carpet from the wounds on his chest. Allison sees you and Vanya standing in the doorway, she walks up to the both of you. "Did you know?" Vanya asks, "No" is all she said, shaking her head. Mom's hums fill the air, Diego runs to the second floor to check up on her.

While you sit Vanya down on the couch you turn to Allison. "Can you get me a towel or something please?" She nods and walks away. You sigh and sit down next to Vanya. You check them for other injuries before Allison comes back and hands you a red hand towel. You smile at her and take it, pressing it to Vanya's wound and start to rub the blood off. "Who were those people?" Vanya asks, "I don't know. But we are lucky to be alive." Allison sits down on the coffee table in front of you. She leans closer "You sure you're okay?" They nod, you pull back the cloth and check to see if the wound is still bleeding. Thankfully it's starting to form a scab over it so there shouldn't be anymore blood. Diego paces into the room, "Diego?" Allison questions. He turns to your group, panting. "What are you still doing here?" He carelessly says to Vanya. "I'm just trying to help" You put the rag down and grab one of their hands. "No, you could've been killed." Diego points to Vanya, "Or gotten any of us killed." You squeeze their hand. "They're a liability" Diego says to Allison before walking back to stand next to the other couch. "Allison?" Vanya asks, looking to her while she lowers her head.

"I think what he's trying to say is that this kind of stuff is dangerous." She pauses, looking away. "You're just-" "Not like you" Vanya finishes. Allison's pause speaks for itself. Vanya scoffs beside you before letting go of your hand and pushing off of the couch walking out the parlor. "That's not what I- Vanya wait" Allison stands and tries to follow them. "Let them go. It's for the best." Diego calls out from his spot on the other couch. Allison stops in the doorway as Vanya walks out the front doors and leaves without saying anything.

You stand from the couch and glare at Diego as you pass by. Feeling ashamed of your siblings actions. You walk out onto the street, but they're already gone. You can still hear their heartbeat, you could follow them. But a little voice inside you whispers to let them go.

[book-place]

The story of us

"The poison of an oleander" The umbrella academy! :D

[Celebration]

OMG I WAS SO EXCITED WHEN I GOT THIS BC YOURE THE FIRST PERSON TO DO THIS VERSION OF MY EVENT FOR ME <333

The Story of Us

The Umbrella Acadmey- The Poison of an Oleander

“Do you think he’ll like it?” You inquired, smiling dreamily at the thought of your father being happy with something you did.

“I dunno.” Poor Ben was struggling to stay upright as he tried to balance the heavy pot in his arms, nearly toppling over onto an expensive looking statue when turning a corner.

You and your brother had been leaving a mission the two of you had been sent out on when a plant store had caught your eye. Immediately, you had perked up and dragged Ben into the store, claiming that a plant would be a perfect gift for your father.

The boy wasn’t so certain, but one puppy-dog look from you and he- ever a good brother- had given in, sighing to himself before helping you pick out what you deemed to be the ‘perfect’ plant.

“Here should be good.” You told your brother, pointing to an open spot in the courtyard.

Ben grunted, setting the plant down before stretching out his sore arms.

“What’re you doing?” A voice asked from behind, making the two of you turn around.

You grinned at Diego, “We got dad a plant!”

His eyebrows furrowed, “Why?”

“Cause it’s a gift- duh.” You rolled your eyes slightly.

“Yeah, duh.” Ben mocked.

Agitation took over your brothers features, “I get that,” He snapped, “But why’re you getting the old man a gift?”

Before you could finish rolling your eyes and open your mouth to retort, yet another voice cut into the conversation.

“Mom told me to tell you that it’s time for lunch.”

Luther stepped out into the courtyard, falling short and warily eyeing you and Diego, who looked about a moment away from burning holes into one another with your hard glares.

You both ignored him, though, “It’s a plant, Diego. Can’t I get our dad a plant?”

With a small sigh of frustration out of your nose, you looked away from your brother and back to the prized gift.

Without knowing what possessed you, you reached out, as if to touch the plant, only for your hand to be harshly and promptly slapped away.

All four of your heads snapped up, staring wide eyed at your father, whom none of you knew was there in the first place.

“Number eight.” Reginald chided, his ever-present frown set upon his lips, “Don’t you know a poisonous oleander plant when you see one?”

Yours and Ben’s mouths dropped open.

“P-poisonous?” The boy squeaked, paling at the thought of what he had been holding in his arms.

A hard look was set upon your fathers face, “A poison that could lead to sickness, as well as even death.” His tone was clipped.

“I-we-“ You stuttered out, “The lady that sold it to us didn’t tell us!” You cried.

Reginald clicked his tongue in annoyance, “And what were you planning on doing with it, anyway!”

“We got it for you!” You told him, “We wanted to get you a plant! We had no idea it was poisonous!”

Your father stared at you in silence for a moment before turning on his heel and striding back inside, “Chop, chop, children. I believe Grace has already told you that the meal was ready.”

You and your siblings stood in an awed silence for a moment following your fathers departure, none of you quite knowing what to say.

“Holy shit,” Diego finally breathed out, “You tried to poison dad.” A grin slowly spread on his face, “You tried to poison dad.” He repeated before letting out a cackling laugh.

Luther glowered at him, “It’s not funny, someone could’ve seriously gotten hurt-“

“Hey, Klaus!” Diego ignored him, walking back towards the manor as he called out to your brother, “I dare you to come touch this cool plant outside!”

Luther paled, running after the boy in hopes of putting an end to any madness before it even began.

You and Ben looked at each other. Blinking once. Twice.

“Next time…” Ben mumbled, “Maybe we should just get him a cake or something.”

[mishasminion360]

Young Joel Miller x bakerOFC please, do whatever you want with it….

Where’s that Diego Luna dabble btw?? 👀😶‍🌫️

The Sweetest Thing

Pre-Outbreak Joel Miller x Baker fem!reader

Warnings: Fluff sweeter than buttercream frosting; one swear word; possibly a smidgen of angst at the end, if you reeeeally think about it.

Summary: All the cakes and pastries aren’t the sweetest thing you encounters in your bakery that day.

A/N: Oh, my sweet anon (and I totally know who you are 😝), thank you for this lovely request. I hope you enjoy the sweet result. P.S. Sorry about that Diego drabble. As you know, life got away from me. Way away.

Men always look so damned sheepish when the step into a bakery. It’s as if unless they have a gal on their arm with a sizable sweet tooth, there’s no good reason for them to be setting foot into such a place. Bakeries are too feminine; sugar and sweets are too girly, pastries are too dainty. Butcher shops? Now, that’s a man’s domain. Blood and guts and meat are manly things.

It’s an outdated belief you thought pop culture phenomena such as “The Great British Bake Off” would have put an end to. Boys wear pants, girls wear dresses. Men go to butchers, women go to bakers.

This guy is dismantling an age old stereotype, but sure looks nervous as hell doing it.

“‘Scuse me,” he drawls, approaching your counter with hands in his pockets. “I’m lookin’ to get a cake.”

“Well, you’ve come to the right place, partner.”

His brown eyes scan the assortment beneath the glass to the right of the counter. Cakes in all shapes, sizes, and designs.

“Looking for any kind of cake in particular? A certain flavor, I mean.”

“Well, what all have you got?” he asks, turning those eyes—a shade of brown as rich as chocolate ganache—on you.

“Pick your poison. I have the usual suspects—chocolate, vanilla, and marble—or some more adventurous flavors, such as lemon, raspberry, red velvet, banana, orange cream, cinnamon and spice. Et cetera, et cetera, and so on and so forth.”

He purses his lips in an impressed whistle.

“Well, I certainly hope they aren’t poisonous,” he chuckles. “But I’m not picky. What do you recommend?”

“That depends. What’s the occasion?”

“It’s, uh, a birthday,” he mumbles. “Could be the last if I fail to bring a cake home for my daughter. She’ll have my head.”

“Ah, so it’s the little lady’s special day, huh?”

“Actually, it’s mine,” he admits as a pretty pink hue fills his cheeks, as if it mortifies him to confess to turning another year older. “But the cake is mostly for my kid’s sake. I’m on a diet myself.”

“Life is much too short for diets,” you chuckle. “Now tell me, what does your girl like?”

“Well,” he shrugs. “This kid loves her peanut butter.”

“Noted. And what does her dad like?”

“Oh, I don’t….it’s like I said, about that diet and all—“

“And I said life’s too short for such a thing,” you reiterate. “Especially on birthdays. So, what does he like?”

He’s momentarily caught off guard by your abruptness, but it earns you a smile. And boy, it’s a smile you won’t forget anytime soon.

“The old man is partial to chocolate.”

“A gentleman with a taste for the classics. Nothing wrong with being a little old fashioned in the modern age.”

“Just plain old, I think you mean.”

“Not at all, but how old are we talking?”

“36.”

“Not old at all.”

He laughs at that, and you like his laugh just as much as his grin. “Tell that to my bones.”

“I think they heard me,” you say proudly. “I have a very commanding voice.”

“Certainly commanded my attention.”

“Now, I think it was more those flavors I listed that got your attention. Speaking of which.” You withdraw your notepad from your apron and jot down his order. “One peanut butter fudge cake should suit you both nicely.”

“Well, who doesn’t love Reece’s, right?”

You shoot him a look of feigned insult. If you were wearing pearls you’d clutch them for dramatic effect.

“With all due respect, sir, Reece’s is a peddler of cheap, manufactured candy-like substances. I am an artist.”

He clutches his chest in mock dismay. “I do beg your forgiveness, Picasso. I did not mean to offend, and I am humbled to be in the presence of such culinary greatness.”

“Let my cake do the humbling, won’t you?”

“I’d be honored to put ol’ Atkins on the back burner for your masterpiece.”

“That’s quite the compliment.” Now you’re the one blushing. “So, when do you need the Sistine Chapel by?”

“Well, I’m on site until 6. I can probably get here by 6:30. Is that okay?”

Hm. “On site”. Construction, maybe? Hardworking man. Manly man, but not. Man who loves cake. Man who loves his daughter. Ring finger sans ring, you can’t help but notice.

“I typically close at 5, but one of the perks of being the boss is that I can make my own hours. I don’t mind hanging around a bit longer. Especially to fill such an important order.”

“You’re sure?”

“Your kid will kill you if you don’t return with cake, right? I’d hate to hear about that grisly murder on the morning news. And as good as my desserts are they’re nothing to die for.”

“Let me be the judge of that,” he smirks. “I’m expecting to get humbled, remember.”

You agree that the bill will be settled upon his return. He jots his number down on a slip of paper, just in case you have any questions. You only have one and you ask it before he can step through the door.

“If this is a birthday cake then I’m going to give it the birthday flare. So, to whom shall I be wishing a happy 36th?”

He gives you that smile again. “It’s Joel.”

“Happy birthday, Joel.”

“It’s starting to feel like it, yeah.”

“So, 6:30?”

“On the dot. You got my number, so just call if you’ve got any questions.”

“I do this for a living. I think I’ve got it handled.”

“Right. Then….call if you’d like to talk about anything else.”

“Don’t forget about—“ Me, you want to say, but luckily you manage to shut that shit down before you live to regret it. “You’re cake.”

“As if I could,” he assures you, heading out the door. “Nothing short of the end of the world would keep me from coming back.”

And nothing short of the end of the world would prevent you from baking the best cake he’s had in all his 36 years.

And his daughter, too, of course. You hope a little peanut butter fudge will help make this a birthday neither of them would ever forget.

@grimeylady @rav3n-pascal22 @mamacitapascal @insomniamama1 @pedrosbisch @emmaispunk @lv7867 @reonlouw @hawaiianmelodies @pascalsky @pascalpanic @heythere-mel @healingstardust @delorena @pedropasxal @caesaryoulater @fangirling-alert @fromthedeskoftheraven @axshadows @dragon-scales88 @spacepastel-blog @spideysimpossiblegirl @pbeatriz-blog @hauntedmama @mswarriorbabe80 @horton-hears-a-honk @wild-at-heart-kept-in-cage @a-trial-run-on-paper @oonajaeadira @foli-vora @dhadiirah @felicisimor @practicalghost @luz-introvertida @amneris21 @hb8301 @tanzthompson @littlemisspascal @dobbyjen @supernaturalgirl20 @alexxavicry @harriedandharassed @trickstersp8 @neganwifey25-blog @twistedboxy @emiemiemiii @energeticspookyshark @thevoiceinyourheadx @pedr0swh0r3 @anamiad00msday

[lovesosweeet]

better left unsaid // cth

chapter twelve

in which orion has leukemia, and calum doesn't know.

calum hood x fem!oc

read other chapters

august 1, 2018 los angeles, california orion

My moms come up from San Diego for my first chemotherapy appointment. While I’m grateful that they’re here, I hate that they’re just another group of people who want me to tell Calum. Emelia is working today. She had offered to take the day off, but since my moms are here, I figured she should go to work.

“Honey, do you need us to take Duke while you’re getting treatment?” Mama asks.

I sigh, not wanting to think about yet another round of logistics. I feel like I’m having to rearrange my entire life because of the diagnosis and Cal being on tour. Granted, I don’t even know how much of my life is worth getting into order. Does it really matter if I take my classes if I’m going to be dead in a year or two? Taking care of Duke does matter, of course, but he’s not a very active dog and I want him here while I’m living alone temporarily.

“No, I can keep him here. He’s already got a lot of changes with Calum gone,” I tell her. She nods.

“Of course. Let us know if you change your mind, okay?”

I nod.

We get ready to leave, prepping a cold bottle of water for me to have, along with a box of crackers and a bottle of fruit punch Gatorade. In the pamphlet that Dr. Harris gave me about my chemotherapy drug, it mentioned that I’d likely be nauseous after receiving the IV of the essentially poisonous fluid. I don’t think that they’ll do much to remedy the discomfort, but I want to at least try to dispel the symptoms.

Mom and Mama insist that I also bring a sweatshirt in case I get cold, and I just do what they say. I am not in the mood to debate anything with them. I bring one of Cal’s to have a piece of him with me at the hospital. It’s not the same as having him there to support me, but it’s the closest I’ll get to it.

We drive the short distance to the hospital. My appointment is at 9:00, but they’d woken up super early to be able to pick me up and take me to the appointment. I got a text from Calum at 3 am when they landed in Tokyo and I’m so thankful he didn’t call like he’d promised. I would’ve woken up and I’m already exhausted as it is. The chemo is about to make it all worse.

I check in at the same desk that I’d come to before, but this time I don’t see Russell. A young, pretty blonde nurse calls me back instead and she explains that they’re doing more tests to provide a baseline while we track the chemo’s progress over the next few months. The tests include another blood draw, and they let me lay down, but this time I don’t pass out thankfully. Once the initial dizziness wears off, we walk down the hallway into another room, but this one is far larger.

There are several sterile-looking arm chairs, some of which have patients sitting in them already, an IV hooked up to them. I am sad when I see the youngest patient is a boy who can’t be more than 9, bald, hooked up to the chemo transfusion, and reading a Magic Treehouse book. He's so young and he's already received a death sentence: a cancer diagnosis.

The blonde nurse directs me to my own chair, which has a table next to it that has a “WELCOME, ORION” sign and a bottle of apple juice and a pack of cookies. Wow, way to make a girl feel special while she's dying.

I take a seat in my chair, and my moms stay right in front of me, even though they have chairs available for guests very much available. Maybe I get it from them — the inability to accept help. I can't imagine that they'll stand there the whole time. We're supposed to be here pretty much all day.

Another nurse comes over with a cart of medical supplies. She's older, around my moms' age, and she greets us with a 'good morning' that I just ignore. It's not a good morning.

"Let's get you started. Any questions?" She's already grabbing my arm and wiping it with a disinfecting cloth, prepping it for an IV. The thought of an IV gives me chills, so I try not to stare as she puts it in and then hooks me up to the drip of the chemotherapy drug. I don't want to think about it.

"No questions," I tell the nurse.

She smiles at me and hands me a remote. "Press this if you have any issues. I'll be back in a moment to check on you."

I try to look anywhere except for the bend in my arm where she just inserted my IV. Mom opens her mouth to say something right as my phone starts to ring. It's Calum.

"Hello?" I answer instantly. I've been waiting to hear his voice. I know it's some ungodly early hour in Tokyo, but I'm sure he's got a completely messed up sleep schedule right now, and that won't be changing for a few weeks until they're consistently in the same time zone for a few days.

"Hi baby," Cal's tired voice comes through my speaker.

"How was the flight?"

My moms mouth to me that they're going to go grab coffee and I nod, appreciating the chance to talk to Cal without them eavesdropping.

"Long and boring. Ash kept snoring for most of it." He sounds so tired. I've never understood how they could tour like they do. The different time zones, constant busy-ness, late nights... it's exhausting.

"I'm sorry."

Cal laughs. "Don't be sorry, you had absolutely nothing to do with it. How are you? What are you doing today?"

My breath catches in my throat. I have to lie again. My stomach sinks and I feel guilty all over again, but I don't have time to dwell on that. I have to tell him something. "My moms are here. Probably just gonna take a short hike and get some food, maybe go to a museum."

I feel like I can hear him frown. "I wish they'd come before I left! I've not seen them in forever. Let them know I say hi?"

I nod even though he can't see me. "Yeah, of course. I'm sorry I didn't think to invite them up to see us before. My brain has kinda been mush lately."

"I know, it's okay. I'm excited to spend Thanksgiving with them again, though," he says. Last year we did Thanksgiving with my family and Christmas with his, since Thanksgiving isn't exactly a thing in Australia. We were talking about hosting his parents and Mali here in LA this year, but we hadn't finalized that yet.

"Yeah, that'll be good."

"Hey," Calum says, which makes me laugh. Why is he greeting me again in the middle of our conversation?

"Hey?" I reply, asking it as a question.

"We're one day closer to me coming home."

I smile at the prospect of having him back home and by my side. "Yeah, what is it? A couple of months ‘til you're in San Diego?" I think I'll still be getting treatment, and I'm not sure if I'll be able to cover my tracks with him being so close to home, but I try to focus on getting through things the way they are right now. He will be home for good in November. I can make it to November.

"Yep, two months. It's October 2nd. Oh! Maybe your whole family can come to the show! Would your moms let Eri come even if it's a school night?" His mention of bringing my brother to the show is cute. My little brother absolutely adores Calum. Actually, my entire family is obsessed with him, and I don't blame them.

"Maybe, I'll have to ask." I know for a fact that they would let Eri come to a show, regardless of date or time, but I'm leery to make any kind of promises at this point.

“Just let me know, I’ll put whoever on the list.”

“Yeah, for sure. How’s Japan? How’s everyone else? I wanna hear all about it.”

Cal then dives into the rundown of their arrival to Japan and going through customs, meeting fans at the airport and finally getting to the hotel. He said Matt is already tired of them, but, to be fair, Matt was tired of them after two days of rehearsals. Ash said that Kay’s grandma is back at home, so I won’t be running into her at the hospital. It hasn’t been a full day since they left but I feel like so much has happened. Hooked up to this IV, my cancer feels so much more real.

“I’m getting sleepy again, so I can let you go. Just wanted to hear your voice.” He yawns and I can only imagine how tired he looks. I'm tired too.

“Of course,” I say. “Sweet dreams. I love you.”

“I love you too. I’ll text you when I wake up again.”

We hang up — I’m not sure which one of us does it first or if we do it at the same time, but it seems like the silence comes instantly. The moment my phone goes quiet, I realize just how freezing I am. I remember the sweatshirt my moms made me bring and pull it out of. my tote bag that's on the floor, just as the two sympathetically smiling faces appear in front of me again.

They're carrying Starbucks cups from the food court, a third one in their hands that I presume is for me.

"We got you some mint tea — it's supposed to be great for nausea," Mama says, handing me the hot cup.

"Thank you," I say, wrapping my freezing fingers around the warmth of the tea.

"How's Calum? He's in Japan first, right?" Mom asks. She ignores the chair that's next to me that she could sit in, instead choosing to squat in front of me with her iced coffee in hand.

I nod and take a sip of my tea. I've always loved mint tea. Cal and I seemed to have a cup almost every night for the first few months of us living together. "Yeah, Japan. He's tired, but he'll be tired for a while."

Mom sets a hand on my knee. "So will you." She's right. I'm about to be drained and exhausted and sick and miserable. She smiles sadly at me.

Just like the drip in my IV, the next few hours go incredibly slowly. I'm so cold the entire time, the staff have to bring me a blanket, and I note mentally to bring one with me next week. My moms were prepared and both brought books to read, one of which they end up giving to me. Scrolling on my phone got old quickly, but I found some photos of Cal and the boys arriving in Japan and enjoyed that.

Once I'm done with my first full bag of the chemo drug, we get to leave. Walking out of the hospital and back into the sunshine is jarring, and I'm still cold, even though it's still very warm outside. My moms drive me back home, but once I'm back in the apartment, they have to leave to drive back to San Diego so they can have dinner with my brother. He'd been at a friend's house all day while they were here.

They offer to order me a pizza or something for dinner, but Emelia and I are planning on hanging out tonight. I know I won't feel well, but Em just wants to be there for me in case I need anything. She'll probably stay the night, too. It won't be as comforting as having Calum, but I will gladly take the company.

A few hours pass while I'm alone, and the nausea sets in quickly. I text Emi and ask her to bring food, even though the thought of eating makes me feel worse. I know I need to eat. I don't specify what she should bring, because nothing sounds good. She just says she'll be here in thirty minutes.

I text Calum in the meantime.

To: bass boy 💕 hi my love hope you're getting some beauty sleep i know i said don't bring me anything but actually can you bring me some kind of Japanese snacks pls i will love you forever and ever and ever i mean i'll do that anyway but i do want some snacks ignore me til you're awake was just thinking and thought of it and wanted to ask hehe oh and i know it's not til the v end but can you pretty pretty pretty please buy me chocolate special k in europe i will remind you dw

I think I've successfully pretended things are normal, and I do desperately miss the Special K in Europe.

A knock on the door is timed perfectly with the end of my texting spree, and I know it's Emelia, hopefully with food.

"It's open!" I yell out, not wanting to move from my comfy spot on the couch.

I hear the door opening and closing, followed by some echoed footsteps, and then Emelia is standing in the living room. She has on her work clothes — black leggings and t-shirt, nonslip shoes on her feet. She's not wearing the hat that they make her wear anymore, but her hair is still up in a messy ponytail.

"Hi, how ya feelin'?" She asks. She also holds up the bag of food she brought. It's the ramen from the place that's pretty close to here that I love.

"Pretty shitty, but I know it's only going to get worse."

Em frowns. "Well, have no fear. I brought ramen, and we can watch Girl Meets World all night."

My jaw drops. Everyone in my life knows how much I love Girl Meets World but judges me for liking a kids' show so much, so no one ever watches it with me. She really is such a good friend, willingly watching something that she knows will make me feel better.

"I love you," I tell her.

Then, she smiles, takes off her shoes, and puts the food on the coffee table, disappearing for a minute. When she comes back, she has glasses of water, napkins, and silverware. Emelia plops onto the couch next to me and takes the ramen out of the bag, setting it up for us.

"I got the curry and the mushroom," she explains. "I wasn't sure which you'd want today. I'm fine with whatever you don't want."

Both are normally delicious, but neither sounds appealing right now. The mushroom broth is lighter, so I go with that, thinking if nothing else, I can just sip the broth.

After a few hours of watching TV and pretending to eat my ramen, I suddenly feel Emelia's eyes on me. She's got a thoughtful look on her face, and I don't know what it is.

"What's wrong?"

She shakes her head. "Sorry, was just thinking. Do you know if you're going to lose your hair?"

I gulp. I'd looked into it. It depends largely on which form of chemo you're on, but also, it comes down to luck. "The drug I'm on is one that doesn't usually cause it, but there's still a chance I might."

Emelia nods, thinking. "Do you want to get a wig? Just in case."

I'd thought about it, but wigs that actually look nice are very expensive. Medical bills are already racking up, and my moms are going to help me, but it's a lot. "No, I think I'll just cross that bridge if I get to it."

"Do you want to cut your hair?"

It's relevant, but it catches me by surprise. I hadn't thought about that. I might lose my hair, but I've had long hair for so long. I've not cut it much shorter in so long. I'm also... dying. Why do I need to have long hair until I die? Why can't I change it up?

Isn't that what life is all about? Doing fun things?

I turn to her. "Let's do it."

I stand up and head straight for the kitchen, grabbing scissors from our junk drawer. I then go into the bathroom, switching on the lights. Emelia joins me soon after I start tying my hair into four sections, aligning the elastics at the same level, halfway between my chin and my shoulders.

Emelia doesn't say anything, she just smiles at me through the mirror and watches while I begin to saw off my hair. I don't know why I'm making such a sudden, big decision, but I've chopped a full ponytail off already, so there's no going back. Leave it to leukemia to stop me from overthinking every piece of my life.

Once I've cut off all the length, I take off the elastics holding everything together and have Emelia help me even everything out. It's not perfect, but if I'm about to lose it, it doesn't matter. If I don't lose it, I'll go see a hairdresser to fix it.

"OK, let me take a picture and then I need to go lay back down.

I take a mirror selfie, covering my face with my phone, just showing the lack of hair cascading over my green sweatshirt. I send it to Cal while I trudge back to the couch, flopping face-first onto the mountain of throw pillows and blankets.

"Want some Tums? Or Pepto?" Em asks.

"No," I groan. Why did cutting my hair suck all of the energy out of me?

"You okay?"

"No."

Em chuckles, and I feel the couch sink slightly as she sits next to me. "Can I get you anything?"

"A new body?"

She snorts. "Can't do that, sorry."

I let out a pained sigh, turning my head so it's not face down on the fuzzy blanket. "Thank you for being here."

"You have to stop thanking me. I know you'd be the first person holding my hand and bringing me food if it was me."

She's right. I'd probably let her move into our place so I could take care of her as much as she'd let me. I don't think she'd take me up on the offer to move in, but there'd undoubtedly be an offer. I'd do anything for her.

"I think I'm gonna sleep," I announce. My phone buzzes several times in my pocket. Hoping it's Calum, I pull it out.

From: bass boy 💕 UM EXCUSE ME MADAM YOU CANNOT JUST SPRING THIS ON ME IT LOOKS SO GOOD GOOD MF MORNING TO ME MY GIRLFRIEND IS A GODDESS can't wait to see it in person <3 and 1000% will get you snacks and special k anything for you

read next chapter

a/n: hi hi hi sorry sorry it's been a lil bit have been slowly working on this chapter :)

[umbrella-academy-hcs]

"Why Don't You Hate Me?"

Summary: Five and Klaus have a short conversation sometime toward the end of season 3

Klaus wandered over to where he saw Five sitting on the edge of what remained of the world, bottle in hand.

"Heyyy! Mi hermano! Numero Cinco! How are you doing on this fine apocalyptic day?" Klaus said as he moved to sit beside Five.

"Don't save the world", that's what he said to me, "don't save the world"," Five muttered more to himself than to Klaus, who decided to change tactics.

"So what's todays poison of choice" he asked, gesturing to the bottle Five had by his side.

"Just something I nicked from the kitchen while I was in there," Five picked up the bottle and handed it to Klaus, who took a sip. It was shit.

"God,"

"Yep,"

A silence befell the two of them, gazing at the void that surrounded them, the void that would soon consume them if they did nothing. Klaus opened his mouth to speak but Five spoke first,

"Why don't you hate me?" The question threw Klaus off-guard, who turned toward Five. Five was staring at him intently, his face lined with desperation, his hands gripping the edge of the ground as if it was the only thing keeping him from falling.

"Hate you? Why would I hate you?"

"Everyone's lost something and I'm always the center of blame,"

As Klaus stayed silent Five continued, "Allison blames me for Ray and Claire, Viktor blames me for Sissy, Ben hates everyone, Luther is still upset about the years I put him through in the 60's, as is Diego. So, why don't you hate me? You went through the same shit as everyone else, you lost someone in Vietnam, you lost Ben for a second time. How can you not hate me?"

"None of that is your fault! You saved our life, Five! I mean, yeah, you left us in the 1960s which wasn't great but hey! I got to see the world, met a lot of people-"

"-Who you don't remember"

"Who I don't remember, yeah, but still! You couldn't have know about any of that. And I think Ben's warming up to me, I can put in a good word," Klaus nudged Five as he spoke about putting in a good word for him, hoping for some kind of smile, anything that suggested Five truly believed him. Instead, Five stared ahead into the void.

"Thank you, Klaus"

"No problemo, mi hermano, anything for a brother,"

"You really need to stop speaking spanish, you're shit at it," Five took a swig of his bottle, but a tinge of a smile played at his lips.

"But, really, it's not over Five,"

"How do you mean?"

"Dad! He's got a plan!"

"Alright, this is my cue to leave, nice speaking with you, Klaus," Five stood up and began walking back to the hotel.

"Five! Fiiive!" Klaus called after him, but he was already gone. He sighed dramatically, muttered something about having just sat down, and got up to follow Five back into the hotel.

[maddmuses]

mun is superior, pass it on.

Basics

Name: Madd, Maddlynn Maddithan, Maddie, Maddster, The Maddest, Waffles, Maddwaffles, Maddest One Around Age: 27+2 we ain't countin' them COVID years Gender: pebsi (fluid)

Favorites

Food(s): Barbacoa, Tacos, Tomato, Steak, Corn on The Cob, Salsa, Mint Ice Cream, Stroganoff, (still true af untouched except ig we can add caldo de res which I have been really about lately) Drink(s): Bepsi, Milk even tho it hurt me, Coors, Vanilla Bepis (even tho I can't fucking find it) Book(s): The Legends of Drizzt, Percy Jackson and The Olympians, The Heroes of Olympus, Assorted D&D Manuals, Any decent Graphic Novel, Strong Manga series; Hajime no Ippo, Eyeshield 21, Boku no Hero Academia, Bleach, Dragon Ball, Hikaru no Go, Yu Yu Hakusho, Yu-Gi-Oh/GX, Naruto, Slam Dunk, karate shoukoushi kohinata minoru, One Piece. We also addin' Chainsaw Man Favorite Author(s): R.A Salvatore, Ed Greenwood, Akira Toryiama, Tite Kubo, Masashi Kishimoto, Oda, Rowling (Pre-TERF) nah fuck that bitch not even pre-TERF she was wildly overrated, Tolkien Song(s): We don’t have time to be here all day, I’ll list some recent listens; Ocean Avenue - Yellow Card, No Flex Zone - Karmin and Watsky, I’m Something Else - SomethingelseYT, Dammit - Blink182, Punk Rock 101 - Blink182, Almost - Bowling For Soup, Stan - Eminem feat. Elton John, Absolutely - Nine Days, Simple Plan - Summer Paradise, So many Ninjasexparty songs, Rambe - Slow, Rambe - Don’t Greed, Zombie Love Song - YFM, Maroon 5 - Sugar, Reunion - Busted, Year 3000 - Busted Honestly those all slapped so imma add a few more recents: Montero, Good 4 u, My Nonfiction, Boyfriend Complex, anything by the nerdcore rappers

Movie(s): The New Guy, Spider-Man Homecoming (okay just that whole trilogy was best honestly), Spider-Verses too, Star Wars: A New Hope, Ed, Edd, ‘n Eddy: Big Picture Show, Hairspray (Musical)

TV Show(s): AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!! Ed, Edd, ‘n Eddy, The anime adaptations of most of the manga I listed above, Ash Vs. The Evil Dead, King of The Hill, South Park (It fell off), Community, One-Punch Man, Gravity Falls, Scrubs, Venture Bros., Bob’s Burgers, Futurama, Daria, Star Vs. The Forces of Evil, The Boondocks, Saturday night Live when it’s decent, King of The Hill, Futurama, The Conners, As Told By Ginger, The Bear

Band/group(s): Busted, Blink 182, Maroon 5, Sum 41, Bowling For Soup, Ninja Sex Party Solo Artist(s): Rambe, Owl City, Billy Joel Place(s): Oregon, San Diego School Subject(s): Drawing, English, History Sport(s): Boxing, Karate, Football Male Actor: ?????????? Female Actor:  ???????????? I CAN LIST CRUSHES I GUESS BUT YOU DIDN’T ASK I DON’T THINK ABOUT ACTORS THAT MUCH

Life

Best Friend: Brandon (no longer roommate, he still isn’t on tumblr) Significant Other: Am the Single Pringle ;'( Siblings: TONS Dream Job:  Online Content Creator, Teacher, Professor Tattoos: Nada Piercings: Nope Languages: English, Spanglish, Spanish Lite

Tumblr

Reason Behind URL: Well Madd is a component to my standard web handle maddwaffles, for prefix being appropriated from an ex while we were dating (it was a cute thing because we matched) that just hasn’t really evaded me. When it was yallneedahero I would have a more clever answer for you. Reason Behind Icon: I love Isane Nami and you should too # of Posts: 20,535!!!! HOLY SHIT BEFORE IT WAS ONLY 5,235 I SCALE SO HARD Why You Joined: idk!?!!?!?!?!? # of Blogs: P much just this one now

tagging: @pick-your-poison-please @burdenedreverance @midnightactual @waspandr @thundertempo @linklewinklewoman @rangikuxmatsumoto @baiika @auburniivenus @badassbarmaid tagged by: stole from @orihimex and stealing again

[gaymasonjar]

Will You Meet Me In The Middle?

Preview of Chapter 9: I Won’t Give Up

 It was a warm, early October morning. Alex was sitting on the cabin’s front porch, brushing long strokes of black paint on a new metal mailbox. The silence was interrupted occasionally when he dipped the paintbrush into the paint can and tapped off the excess. The mailbox was traditional in shape. A bag of instant cement and a new post was nearby.

 The screen door creaked as it was pushed open by Michael. Two mugs of coffee occupied his hands. They were the same mugs they had made in San Diego. The alien sat by Alex and waited patiently for him to set down the paintbrush before offering the coffee.

 “Thank you”, he muttered before taking a sip.

 “Still unclear if the black is you trying to tell me you’re returning to your emo phase or not.”

 “No”, Alex snorted and motioned to the bag of small paint tubes. “I’m just creating a background.”

 “For?”

 “I thought we could maybe add our handprints.”

 Michael laughed in surprise, “Way to be very obvious.”

 “Only the ones who already know would get it.”

 Leaning over, Michael placed a kiss on Alex’s jaw, “You’re cute. I’m in.”

 “We’ll do it once the paint dries. But you could help me get the post set.”

 “Manual labor. Less cute.”

 Alex rolled his eyes but stood up while drinking more of the coffee. Michael followed Alex down to the end of their driveway after picking up the post, cement bag, and shovel. There were a few random cacti at the edge of the road. Because the cabin was fairly remote, it had never had a mailbox, to begin with.

 “You expecting to get alot of mail while we’re here”, Michael commented.

 “I did submit our change of address already”, Alex shrugged. “It’s no big deal.”

 “Oh, yeah?” He stuck the shovel into the ground near the base of the post to dig it out.

 “I was already informing them of then the name change anyway.”

 Michael stomped on the shovel a bit harder to get it deeper into the soil. Alex watched him take no time at all to dig the perfect hole. Alex held the post in place with one hand as Michael went about pouring the cement. He used a bucket of water to active the cement. Alex hummed contently the entire time, keeping his eyes on Michael.

 “So, I was thinking”, the alien began. “How do you feel about renovations or maybe a rebuild?”

 “On the cabin?”

 “Well, yea. It’s falling apart a little bit”

 The brunette teased his bottom lip between his teeth in thought. “I don’t see why not. If building a home together means literally building it together, I’m okay with that. I know the cabin is small.”

 “Yea, of course. But really, I just want to make it more accessible for you.”

 “It’s not so bad.”

 “Alex the floorboards are so uneven that even I trip walking through the living room and I’m not the one with a metal leg. And don’t get me started on that tiny bathroom. Not even a single handicap bar to grab onto.”

 “Hey”, he grabbed Michael’s shoulder gently. “It’s your home too. Whatever you wanna do. Honestly, as long as I’m with you, I’m happy.”

 He turned his head to place a kiss on his hand. “We’ll do it together. This cement needs time to harden anyway.”

 “What- you wanna start now?”

 “Got anything else planned for today?”

 Alex pursed his lips. Deep Sky was giving him alot of time off between surviving severe radiation poisoning, getting married, and moving. He nodded in agreement. Michael dusted his hands off while walking his husband back towards the house. He grabbed a pad and paper, sketching a rough blueprint of their house.

 “It’s not very large…kinda crowded”, Michael stated. “But we’ve got plenty of property- we could expand.”

 Alex felt his brows shoot up, “How big are we talking, Guerin?”

 “Maybe like an office and spare rooms for guests. Someplace where you can work on your music too. I can keep the underground room for my lab.”

 “That would be nicer than having all my stuff in the living room.”

 “Okay…I think we start with blueprints. But maybe I should call Isobel”, Michael muttered. “She’s way better at this stuff than I am- the interior decorating part. I can handle the building aspect.”

 “We could do that. I know you miss seeing her.”

 “I’ll call her later”, Michael sighed as he felt Isobel poke at their psychic connection since he was thinking about her.

 They headed into the house to get started. Michael started with the existing blueprint first so he knew where the gas, water, and power lines were. Alex mostly watched him work. Michael’s mind was incredibly gifted. The new blueprints were extremely detailed. The existing cabin was going to be torn down. It reminded Alex of the time they tore apart that tool shed back in Roswell.

 “We should bring your Air Stream here”, Alex suggested. “That way we have a place to sleep while we build.”

 “That’s not a bad idea.”

 Alex wrapped his arms around Michael who was seated, resting his chin on his head. “Then we can get dinner with your sister and ask her for some help.”

 Michael grabbed Alex’s arm gently and rubbed his thumb against it. His eyes were focused on the blueprints. The new house would have three levels, including the underground basement. It would be bigger than Alex's old house by the time it would be finished. Plenty of room to grow.

Read more on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/45325099/chapters/115431916

[startrekfangirl2233-writes]

No, Nothin' Good Starts in a Getaway Car

Part 1 of Sometimes All You Need (A Getaway Car)

Jake 'Hangman' Seresin x Reader

Description: On the worst first date of your life, you're aching for any excuse to cut the date short. When a chance encounter with a gorgeous blonde presents you with a chance to escape, you'd be a fool not to take it.

Disclaimer: N/A

Warnings: afab!reader

Word Count: 2784

A/N: Hi! I wrote this for @cherrycola27's 1K Celebration Top Gun Taylor's Version. I had an absolute blast writing it. I listened to Getaway Car by Taylor Swift on repeat, and the story ran away from me. It's also the very first fanfiction that I've ever written. I really hope people like it! And to the lovely @cherrycola27, congratulations on 1k followers! I'm so happy for you!

I have about a billion thanks to the fantastic @roosterbruiser for proofreading this as well!

AO3: Cross-posted here! My Masterlist

Series Masterlist | Next Part

Click Here for the Top Gun Taylor's Version Master List

You meet Jake Seresin in the midst of what is arguably the worst first date you've ever been on. San Diego is at its’ best on the gorgeous summer day you greet James outside a bustling bar for your first date. You’d come across James’ profile after signing up on Tinder for the first time at the prompting of your girlfriends.  At first glance, he is the ideal match for you. He seemed intelligent, 30 years old, worked out regularly to keep fit, had a full-time job, and was a family man. There were no glaring red flags, so you swiped right. Your conversation in the app was a bit boring, but you figured it was more due to the medium of your interactions than the man himself. So you set up a date, picking a bar in a popular area of the city, and dolling yourself up in the prettiest sundress you own, a violet number that swishes to the middle of your thighs.

It was the best of times, the worst of crimes I struck a match and blew your mind But I didn't mean it and you didn’t see it

If only he didn’t open his mouth as you sat at a table and began to get to know one another. The first indicator that James was too good to be true was when he ordered you a gin and tonic without asking you what you liked. And then there was the conversation. All he could talk about was himself, his ex-girlfriend, and, shockingly, his mother. If he wasn’t chatting your ear off about the paragon of virtue and perfection that his ex was, he was talking about his mama and how he ached, longed, and pined to find somebody to do for him what she did for his dad and their family. From what you could gather, the man had a borderline uncomfortably close relationship with his mother. He'd even mentioned needing his mom to hold his hand for his yearly physical. It had been over an hour, and he hadn’t asked you one question about yourself! Needing a break, you excused yourself, alluding to refreshing your drink, and made your way to the bar. 

I wanted to leave him, I needed a reason "X" marks the spot where we fell apart He poisoned the well, I was lyin' to myself

The bar was packed as expected for a Friday night in San Diego. The crush of people pressed you up against the countertop. The bartenders rushed from end to end, filling out drink orders at lightning speed. You finally managed to order an Old-Fashioned and were waiting patiently for the bartender to come back with your drink, idly playing with your phone and desperately counting the minutes until you could say goodbye to your date for the night.

"One Old-Fashioned," came the harried bartender's call as she passed the cut crystal glass over the bar top towards you.

"Thanks," You chirp, praying your smile isn't as pained as you feel.

“Thanks, darlin'," is also the response from the man on your right as his hand closes over yours and the amber drink in the glass.

I knew it from the first Old Fashioned, we were cursed

"O-oh!" you gasp. "Sorry, it's a zoo in here. We must have ordered the same thing!" You release the glass into his grasp.

"An old-fashioned, huh?" He enquires in a deliciously Texan twang. The rest of him is just as delicious, from the emerald eyes, the dirty blonde hair, the cut jaw with a toothpick pressed between thin lips, and the broad shoulders in a polo just a shade darker than his arresting eyes. He's tall, too, at least six feet, and for once, you don't feel like a child looking up at him. Instead, you feel positively delicate in his shadow.

"Yup," You chirp, "I needed something strong to get through what has to be the worst date I've been on in my life."

“A bad date, huh?” His voice is warm and slightly husky. While you usually wouldn’t engage with a man trying to chat with you in a bar, there’s something about this one that draws your attention.

“Yes,” you nod shyly, “it’s been terrible. But I’m sure you’ve got something better to do than hear about the bad date experience of someone you’ve just met.”

“And what,” he asks, turning the toothpick in his mouth end over end, “better thing do you think I have to do?”

Some foreign confidence inhibits you as you take a sip from the glass he places in your hand, letting the liquid slip lazily down your throat as you examine the bar around you.

“Are you sure one of those girls over there isn’t a better companion for your night?” you ask, gesturing towards a group of girls wearing skimpy dresses, sky-high heels, and sashes. They’re each holding a flute of champagne while drunkenly giggling and dancing at the edge of the dance floor. They must be a bachelorette party if the tiara and glitter are leading you right. “They look like they’d be perfect for giving you the good time you’re looking for.”

“And what would you say,” he smirks, grabbing the glass back from you and taking a swig of his own, “if I say I would like nothing more than to know exactly what it is about Mr. Average over there that’s got you all hot-n-bothered? And not in a good way, at that?”

“I’d say, another Old-Fashioned, and you’re on.” From the delight on his face, as he flags down another bartender and orders your drinks, you can see that he’s just as excited to have your full attention as you are to have his. Your decision is made even easier as you lean against the counter and peer through the crowd looking for James. You’re not even a bit surprised to see his attention on his phone in the way it hadn’t been on you when you’d been sitting across the small table from him.

It’s only a few minutes before a pair of fresh Old-Fashioneds are slid your way, and bright green eyes impale you. Taking a sip to fortify yourself, you tell him the whole sordid tale, from swiping right on Tinder to James’ idealized relationship with his ex and his codependent one with his mother. Your drink is long gone by the time you finish, and you’re fiddling with a slim straw as the last words leave you in a rush. It’s a shock to your system when a hand grasps yours.

"A pretty little thing like you shouldn't have to deal with bad dates. A man should be thanking his lucky stars for getting to take a beautiful girl like you to a place like this," the stranger purrs. 

"Smooth," you chuckle, somehow still intrigued despite having been cursing men not long before. "Now I'm just counting the minutes until it's polite for me to make an excuse to walk out of here as fast as I possibly can, and then I never have to see him again." 

"Well, sweetheart," he grins conspiratorially, "I think you've made your feelings perfectly clear already." At your questioning hum, he continues, "Seeing as how you're holding a stranger's hand at the bar and all."

You squeak in response and extricate your hand from the heat of his large palm and long, calloused fingers, face hot and cheeks flushed.

"I'm so sorry!" You apologize profusely. The handsome stranger's eyes seem amused and all-knowing as he bats down every apology spilling from your maroon lips.  Finally, he takes one step further into your space, his hand curling around your hip in a tender caress that sends heat rocketing through you.

"Tell you what, sweetheart." the hot puffs of breath into your ear send a shudder down your spine. "If the date is as bad as you say it is, I'll drive the getaway car. But first, why don’t we show him what he’s had and still missed all night?"

You're transfixed, peering up into sage green pools. This proposition will likely be a better end to the night than anything you expected. Better, definitely, than going home, changing into your pajamas, eating ice cream out of the carton, and venting on the phone to whichever one of your girls can lend a sympathetic ear.

One nod is all it takes. Your handsome stranger drags you out from your sheltered spot at the bar, making his way to the small dance floor. He twirls you around on the dance floor, song after song, in front of the table you were sitting at with your date. At first, you’re worried, not wanting a confrontation between your handsome stranger and James. But as the songs transition, you realize that you’re smiling and laughing outright, all tension dissipated in the heat of his calloused hands on you. Mr. Handsome, as you’ve dubbed him in your head, is a fighter pilot for the US Navy with a dry sense of humor that has you in paroxysms of glee. As you glide across the dance floor, you share information about yourself too. It’s gratifying to hear that he’s as devoted to his job as you are to yours.

It takes a fellow bar patron pointing the two of you out before James notices. As Mr. Handsome twirls you in a spin that wouldn’t have been out of place in Dancing With the Stars, you can see James’ face grow redder and redder.  

Mr. Handsome notices too, and with one final spin, as he clutches you close enough that you can feel the solid muscle of him against your body, he smirks out, “I’ve got you, gorgeous girl. He’s not going to touch one hair on this pretty head. And,” tone growing dark, in a growl that reduces your knees to jelly, “he’ll have to get through me to do that.” 

The song, something peppy that you couldn’t name even if you’d heard it hundreds of times before, finally draws to a close. James’ temper looks to have reached a boiling point, and just as he rises from his seat to stomp over, Mr. Handsome whisks you away, grabbing your purse in one hand as you walk past the table, with one smug wink in the man's direction. 

It was the great escape, the prison break The light of freedom on my face

You can faintly hear James' angry voice screaming, ordering you to come back, but you could care less, wholly enchanted as you are with the beautiful man holding your hand. He throws open the door to his truck in the parking lot and helps you in, and in short order, you're peeling out of the parking lot with James trying and failing to run after you.

While he was runnin' after us, I was screamin', "Go, go, go!"

The mood is light, sitting in the car after you both made your escape. The windows are down, and some country song blares lowly from the speakers. Mr. Handsome’s a chiaroscuro of color in the play of the moonlight on his skin. Every few moments, you see his eyes glance your way as if curious as to why you picked him. Finally, he pulls onto a hilltop overlooking the city and turns off the car. 

Ridin' in a getaway car There were sirens in the beat of your heart

In the silence of the summer night, any tension left in you finally drains away. It’s still a shock when he finally speaks, breaking the peace, “You know, it’s only polite to tip your getaway car driver.” 

You don’t even have to look to know there is a smug smile on his mouth. You also don’t need a mirror to know you’re flushed with the same heat he’d kept on your face all night thus far.

“Tips? Tips weren’t included in our agreement. I only remember agreeing to you driving the getaway car and showing James what he’d been missing all… night … long.” Each word dripping from your burgundy lips is punctuated by the slow glide of your fingers from his palms up his arms. Two can play the seductive game, after all. You can’t help the satisfaction on your face at seeing the blonde adonis sitting beside you, gazing back at you. 

“I’m Jake, Jake Seresin,” your handsome stranger, now Jake, introduces himself. You return the favor, gratified at the sight of his plush lips mouthing your name like he is relishing the shape of you on his tongue. The conversation, unsurprisingly, is as organic as it was when you were both whirling around on the dance floor in that bar a world away. You learn things about Jake that you’re sure he hasn’t told anyone else, just as you tell him things you haven’t told anyone too. When you finally glance at your phone, it’s well past midnight, and San Diego is aglow out of the windshield. 

“It’s past midnight,” you murmur, voice scratchy after hours of conversation and laughter.

“How was that for your first date in a long time?” Jake posits, eyes hooded, and long limbs languid as they stretch before him.

“Pretty good,” you respond, captivated again by the glow of his eyes in the moonlight. “The getaway driving was the highlight of the night after all. The only thing left is to go home and maybe get a kiss goodnight. You game?” There’s a twinkle of mischief in your eyes and an equally mischievous glint in Jake’s. 

“Well, darlin’,” he groans, “I can do you one better. I can kiss you now, sitting in this car, and taste that gorgeous mouth now and then again on your doorstep. What do you say?”

Your grin is perhaps over-eager as you haul yourself into his lap and finally, desperately kiss him like some part of you had been aching to since you left the bar. He takes the lead fairly soon, cradling you against his chest like you’re everything precious in his life. The kisses finally peter off into presses of lips against any exposed skin, gentle and sweet. You can feel the thundering beat of his heart under your hand and soft puffs of breath against the top of your head,

A sinking feeling seeps into you as Jake deposits you carefully back in the passenger seat with a kiss on your forehead and helps you buckle your seatbelt up again. Things are quiet as he navigates you home, the silence punctuated only with long, heat-filled glances and the voice of the GPS taking you home. Too soon, the truck pulls up in front of your house.

“This is me,” you say, injecting false levity in your tone, sad to be leaving Jake when you’d just found him. Jake is the requisite gentleman who lopes around the front of his truck to open the door and help you out. You walk to the door hand in hand, clinging desperately to the feelings of comfort and affection Jake had created in you in one magical evening. 

“Jake,” you peer up at him, playing with his fingers, “before that goodnight kiss you promised me. What are the likelihoods you’d want to do something like this with me again?”

“Chances, pretty girl,” he’s grinning now, something softer and sweeter than the smirk he’d leveled at James hours ago, “are pretty damned good. But first, I’d need your phone number. It’s the only reliable way I know of to get in touch with you again, after all.”

You nod, digging your phone out of your purse, unlocking it, and handing it to him. Phone number saved, Jake slips the phone back into your bag. He then tips your face up, hands gently splayed across your jaw as he feathers the promised goodnight kiss across your lips, the apples of both cheeks, and your forehead. He then presses one final kiss against your lips, a kiss potent enough to make your legs weak, and then steps back, smiling from ear to ear as he watches you unlock your door with shaking hands.

“Text me, gorgeous girl!” 

Those are the last words you hear as you step into your dark house and lock the door behind you.  A ridiculous dopy, giddy grin dances across your lips at the thought of Jake Seresin wanting to see you again. They always say, "No, nothin' good starts in a getaway car," but as you fall asleep in your bed that night with a text zipping through the night air to him, you know that Jake Seresin will be different. You have this sneaking suspicion that he thinks the same of you.

I DO NOT CONSENT TO HAVE MY WORK POSTED, TRANSLATED, OR PUBLISHED ON ANY SITES OTHER THAN HERE OR ON AO3 BY ME. IF YOU SEE MY WORKS ANYWHERE OTHER THAN HERE OR AO3, THEN THEY HAVE BEEN POSTED WITHOUT MY PERMISSION AND I WILL BE WORKING TO TAKE THEM DOWN.

[cortlandkaard]

truly a cacophony. pick your poison

also fun fact: stickbug from bee swarm simulator was after these. i love stickbug

@mein-schatz @kristxt @cakemx @casstarx (no pressure to participate ofc ^w^)

Challenging you all!

Put your music library on shuffle, then list the first five songs that come up in a poll to let people vote for which one they like the most!

Then tag Tumblr friends to keep the game going!

[restsol001]

Quality Reclamation in San Diego: Picking the Right Rebuilding Organization!

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[ey6s]

masterlist. there’s a lot to choose from, pick your poison.

jujutsu kaisen.

satoru gojo. yuji itadori. megumi fushiguro. sukuna. toge inumaki. yuta okkotsu. aoi todo. suguru geto or kenjaku. kento nanami. kinji hakari. maki zen’in. naoya zen’in. mahito. noritoshi kamo. mei mei. hiromi higuruma. shiu kong. choso. uraume. toji fushiguro.

blue lock.

jinpachi ego. yoichi isagi. seishiro nagi. rin itoshi. hyoma chigiri. meguru bachira. rensuke kunigami. micheal kaiser. ikki niko. jingo raichi. shoei baro. reo mikahge. ryusei shidou. alexis ness. sae itoshi. julian loki. kenyu yukimiya. noel noa. oliver aiku.

naruto.

naruto uzumaki. uchiha clan. hidan. kisame hoshigaki. obito uchiha. pain. sai. zabuza. orochimaru. jiraiya. shikamaru nara. gaara. kakashi hatake. rock lee. tsunade. kimimaro. minato namikaze. hashirama & tobirama senju. indra & ashura otsutsuki. kakuzu. sasori.

one piece.

monkey d. luffy. roronoa zoro. nami. sanji. nico robin. shanks. trafalgar law. usopp. boa hancock. buggy. eneru. crocodile. doflamingo brothers. dracule mihawk. eustass kid. portgas d. ace.

jojo’s.

jotaro kujo. dio brando. giorno giovanna. mohammed avdol. rohan kishibe. guido mista. leone abbacchio. funny valentine. gyro zeppeli. kars. emilio pucci. yoshikage kira. bruno bucciarati. johnney joestar. diego brando.

attack on titan.

eren yeager. armin arlet. zeke yeager. erwin smith. jean kirstein. onyankopon. reiner braun. connie springer. hange zoe. floch forster.

tokyo revengers.

manjiro sano. draken ryuguji. takemichi hanagaki. naoto tachibana. kazutora hanemiya. tetta kisaki. keisuke baji. seishu inui. taiju shiba. souya brothers. chifuyu mastuno. izana kurokawa. ran haitani. south terano.

haikyuu.

shoyo hinata. tobio kageyama. aran ojiro. shugo meian. wakatoshi ushijima. takanobu aone. kenma kozume. daichi sawamura. ryunosuke tanaka. asahi azumane. coach ukai. kiyoko shimizu. hitoka yachi. tenma udai. hajime iwaizumi. kotaro bokuto. shinsuke kita. miya brothers. korai hoshiumi.

honestly, just ask me for any character and i’ll probably write for them.

[ruddrow]

" Sharing "

Hello everyone,

My name is Ron Rudd AKA He who's name can not be spoken.

I'm currently living at a homeless shelter at 1501 Imperial Ave San Diego CA, 92101.

It still hurts, the way everything unfolded.

Originally the goal was to shame me into submission but I'm not really wired that way.

Can not begin to emphasize how dangerous sharing innovations and politics on social media can get. 

Shortly after my mother's death my life started getting strangely cloak and dagger.

Four Poisoning attempts on my life once I discovered that I was being broadcast to everyone on the planet without my knowledge. 

Shortly after arriving in Puerto Escondido Mexico a German agent would pick the lock to my room and take my phone. 

I saw it through the window but thought it best that he didn't know I was on to him so I let him keep it. 

Just before that another German agent sharing the same room as him would poison a package of cheese that only he had seen me bring back and place in the community refrigerator full of other people's food.

The other attempts would be made before I left Louisville by people that I thought I knew.

No joke what I've gotten myself into. 

I Had no idea that sharing on Facebook could be so incredibly detrimental to one's health, peace of mind and personal safety.

I've been tortured by pain Drs and Butchered by back surgeons.

If you're going to speak truth to power be ready for whatever they might throw at you to shut you the Fuck up.

Facebook posted several images of a dead white cat on my timeline.

The Jewish owned media would have you believe that I was the one broadcasting from my phone by accident.

That's the joke, that I'm too dumb to work a phone and accidentally broadcast myself. 

The cocktail of drugs added to my Cybalta capsules would make me sound exceptionally slow over the phone so I get why that might possibly ring true.

I have an associates degree in computer science and I can build a computer but I'm too dumb to understand how a broadcast button works.

Your phone is just a hackable handheld computer

Your number or app permissions are all that's required to access your ideas, hard work, microphone, camera and location.

Hackers can hack every single app you own. 

Including Waze and Craigslist, Congress approved and carried out by Fuckerberg and his NHS thugs. Via Google.

Anyone with your phone number can hack you but there were months when I was being hacked that only Facebook and Instagram had my number because I had to keep getting new ones.

There are plenty of Ron Rudd's out there so it would be difficult to know which was mine and my full legal name was never posted on Facebook.

However Zuckerberg did contact me to request my new number while he was broadcasting me.

Every time I would write about what happened on my phone my notes would be hacked and lost.

I took screenshots to try and preserve them and they were blurred out. 

My computer was sabotaged while I was out.

The phone and app locks are nothing more than a false sense of security. In Fact you can turn off your data, WiFi and phone, they will still be listening and they can still contact other close devices.

We now live in a Jewish run Mommy dearest style police state government thanks to a handful of Old white republican politicians.

A hacking device was hidden inside a power strip in my house while I was out.

You can also be directly hacked via Google play services That's how it's designed, with holes.

The local cable company was offering me free cable until they realized I was unplugging the router when I used my phone. Then they cut off the cable and screwed my credit score.

I think pinhole cameras might have been used inside the house.

I couldn't get into my Mycroft account.

My Amazon drive account password was changed.

All my Google backups are gone.

Years of working on music compositions are lost.

Retouched family photos from three generations back lost forever.

All of my innovations were met with massive amounts of hostility on Facebook. 

I couldn't wrap my head around how angry people were about a concept.

They were just ideas take em or leave em. When I made the point that electric vehicles were being charged using fossil fuels instead of solar I was bombarded with insults.

Facebook made it impossible to contact me for startup funding.

Removing all Asian people from my friends list 

I wouldn't even see another Asian in my searches after that.

Then they blocked my phone calls, texts and messages from anyone other than my mom and my therapist.

They hid me among several other Ron Rudd accounts. All my age with beards and glasses.

For a long while you couldn't even find my account.

Fuckerberg hid contact info on my home page. Wouldn't let me download my timeline files. 

My messages were hidden from me. 

One day they all just showed up and then disappeared again shortly after. 

There were hundreds of them. 

Many asking for money.

The matrix pawns would call pretending to be someone from the bank needing my card number so they could call to check my account and see if I had obtained start-up money for my innovations.

Facebook hid the number of followers I had from me and likes on my posts until the very end of this whole ordeal.

My camera was hacked to photograph me naked.

Then they shared that picture with friends on Facebook.

Google home was listed as one of the WiFi connections at the hostel I was staying at in Mexico.

My phone was made useless. I would lose everything after I reset it every few weeks. 

Google never gave me back my previous account so I had to make several of them. Like eight.

I've gone years without a working phone over this.

I will probably go several more years after sharing this.

In some ways I kind of understand. 

Here I am a no family, weed smoking, twenty year pain pill addict who's been in and out of psychiatric facilities and disabled most of my adult life.

Not exactly the best role model for a society built on hard work ethics.

Still this was playing dirty and I wasn't about to just let it slide.

When I realized my phone was being hacked after sharing several innovations that got a lot of attention online I wrote letters to intellectual property attorneys all over the world. 

Shortly after they showed up at the door with QR codes.

Once in my phone they could witness for themselves exactly what was going on.

My medicine was spiked.

They must have used estragon because my beard fell out, sodium pentathol kept me talking and God knows what made me so uncontrollably angry.

As soon as I mentioned the possibility of this over the phone several bottles of medicine came up missing from my home.

I was already a little paranoid before all of this but now my dial is set to eleven. 

I have no doubt that my mental illness will be used to sweep all of this under the rug. 

"He's just paranoid." 

My character assassination was very well thought out.

The countless phone imposter agents used to create the perception of me being a completely irate dumpster fire of a human being by saying things that would make anybody lose their temper. 

Making my medical appointment transportation four hours late on a regular basis for example.

The government is literally playing Crank Yankers with its own citizens. redirecting our calls to imposters, paid for with our own taxes.

There was a short time that I thought only the FBI or homeland security was listening then after using the N word in the privacy of my own house I was clued in by a kick on my door and the side of my house that maybe someone closer was listening. 

Possibly the Police I thought.

My next clue was a Facebook post of a guy beating up another guy the exact way I had just described my brother hitting me to my virtual therapist over the phone. 

I told her so many things about my family and childhood sexual abuse that were meant to be private.

Finally some random black man attacked me on Instagram asking me why I deserve to get a break if he didn't get one.

That's when I was sure my privacy had been raped.

That's when I lost it.

I would later see a lot of things on talk shows, stand up comedy and SnL that would clue me in that the joke was on me all along.

About a week later I would learn that my mother had passed away. It was close to new years.

To this day I wonder if something I said may have led to hear death.

Their agents broke into my house and infected my PC and all of my thumb drives with viruses.

Insuring that I had no proof of concept for my inventions. They even stole a copy of my Myelogram. 

I'm guessing it showed how my Dr's Butchered me it would also insure I couldn't get pain medicine or take them to court. 

The disk was so well hidden behind a drawer inside the end table that there was no way anyone would find it.

That's when I realized they had to be watching me with inferred.

A door was made by some plumbers doing some work under the bathroom floor at the back of the house it would permit entry whenever I left and sometimes while I was sleeping. 

Also the front door had a combination lock. 

I'm guessing a camera was set up to watch me unlock it from a distance.

Infrared cameras and my phone's location would let them know when it was safe to come in. 

After gluing that point of entry in the bathroom shut I could hear them banging on it in order to try and jar it loose after I had been lying still for awhile one night.

Finally they drilled holes in the side of my house where a small divide separated me from my neighbor. They injected my room with an aerosol. 

My CPAP machine had a reservoir full of iodine colored water every morning for weeks.

My heart would start racing when I walked. I had to stop and set down from the dizziness and I was spontaneously losing control of my bowls.

I had constant fatigue and night sweats.

My face was swollen with a red rash around my eyes and nose. My sinuses congested and I would sneeze constantly. I was experiencing brain fog and my skin had turned pale and clammy.

One time they left a pair of plastic gloves behind

After doing a search.

My pain medicine came up missing and that month pain management called me in for a pill count. 

That was the first time in over twenty years of receiving pain medicine I had ever been asked to come in for a count.

Somebody kicked or thew something at my cat permanently damaging his ear.

I no longer felt safe where I was. 

People were shining flashlights through my curtainsbat night.

Sometimes I would hear extremely loud kicking on my front door. 

The message was clear.

I couldn't live there without water after receiving a five hundred dollar bill after I had it turned off so I had to leave my home of twenty years.

Leaving behind my beloved cat.

I packed up and left for El Paso where my roommate's car would soon be vandalized after he got too involved in the situation at which time I headed down to Mexico.

A British agent was one of many agents that came to Mexico.

He suggested that this was supposed to be something like the Truman show with Jim Carrey.

My thoughts on that.

Why not Clockwork orange or Shawshank? 

Better yet why not Trading Places?

This was done to humiliate me for political purposes, my fight for climate conservation and 

Maybe it had something to do with my innovations as well.

The government is constantly trying to set me up now. 

Apparently entrapment laws have been abolished for our generation. 

Usually it was someone that already knew I was being broadcast and wanted to be famous for kicking my ass. 

Other times they would use my location to parade attractive women in front of me a few times a week in hopes of getting me to try and solicit a prostitute. 

Sometimes they would do this on social media asking me to buy them an Xbox card for their kids to keep them busy while we had sex in the other room. 

This happened several times.

I have doubt that once I was behind bars I would be there for a long time.

Jewish owned social media completely disrespected me putting my personal safety in danger and leaving me completely humiliated and fearful for my life when they broadcast my microphone. 

So I gave them a taste of their own medicine calling them out for the role they played in raping my privacy. 

I probably went overboard but I've always had difficulty controlling my anger.

I still regret some of my comments.

It was also a great way to get canceled in a cancel culture.

Insuring that someday at least I would finally have my privacy, safety and peace of mind. 

Free of the stalker messiah and his army of Matrix puppets.

Yes, 

I like to look at photos of young ladies naked.

The website I used was the very first listed in Google's search engine. 

If anyone was underage it's because Google allowed it. 

I agree that some of those girls looked too young to be there.

It's a billion dollar industry so I'm not the only dirty old Man out there.

The difference being that they agreed to be filmed naked performing sex acts. 

I didn't.

Let me clear this up, 

I'm not anti semitic 

I still like many Jewish people. 

Adam Sandler had nothing to do with this.

Mell Brooks is still one of my heroes.

I could just as easily suggest that they're anti atheist or anti irish.

That's just a lazy way out of legitimate arguments.

I've enjoyed TV and movies created by the jewish community all of my life.

I honestly believe they have saved me from countless days and nights of painful boredom but clearly there's something diabolical going on behind the scenes of these mega monopoly media companies in conjunction with our government in order to get the people they want into office.

All of this needs to be brought out into the light and closely examined for the security of our nation.

"Ultimate power corrupts ultimately."

I'm tired of being divided by sexual orientation, gender, race, income and politics in the media.

We need unity now more than ever!

Meanwhile they portray themselves as being peace loving, family oriented and nonviolent.

The Jewish owned media completely disrespected my safety and privacy so I completely disrespected the Jewish people.

That's why I went off. 

That's why I threw in the towel.

I'm not really all that angry about my ideas being exploited. My privacy, yes!

I knew how the process worked before I shared them and I was aware that if nobody helped me with startup fund's any monetary rewards would be lost. 

All I had was proof of concept.

I took that chance because at the time I thought Fuckerberg was trustworthy. 

I wasn't expecting that my phone would be hacked so that nobody could reach me in order to insure my losses.

Meanwhile Facebook was sharing posts on my timeline giving me the impression that I should just be patient because I was already a millionaire.

Showing me luxurious homes and cars at the same time they were broadcasting my phone and using several of their infinite number of agents to try and entrap me. 

About a year later, once they knew it was too late for me to patent the idea they started harassing me through posts, implying what a loser I was.

Why is it that inventors are the only ones required to pay an exorbitant fee before they can get financially rewarded for sharing an idea that would better our society and the health of the planet?

What if our favorite musicians and artists had to come up with five to fifty grand before they could profit from their creativity? 

We would only get rich, white bread and mayonnaise sounding songs and artwork right?

After all that I had been through they still expected me to play ball and donate my time and creativity as though no fowl had ever been committed. 

I should just keep giving away my ideas as though nothing had ever happened. 

That is if I was really a kind caring human being then I wouldn't let any of this change me... 

Even if you do come up with a few thousand dollars to get help patenting your idea all someone has to do in this country is say that they thought of it at the same time. 

Easily done when these monopolies have total access to your electronic devices and ideas.

Bluetooth came out the same year as 9/11 allowing our cellphones to communicate with our devices, the patriot act would give permission for government monopolies like Google and Facebook to keep an eye on us, opening the door to intellectual property theft.

It would also give them unlimited access to their political rivals' email communications and personal life. 

Making Watergate look like child's play. 

Now they are using their Matrix puppets to command hard work and obedience while snitching and stealing from the rest of us.

This is my opinion based on what's happening to me.

These companies have COMPLETE control over who we can talk with. 

Our forefathers would have gone to war over less. 

Still we market ourselves to the rest of the world as the land of the free.

How do we know that the same thing that happened to me hasn't happened to our more liberal leaning politicians in order to sway a vote or get them to resign?

Read that again.

How all of this has effected me long-term.

I miss the people and pets that would have still been in my life had none of this happened.

I am always suspect of anyone that comes into my life. 

What are their motives? 

Do they know who I am? 

How are they going to try and entrap me?

I keep my devices in Feraday cloth now and I'm careful around phones and camera's.

I think the government's ability to use their Matrix puppets to influence friends, family and neighbors with threats of incarceration for past crimes or monetary rewards paid for with our taxes was the most disheartening part of all this.

Not one of you has ever told me straight out that my phone is broadcasting only subtle hints by repeating the things I have said in the past.

Usually being done by an agent trying to provoke me.

What did I do to justify this attack on my safety and privacy? 

I wouldn't change political parties to republican.

I fought for climate conservation and I didn't support Israel's occupation of Palestine. 

That's all it took.

Mr. White from breaking bad approached me on Facebook to try and get me to join his team.

I WAS given a choice.

The last poisoning attempt on my life has changed me. 

My memory and focus are wasted.

Once this has happened to enough people you'll know the truth. 

Once it's happened to you it won't seem as funny.

Keep stealing from the creatives and all you'll be left with is lawyers and accountants. 

It's taken every bit of my strength to keep from turning to the dark side.

I have no doubt that this is the kind of thing that has led to the ridiculous number of mass shootings in our country.

Random People see me and chuckle or laugh.

An orthodox Jew called me Ron Rudd the masterbator at the Chicago airport.

While sleeping on the sidewalk a man approached to yell something about Yahweh.

Now I live in a homeless shelter in San Diego where I've witnessed two stabbing and several fights. 

Every night after I fall asleep a security guard taps on my metal bunk and shines a flashlight in my face. 

The plastic mattress is destroying what's left of my back.

I would welcome any legal advise.

I can't even get the pain medicine I need after they broadcast me doing a small bit of meth that I hadn't done in over twenty years.

This whole ordeal has cost me everything.

Even my beloved cat.

I'm nervous wreck now.

225 degrees in Texas. I've done all that I can.

I am completely ruined now thanks to sharing.

Steps I've taken to unf#ck my phone:

If you can't get a phone in someone else's name here are some tips on keeping them out of your android.

Once you download everything from playstore 

Disable All of your Google apps, anything that says Google clear the cache then turn on do not disturb some apps like Spotify and Shutterfly will no longer work. 

You can enable Google services for a moment now and then but not playstore.

Now uninstall the Meta and Facebook apps all four of them. Do not install Whatsapp, which is a Gateway for hackers.

Instagram is the most insidious downloading viruses disguised as apps.

Once they have your number all hell breaks lose.

Switching to WIFI won't help using your location they will access your phone as soon as you inter the password.

They're going to upload everything to your Google keyboard now. You'll need to clean the cache on a regular basis.

Get a non WiFi motion detection alarm with a siren to keep Matrix puppets out of your house when you're not there.

List of innovations:

The iPhone GPS tracking devices that help locate your keys and wallet.

Fresnel lens powered water heaters

Electromagnetic earthquake proof buildings.

Revolving metal detector security door.

Gps chips in children's shoes to prevent kidnapping.

Several environmental ideas.

Using airbags to stop oil leaking from pipelines.

Metal case to hold GPS trackers for your catilitic converter. Attached with JB weld.

Solar powered lawnmower that worked like the robots that clean our floors.

Air bags to seal leaking oil pipeline

Reflective marbles made of desert sand to help cool the planet.

Using seed bombs to plant the most carbon reducing trees and plants.

Piping water from plentiful lakes to the ones drying up.

Giant circular submersible farms utilizing condensation for hydroponic irrigation.

Political ideas that would have pissed them off.

Verified voting checked online with a password.

A government supplemental coupon to save money on electric mowers and weed eaters.

My stance against the fossil fuel industry.

Public Voting to decide which companies get subsidized.

I was pointing out the hypocrisy of threatening disabled people's income and calling it intilements while the wealthy do no actual labor for the income they make off the interest of their money.

Complaining about the amount of money we send to Israel and the resulting gentrification of our cities leaving thousands homeless.