#do you think angels halos buzz like neon signs

[grilde1chesse]

literally what

[thatone-brightstar]

The Bear & The Fox (Carmy Berzatto x Fem!Reader)

Chapter 3: Pin a Fox skin to the wall, call it decoration

Words: 4.9k

Summary: With a few drinks in, you both confess your feelings. But there's always something getting in the way.

a/n: I am the gift that keeps on giving! So here's the next chapter cuz I feel shitty just leaving it in my documents and you all have been so nice! Enjoy! xx

P.S. Reader is Latina in this, so there's gonna be melanin for daysss.

“How much longer do you think you're gonna be?!” Syd yelled at her phone through the noisy bar.

Everyone was on a different wave of conversation, ranging from sports to food to whatever new show they were hooked on. The buzz of chatter around them combined with the pulsing music and lack of food in his system was enough to create a growing migraine in Carmy’s head. He gladly took a swig of the beer in front of him to dumb out the increasing sensation as he waited for Syd to hang up on you. He thought their reaction to joining them would be one of distaste or discomfort but his first drink had been on Sweeps, who was glad to finally see him outside the perimeters of The Beef. 

“I like what you’ve done to the place.” He said after finishing the second beer. “But you gotta lighten up, man. Rome wasn’t built in a day. Also you could use a tan. Try going out in the sun every once in a while!” He joked and a genuine laugh had left Carmy’s lips for the first time in forever.

“She’s on her way!” Sydney yelled to the table and everyone acknowledged it before returning to their conversations.

“Does she know I’m here?” He asked her over the noise, a bit concerned whether he wanted to know the answer or not.

“Yeah! I told her we’re all here!” She answered and of course she would tell you, because as far as they were concerned, nothing out of the ordinary had happened between you two.

His hand began to grow clammy and he took another hefty swig of the amber liquid to try and calm the nerves down. At least the music was loud enough to drown out the sound of his thoughts, he'd have to make due with that for now. The chatter transitioned into anecdotes about the stupidest things they had done as teens and they spent the next ten minutes debating whether Angel stealing single batteries from the family packs at Walmart counted as kleptomania or not. By his third beer, he felt his shoulders lose a bit of the perpetual weight that had been sitting on them since he had arrived back in Chicago; the music felt more bearable, his laughs lighter and his nerves almost down to a hum. 

They had been lucky enough to get a booth table by the windows, the sight of River North’s night life was in full bloom behind the old stained glass and his eyes wandered to the new perspective he had been granted of the old neighborhood. Between neon signs and moving cars he saw you from afar. Standing patiently for the little human to move on the crosswalk light. You looked like a radiant ray of moonlight, with loose curls framing your face like a dark halo and even though he had found you absolutely beautiful with your paint splattered overalls, this was something entirely different, something that would have him losing his balance if he wasn’t already sitting down.

He watched you move your boot-covered feet closer towards the bar, and with each stride on the long skirt, the slit up your thigh revealed a glimpse of lovely tan skin with swirling designs he had known no existence of until then, but now wanted to discover more of. Golden rings contrasted against the black jacket covering your arms as you raked your fingers through your hair and turned towards the window where he had shamelessly been gawking at you. A small smile covered your previous serious features and you waved nervously before disappearing through the entrance.

He shuffled in his seat and wished he would have at least run some water through his hair before leaving, but looking around at everyone’s post work attire, he figured he’d be fine. A cheer of ‘Hey's was heard through the group as you approached the table and you made a little dance once you reached them. You scooted into the booth beside the edge by Carmy and threw a nervous smile in his direction.

“Sorry I’m late! Two fuckin Ubers canceled on my last minute. I swear I was about to start walking!” You yelled exasperated.

“Well you’re already two drinks behind so start catchin’ up!” Marcus said, calling the waiter over and ordering another round of beers and a double  shot of tequila for each one.

“Oh it’s gonna be like that then, huh?!” You asked him with raised brows and a smile.

“Uhh, yeah!” He mimicked you in a pitched valley girl accent and the table roared in laughter.

They went around talking about their day and how Richie, as he does, had death threatened Fak for suggesting he should go to anger management classes. Your shoulder rubbed alongside Carmy’s in the small booth as you laughed at their stories and the friction along with your delicate perfume was making it hard to concentrate on anything at all. He took a couple of fries from the dish at the center of the table to keep his mouth occupied as he listened to Syd and you argue about the best contestant in a new baking show you were both watching. 

The shots came with cheers, and as everyone took the small glass in one hand and a lemon wedge in the other, they went around the table to say something they cheered for,

“I’m thankful that I got tomorrow off so I can get as hammered as I want!” Cheered Sweeps and it was followed by a choir of Boo’s from everyone.

“I guess I'm thankful that I got a job that I actually like.” Marcus continued and the Boo’s turned to Aw’s.

“And I’m very thankful for you, bunch of idiots.” You finished shily and only Marcus, who was sitting across from you, noticed your eyes linger a little too long on Carmy.

Their little glasses clinged against one another and everyone downed the transparent liquid with a scrunched face. 

The conversations broke into groups again, and he took his shot at catching your attention before anyone else. He gently bumped his shoulder against yours while he took a sip of alcohol for courage. From his side view he saw you had turned up to look at him and noticed you swallow hard scanning his features. When he turned to you, a soft smile covered your face and it was hard not to smile back.

“Hey” You whispered, bumping your shoulder back to his softly.

“You..um, you look really nice.” He said leaning towards you so you could hear him better above the music, and also so no one else would  notice his words. 

His breath ghosted over the skin of your ear and you were thankful for the jacket covering your already bumpy skin.  

“Thank you.” You whispered, cheeks warm.

“Look, I’m sor-“ 

“I’m sorry for-“

You interrupted each other, then laughed waiting for the other to continue. 

“You go.” You insisted.

He breathed in deep and turned his torso towards you to give himself a false sense of privacy in the crowded space. “I’m really sorry If I made you feel uncomfortable… back at the office.” He started and his eyes jumped between yours trying to decipher your thoughts through your expressions. “That was not cool and kinda creepy and I don’t want you to go because of me-”

“Wait-”

“You’re a great addition to the team, honestly one of the best, you’re good at calming Richie when he gets stressed and you're fast and precise, and you're good for me too-” He kept rambling, his gaze now focused in his hands.

“Carmy-” You tried to interrupt again with no avail.

“And I’d hate for you to leave cause I’m an impulsive jackass and I wouldn’t know what to do if I.. couldn’t see you.. anymore.” He finished swallowing hard, his eyes dragged slowly from his hands to your features and he grew scared of the confession that had left his mouth under the rambling.

All his words separately meant something different, they meant a thank you, a praise, a gentle pat on the back. But not like this, not all together, jumbled and tied with a string of revelation that there might be something more than what he was saying. He saw your chest raise with the motion of a heavy breath and your eyebrows were scrunched in concentration over his face. The background noise had been covered over by the thumping of blood rushing to his head and for a second his heart stopped at the idea that he had dug himself a deeper grave than he had wished for. He stared back at your eyes unable to look away, the ‘Fuck it’ from a couple hours ago now sour on his tongue.

“Do you wanna talk outside?” You whispered leaning forward so he could hear you, brows still knotted together.

You didn’t wait for his answer as you reached down to his tightly clasped hands and wedged your fingers carefully to get them to separate. You held on tightly then began to slip out the booth telling everyone you were gonna get more drinks for the table, before getting lost in the sea of bodies standing around. He let you guide him through the free spaces between the swaying crowd of drunks as he did his best to calm the growing anxiety in his chest. All he could concentrate on were your delicate fingers brushing softly around his hand.

This is what he wanted, right? This is why he had come knowing you would be here, to tell you how he felt, to clear things up, and since the cat’s head was already out the bag, might as well let the rest of the body out. 

‘Let it rip’ his brother’s words danced in his mind and he smiled humorlessly at how they teased him with how easy it sounded to do so.

**********

Fuuuck. You had not planned this far ahead. At least not this early into the night. You expected to do this with maybe another three drinks in your system, when you could still hold a serious conversation without crying for getting rejected cause the voice in your head would slur that it was his loss and that you were still a bad bitch. It also didn’t help that you had smoked a bit while getting ready and the cloudy haze around your brain had not subsided. You were coherent, yes, which was important, however you were not very good with your self control and with the way your throat had closed up at the sight of his profile while he simply took a drink, god you knew this was gonna be hard. 

His confession still swam in the swampy waters of your foggy brain as you pulled both of you through the crowded space. Your hand was tightly wrapped around what you could hold of his and when you finally spotted an exit, your heart leaped in your chest at the idea of how the conversation would go. The emergency door stood tall between the bathroom entrances, an inaudible creek vibrated through the metal as you pushed yourself against it and a cold breeze of air welcomed your face when you both stepped out into the alley. You expected a few smokers to linger around, but then again many who did choose to smoke did it in front of the place, not the side alley like rats; so you were alone. Great.

You finally let go of his hand, a cold absence replacing it, then leaned against the wall in front of the metal exit, staring at him. He took a cigarette from the packet inside his jacket and lit it, mimicking your actions by the door. He took a couple calming drags while both of you thought about what you were gonna say next. 

You could play this two ways: One. Pretend like you hadn’t understood what he said at the booth and say the whole office thing had been a misunderstanding. A little gaslighting wouldn’t hurt, right? It was for your own good anyway, the both of you. The pessimist in you was sure Carmen didn’t know what he was getting into and he already had enough problems trying to get the restaurant off the ground to add yours to the mix. 

And two, Tell him how you felt, fuck the rule. You had known him long enough to know he wasn’t the type of guy you established the rule for in the first place. He was nothing similar to the mutherfuckers you had met in your other jobs, he was nice and patient and cared more about others than he liked to admit; and for fuck’s sake if the bar was already on the floor, finding someone like that and also have him be hot, was not a common occurrence. 

You took your eyes off your boots scraping the pavement to look at him. ‘Why is he so hot and so miserable?!’ you thought as you watched him with his cigarette, the gloss in your eyes making any source of light into twinkling stars. His eyes met yours and normally you would avert your gaze. Normally, however, you would not be in this situation and normally you would not be feeling this angry all of a sudden. 

“You thought I was gonna leave?” You asked. ‘Solid start’.

“I thought I freaked you out.” He shrugged. “You walked out on me.”

“Yeah, and how did you expect me to react?” You respond a little more defensive than you intended. 

“Look, I know it was fucked and I’m sorry, okay? I just-” He took another drag to calm himself down then looked back at you, ocean eyes harboring a storm. “I don’t know what happens to me… when you're around. You make my chest not hurt as much and I- It feels easier to breathe with you.” 

You stayed silent, staring at him through hooded eyes and heavy breaths, trying to keep your mind clear because how could you concentrate on anything when he spoke so sweetly about you? You had to keep reminding yourself that this was for the best. Around you, the low rumble of the music vibrating past the walls could still be heard, like a distant world existing outside your current bubble of angst.

“Wh-what did you mean?” He asked after a long silence and he noticed the confusion in your blank stare. “When you said you needed to get me out your system, what was that?” 

Carmy noticed the subtle change in your expression, how your shoulders tensed and you diverted your gaze to anything else but him. You wanted to shout that it meant exactly that, he was so deep in your thoughts that some days you had caught yourself shamelessly daydreaming about the two of you together, in any way possible. But the last rational part in your brain held your tongue from speaking, you couldn’t say it, there was too much at risk to do so and he was not helping with the way his words were making your chest swell. You were getting angry because this would be so much easier if he was just another asshole. 

You shrugged looking at him. “Nothing, i-it just came out.” ‘Gaslighting it is.’ 

He exhaled a humorless laugh, his eyes still trained on you. “You’re a shitty liar, you know that?” He said with a last drag of his cig before flicking it to the ground and stomping on it.

He raked a hand through his hair and shameful observation had taught you that this meant Carmy was getting stressed.

“Okay, fine! You wanna know?!” You finally spat with anger, “Because I fuckin’ like you, Carmen!” You raised your arms in exasperation. “Because you have no fuckin’ idea what it does to me when you look at me like-like that!” His gaze was fixated on you, head slightly tilted down and to the right, jaw tensed. His brows dropped lower in a scowl and a jolt of lightning traveled down your back at his expression.

“And why didn’t you say anything!” He yelled back.

“Oh, seriously?! What did you want me to say? I need two roast beef sandwiches, hold the peppers and FYI Carmy, I got a crush on you?!”

“How the fuck was I supposed to know then?!” He said in frustration, taking a step closer to you and the height difference was significantly more noticeable when he wasn’t shrinking into himself.

“You weren’t supposed to, that’s the fuckin’ point!” His shoulders fell slightly and the strength in your voice lowered. “I just... needed to get over you and you’d never know. Get you out my system with someone else and never have to mention it.”

Carmy tried to ignore the flashes of your rosy cheeks and short breaths, panting under someone else. ‘This is not the time.’ he reminded himself.

“So, what? You were just gonna leave me believing I did somethin’ wrong to you when you actually liked me?”

“I wasn’t gonna leave.” You whispered. The words get caught on your tongue and you take a deep breath before continuing.

“But the last time I liked someone at my job it… It didn’t turn out right.” You struggle to calm your racing thoughts, his eyes a distracting lighthouse guiding you back in. His brows knitted together. “I don’t wanna go through that again, Carmy” You said defeated.

“You don’t know if it’s gonna be the same.” His voice pleaded just above a whisper, lower than you were used to when it came to him or his cousin.

“I don’t think I can risk it.” You whispered back, doing your best to keep the tears under control.

You were both silent for a while, until Carmy began to shake his head slowly.

“No, no, no you don’t get to do that, okay? You don’t get to tell me you like me then immediately blow me off cause some asshole in the past hurt you.” He took the last two strides in your direction, his chest now so close you could feel the heat radiating from his body.

You pushed yourself against the wall from the sudden proximity. Your breath seized in your lungs as you felt both his hands cup the sides of your face and tilt it up to stare deep into the pits of your eyes. You swallowed hard at all the scenarios flashing through your head, the turn of events giving you whiplash. He lowered his forehead slowly to yours, your eyelashes fluttered trying to close, but your eyes were fixed on his. Carmy’s face was so close, you could feel the heat off his breath. The smell of tobacco that lingered around you and mixed with the smokey wood scent that seemed to cling to him after a long workday, had your head grasping onto the last threads of self control left in  you.

“Tell me to stop. Tell me to stop and I’ll do it, I’ll never touch you again or mention it, I promise.” He rambled, a soft desperation clear in his voice. “I won’t even look in your direction but please, please don’t ever think for a second that I would do anything to hurt you.” He whispered.

Even in the darkness of the alley, you could tell his irises had swallowed the last drop of blue, now so dark and glossy you could see your own despair reflected back to you. You swallowed hard to get rid of the cottonmouth and his eyes flickered towards your lips for less than a second. ‘God, why couldn’t you just say yes?!’ Your head screamed at you through the dissipating smog of weed and untampered emotions.

He had not only given you his heart on a golden platter, but had plated it himself and set the table for you, too. Now it was solely your decision if you wanted to take it or not, if you wanted to guard his heart next to yours for safekeeping or let it finish crumbling on the grime covered pavement. You stared at his features in contemplation and scanned your brain for all the ways it told you this could go wrong. And yet, even after a thousand scenarios came up, you held in protective arms the few ones that bloomed a warm excitement in your chest. You wanted to, even if it was just this once, to be fearless, jump into the unknown regardless of the outcome. You truly did.

“It’s not that easy.” You whispered, shutting your eyes to avoid the look of hurt haunting over his. His hands faltered their grip on your face and soon a cold rush of air replaced the warm contact.

You reopened your gaze to see him standing with his hands now resting on the brick beside your head, defeated. His stare was glued to his tattooed skin, not even daring to look directly at you anymore and you knew, he was withdrawing back to the depths of his mind where one goes when you’ve been completely shattered. You could see his jaw tense up, probably in anger and he was well in his right to be so. He had bared his feelings to you and you had massacred them all over the walls in less than five words. ‘It’s better like this.’ You tried to convince yourself.

“I’m so sorry Carmy, but I-I can’t-”

He cleared his throat then pushed himself back with enough force that it almost felt like he had pulled on an invisible string against your chest.

“No- uh, no I get it.” he sniffled “You’re right, it’s better this way.” He did his best to avoid your gaze, settling it on anything around the empty alley. “I’m gonna go buy the drinks and then head home.”  He said walking back to the door.

You watched still from your position by the wall how he reached for the handle pulling the metal open. An immediate rumble of bass surrounded the once empty area as Carmy walked halfway in then stopped. He slightly turned his head in your direction, eyeing you over his shoulder.

“Don’t-uh.. don’t worry about.. this.” He said to you over the music. “I meant what I said about not sayin’ anythin’.” He rose his head to the sky for a couple seconds then back down. “So, don’t worry about it.” The gravel under his feet groaned as he turned to look at you one last time, “See you at work, chef.”

He was gone with a slam of the door. You stayed motionless, fixated on the space his body had occupied only seconds before. The ghost of his touch still tingled on your face and it took you an unspeakable amount of strength to not break down for the second time that day. It was already atrocious enough that you had committed what was probably the second worst mistake of your life by letting him go, but if you let yourself fall apart in a dingy unlit back alley of some bar, you have truly found a point lower than you thought possible. So with a very, very shaky breath and with the vast expertise as a teen with an overprotective mother, you pulled yourself together, sniffled back the tears and made your way inside ready to pretend like the last fifteen minutes had never happened.

When you reached the booth with your friends, a tray of five shots sat untouched on the table and a sour taste invaded your mouth to see the sixth had been downed and turned upside down at the end of the tray. 

“Carmy said your mom called, is everything okay?” Sydney asked as soon as you were in earshot, the pit in your stomach grew again  because even after hurting him, he still considerate enough to cover for your absence.

“Uh… yeah she’s fine. Just wanted to know when I’d be back.” You lied as you slid back into the booth.

With no hesitation, you reached for one of the glasses and downed it straight, no lemon. Syd gave a confused look to your expressionless face and even reached for one of the glasses to prove it was actually alcohol when you were laughing at Angel and Macus’ arm wrestling.

The liquid burned a distracting path down your throat and kept your attention diverted enough from the emotions you knew you’d have to figure out when the fog had lifted. For now, at least you would allow yourself to play with the idea that everything was fine and that your chest wasn’t shattering with every whiff of his lingering scent that permeated on your jacket.

The rest of the night was a blur of strawberry daiquiris, tequila shots, terrible karaoke and the guys competing over who could throw the furthest a traffic cone they found off the side of the road while walking you and Syd home, at almost four in the morning. They had dropped you off with a chorus of slurred ‘bye byess’ and kept walking in the direction of “Adventure” as Sweeps had called it. On your way up, the usual still stairs had become a workout to climb and Syd had almost landed on her ass on the second and third floor, before tripping on the forth and sliding belly first down half the flight of stairs. You did your best to contain the laughter after seeing her reaction to finally landing with nothing but a bruised chin and ego, but her surprised face was enough to have you slumping on the last step and heaving with tears in your eyes. After you both caught your breath, you reached towards her and held her hand until you were in the safety of your room.

You giggled drunk while changing into your pajamas and turned to Sydney, telling her about your foolproof plan of going home with a stranger to get Carmy out of your head.

“I don’t get it.. why not jus’ like, bang Carmy, right? And get it over with?” She said between hiccups as you both climbed into your bed.

“It’s jus’ not the same!” You whined, turning off the light. “He’s too good for that.” You heard Syd groan beside you and you’re glad the lights were off so she couldn’t see you rolling your eyes at her. “He is!”

You shimmied under the covers and stared at the glow in the dark stickers on your ceiling, the alcohol making them swim around the blank canvas like shooting stars.

“He’s sweet and kind and… funny in like a fucked up, kinda tragic way..” you giggle “and he’s so fuckin’ hot, Sydney! So hot! Every time he looks at me with those eyes I want him to bend me over the expo an-“ you feel a soft smack against your face and the plushness of the pillow drowns out your laughs. 

Syd groaned in disgust at the image you planted in her head “Dude gross! Why would I ever need to know that?!” She said taking the pillow back from you. 

You giggled again and turned to Syd’s silhouette, softly combing back the braids that rested on her shoulder to distract yourself. “I think I really fucked up tonight, Syddy.” You finally admitted in the darkness of your safe space and heavily intoxicated. 

Sydney hummed in question and you knew you only had a few moments of clarity before falling unconscious. You took the end of one of her braids and used it to tickle under her nose to keep her awake a little longer while you failed to understand the many emotions in your head.

“I think he hates me now.” You said softly, a small tear sliding out your eye and quickly disappearing into the soft fabric of your pillow.

She scratched at her nose in frustration then slightly slapped her palm against your forehead. You laughed softly but continued to bug her.

“He could never hate you, he loves you too much.” She mumbled carelessly, readjusting herself and swinging a leg up on your hip under the duvet.

Your cheeks felt warm at the idea of love and even though you knew it was too soon to call it that, you couldn’t avoid the fuzzy feeling the word brought to your insides. ‘Oh to be loved’ you thought ‘and by Carmy of all people’. 

“You can’t know that.” You said with a sniffle, caressing the tip of her braid now on your own nose. You liked how it tickled.

Syd sighed before lifting her head as best she could in her drunk and half asleep state and slurred your name “Please, that man has been tripping-over-his-feet in love with you since day one.” She paused to pull her hair from your hands and adjust the pillow under her. “You two are the only idiots who haven’t noticed.” Then laid her head back down with a soft smack.

A new sensation filled your chest, one you hadn’t really given a name to before because there hadn’t been a reason to. It was a warmth that spread from the crown of your head down to the tips of all your extremities as your friend’s words floated in your head. A slow smile extended across your face and with the last waves of consciousness you decided to put an end to all the doubt and talk to him tomorrow, the stupid rule be damned. 

Capter 4.

Taglist: @pearlstiare and that’s it lmao

[beefwords]

Angel Meat: The Angel Clinic

The Angel Clinic is closed tonight. I knew this on the bus drive, but for some reason I find myself here, standing outside with the other angels, in line, waiting for the sun to rise and the doors to open. The sky is a barely blue black, stars a distant tapestry, and the angels a line of silvery and golden light in the shadows. I’m twentieth in line. The air shimmers around our wings, our eyes, our halos, where we wait beneath the underpass. A billboard advertises miracle cures. A neon sign flickers for the corner shop down the block. A black car rolls past, full of unseen eyes, the bass of some music ruffling feathers and reverberating through the air.

A pair of humans pass by, not looking at us, scruffier than us. Better to avoid eye contact than to pity, they think. They’re probably right. Humans often are.

I watch them.

The sun rises.

A clinic worker turns on the open sign and opens the doors, and we march in, taking our number tickets as we enter and sit in the waiting room. More angels file in and begin a line anew outside the door and down the sidewalk. We continue to wait in silence.

A cheap fan oscillates on a shelf in the corner, disturbing the plastic greenery.

The fluorescent lights buzz above my head in the false ceiling.

A phone rings in a distant room.

“Number 20,” an automated voice calls. “Proceed to office 3.”

I stand, and follow the instructions, shimmering into the private office. A human greets me with a polite smile, and gestures to the seat across the desk from him.

“Good morning, please take a seat. ID?”

“TY-562223-34H.”

He enters the ID into the old brick of a computer, keys clacking in the silence. He’s a familiar face at this point, an older human with white hair, white skin, and large glasses. There’s a soft sheen of sweat across his wrinkled skin. He has a slight arrhythmia. His name is John Westley. He is divorced, with an estranged adult daughter.

“Ah! Xertia, I knew I recognized you. What brings you into the clinic today?”

“I need to make some money.”

He nods, understanding, crossing his hands in front of him. “Alright. Did you have a specific goal in mind?”

“$32,000.”

He raises an eyebrow, eyes widening for only a moment. “I see. Let me put that into our system and see what we can do for you…”

I know it is a grim number, but it is imperative that I get this money, and fast. I am in a lot of debt. I’m glad that the clinic workers don’t ask why I need money.

“Alright, let’s start small. Your eyes are $100 each, being a Silver Grade Cherub. I imagine you don’t have 320 eyes, and would like to be able to see at least a little, but it’s a start. How many eyes do you think you can part with?”

I have 50 eyes. “48.”

He enters that into the computer. “Mm-hm. That leaves us with $27,200 left to make. Hair is $89 per pound. For a full head of hair like yours–”

“Hair is too cheap. I’d like to sell my arms.”

“...Right. Each of your arms is $500, I’d say. You want to sell all of them?”

“...Yes.” I thought they would be worth more– they aren’t that skinny.

More typing. “The new number to beat is $25,200.” He pauses. “The healing time for the arms will be significantly longer than for your eyes, you know.”

“I am aware.” I point, then, to my wings. “How much are my wings worth?”

He evaluates, eyes calculating. “$1500 each, including the feathers. You know we’re not allowed to take all your wings, though, right? It’s illegal.”

“I know. I want to sell five of them.” I have six.

Click-clack-click-clack-click. 

“$17,700 left of your goal.”

“Organs. How much are my organs?”

“Well, it depends on the organ,” John muses, leaning back in his chair. “Your lungs are about $800 each, give or take. Your stomachs are about $2000. Kidneys, $500 each. Gonads, $6000. Hearts, $8000. And so on. Again, I have to remind you that certain items are limited, especially hearts.”

“Alright. I’d like to sell two hearts.”

“We’re only allowed to take one at a time.”

Damn. “One heart, then. And a stomach and a gonad.”

He smiles at the new number on his screen. “Alrighty! That takes us down to $1700– I know just the thing. We have a deal going on right now, where your ribs and rib meat will cost double if all of them are removed together. That will give you extra spending money for after the procedure– you’ll get to your goal with about $800 extra. How’s that sound?”

It sounds very good.

“Deal.”

“Wonderful. Let me just finish up with this paperwork and I’ll send you in to see the doctor. Is that all you wanted to bring up today?”

“Yes. Thank you.”

“Fantastic. Did you want to sign up for our Poundage Program? One pound of meat is donated a month for a little extra income.”

“I’m already signed up.” 

He is forgetful. He doesn’t know me. He sees many angels a day.

“Ah! Very good. Thanks for stopping in today.”

I exit the room and follow a nurse into the operation bay. I’m not looking forward to the next few months or years of my life, painfully regenerating what they will take from me, but… a debt is a debt, and money runs my life as much as any mortal or immortal being. They attach me to tubes, look over my records, leave me to wait for a long time in silence, watching the time tick by on the old analog clock. The doctor enters and greets me, practically an old friend at this point. He describes the procedure, but I know most of them by heart by now, so I go through the motions and sign the waivers and papers and everything pushed my way.

The angelic anesthetic is administered, and the world drifts away, and I can finally find some relief. Relief in knowing the debt will be paid, at least for a little more time, and life can return to normalcy.

I wake, a new, mangled thing, and I am deposited outside the clinic with the assurance that the money will be in my bank account within the next five business days.

[queen-rowenas]

@tootiredmotel’s 500 follower celebration day two: secret, “i need it”

It’s late. The motel room is dark, the only light coming from the sign outside. Just enough for Dean to make out the line of Cas’s jaw, the gleam of his eyes, the flash of teeth when he smiles.

The motel was low on rooms, so they could only get one with two queens. Sam is snoring in the next bed over. It’s the only real sound aside from the buzz of the neon No Vacancy sign outside. Well, that and Dean and Cas’s whispers.

They’re curled together in one bed, facing each other. The space between is quiet, warm. Their own secret place.

They’re whispering, talking about everything and nothing, feet tangled together up the covers, trying to keep quiet and not wake up Sam. Cas has a hand curled around Dean’s waist while one of Dean’s hands plays with the soft material of the angel’s shirt.

Dean’s never been happier.

It’s late, and he should be sleeping. Tonight is only a pit stop on their drive back home, and he has a few more hours of driving left.

But he can’t stop listening to Cas. He can’t stop grinning. He might have even giggled earlier, but he’ll never admit it.

After decades of denying himself, he thinks they both deserve a moment to indulge.

But he can’t really call this a simple indulgence. A moment like this, quiet and innocent, together.

Because he needs it. And he thinks maybe Cas needs it, too.

“Okay.” He manages to shuffle closer, closing the already small space between them. His cheeks hurt from smiling. “What if someone already possessed by a demon got anti-possession tattoo? Would the demon just be ejected or like somehow trapped?”

Cas frowns. “A demon would never allow that to happen, and even if there was a lapse in its control, a tattoo would take a long time.”

“Yeah, but humor me.” Dean stifles a yawn. “Hypothetically if that happened, what would it do?”

Headlights pass over the window, cutting through the curtains, lighting up the room for a moment. It glows behind Cas’s back, not quite touching Dean, protected in his shadow. It almost gives the illusion of a halo. For a second, Dean forgets about his question and stares.

Cas only smiles back, and for once Dean is grateful for the outside light giving him the chance to see everything. The curl of his lip, the wrinkles at the edges of his eyes and nose, the warm affection in his gaze.

“I would need more time to consider it. And you,” Cas says, leaning in to press a kiss to Dean’s lips, “need to rest.”

“No, I don’t,” Dean grumbles, but he doesn’t resist as Cas tugs him in closer, slipping an arm around his back.

“Yes, you do. You’re driving in the morning, and I would prefer not to get in a wreck.”

“Hey.” Dean shoves at Cas’s chest before tucking into it, pressing his nose into the hollow of his throat. “I’m a great driver.”

Cas rests a hand on the back of his head, pressing a kiss into his hair. “Of course, Dean.”

“And we’re finishing this discussion tomorrow.”

“Of course, Dean.”

The motel mattress sucks, too hard and too old with a sketchy smell, the kind that usually guarantees some impressive neck and back aches in the morning. And Dean is already prone to those now.

But he doesn’t care. He’s got an angel watching over him. The fingertips running through his hair trail down to the nape of his neck and linger, sending a pulse of grace through his tired muscles. Dean sighs, melting under the touch.

Nights at crappy motels used to be nothing new, nothing special. But here and now, he wouldn’t ask for anything else.

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[kryptoniism]

supercorp 18 or 48

sentence prompts

18. “SO… you think I’m hot?”

It slipped out before Lena had a chance to catch herself.

“God, you’re so hot…”

It came out as a breathy whisper, and Lena was almost certain that she had uttered it so quietly that Kara surely wouldn’t have heard; until Kara snapped her gaze up from the ring of condensation around the base of her glass to gape at her.

They had been tucked up against the counter at a local bar for the past two hours now and had lost track of the time and the amount of drinks they had both consumed. Lena had said something that made Kara burst into laughter, her head thrown back, lips drawn into a wide smile that accentuated the line of porcelain from her cheekbone down to her jaw. She ducked her head, stifling her laughter as she toyed with her glass. She looked so angelic and carefree, caught in the sultry, low light of the bar; but now, she looked about as stunned as Lena felt embarrassed, confusion gathering at her brow.

Lena mentally cursed herself for her utter lack of filter; she could never keep anything from Kara when she was even the slightest bit tipsy. Words fumbled clumsily over her lips; what sobriety remained amongst the inebriated state of her consciousness was now screaming at her to say something to cut the tension growing exponentially between them.

“Ah, I… uh…” She began.

“You think I’m hot?” Kara asked. She seemed almost… shocked.

Lena lowered her gaze down to the table, blushing fervently and starting to think of all the alternative ways the past two minutes could’ve gone. She couldn’t help but glance over at the hem of Kara’s skirt. Tight, and form-fitting just barely covering her thighs. The rest of her legs were tucked neatly against the barstool on which she was sitting but Lena could see the expanse of toned muscle and smooth skin all the way down to her ankles. Lena felt like she was short-circuiting, her thoughts giving way to a single word that flickered inside her brain like a dying neon sign: LEGS.

When Lena raised her eyes again to meet Kara’s, Kara was giving her an almost hopeful look, as if she was genuinely aching to know what Lena thought of her.

Lena swallowed hard.

“Well, yes, Kara. Of course I do.” She said as casually as she could, restraining herself from glancing back down at Kara’s legs. Kara shifted her glasses, holding them between her thumb and forefinger like she did when she was nervous. “I hope that doesn’t make you uncomfortable!” Lena followed apologetically. Kara quickly shook her head.

“No, no! Not at all…” Her voice tapered like an afterthought and Lena braced herself for the contrasting clause. “I just didn’t know you thought that.” She said through a light laugh, and Lena felt her stomach flutter. 

“I’ve thought that for a while, truthfully.” With the tension between the two of them easing back to it’s amicable warmth, Lena felt bolstered by her intoxicated state and let her eyes tour Kara’s figure. Kara had been leaning against the countertop with her head cocked slightly to the side, giving Lena a generous view of the elegant line of her neck and collar. Her posture was so casual, yet so refined and graceful; not only that, but it fully conveyed her interest. It enticed and even welcomed Lena to share her thoughts without fear of being rejected.

It took Lena several seconds to realize that she was sucking on her lip.

Kara seemed to shy away from the heat of Lena’s gaze, smiling to herself, “Aw, jeez. You’re making me blush…” She murmured, turning her head and ducking her cheek into her shoulder where she could better hide the tinge of rose that crept over her complexion.

By the time she had finished her drink, Lena was beginning to feel antsy in her own skin under the scrutiny of the bar patrons and the dull buzz of anticipation bristling at the small of her back. She leaned across the bar and set her hand gently on Kara’s.

“Wanna get out of here? I’m feeling a bit adventurous.” Lena said with a blithe quirk of her brow. Kara nodded.

“I think I’d like that.”

Lena slid a $20 onto the table as Kara’s hand found hers again as they slipped out of the bar and into the night air.

They made it four blocks before realizing that they were still holding hands. Amidst all the city commotion and laughter shared between the two of them, Lena allowed herself to ride on the excuse of disregard before Kara looked down.

“Oh, jeez. I’m sorry. I didn’t even realize…” Kara said, laughing at her own lack of awareness and immediately let go of Lena’s hand. Lena felt herself deflate slightly.

“Oh, no, that’s alright.” She replied brightly to hide the dismay of the lost contact.

They ambled beside one another in silence before Kara spoke up.

“Y’know, I’ve had that thought about you before too…” She admitted almost hesitantly. Just like Lena, the memory of their conversation at the bar had persisted in Kara’s mind as well. Lena’s step faltered and she turned to face Kara who had her hands jammed in the pockets of her coat.

“You have?” She asked, her eyebrows raised. Kara bobbed her head.

“Well, yeah. How could anyone with eyes not think that?”

“You flatter me, Kara Danvers.” Lena said coyly.

“No, I really do mean it.” Kara’s tone was earnest. “I find you mesmerizingly attractive, Lena.”

Lena felt as if she were reeling back in shock; in the same, dumbfounded state she had found herself in when she first let her admittance of attraction slip.

In the fading light from the streetlamp overhead, Kara couldn’t look more devastatingly alluring. Her hair in the burnished yellow glow encapsulated the frame of her face like a resplendent halo, illuminating the softness in her eyes that lingered on Lena just long enough to send a shiver rippling down her spine.

Finally, Lena spoke up, closing the space between them with a single step.

“Is… Is it alright if I do something…?” She asked softly, her gaze flickering back and forth between Kara’s eyes and her lips.

“Yeah…” Kara murmured back, her breath brushing over Lena’s skin like the ghost of her lips against hers.

Time itself seemed to stand completely still, the world around them diminishing to a whisper as they stood, pressed against one another. Lena pushed her body forward, sending them careening over the precipice of what suspended them in this magical junction of what Lena would swear felt like eternity.

Kara reciprocated hungrily as soon as their lips met, pulling Lena into an embrace that eliminated any space left between them. Lena sighed, her breath coming out hot as her tongue lathed over Kara’s. She felt Kara clutching at her hip, drawing her impossibly closer still. She felt as if Kara had just set her body aflame with her lips, like the drag of a match igniting kerosene, and in the heat of the flames burning deep inside her that consumed her entire body, Lena let the entire world pass her by.

For in that one precious moment, the Earth itself stood still.

[theateared]

Short drabble detailing a fucked-up scenario I got suddenly inspired to explore while out walking, we love flash horror fiction up in this bitch.  All dialogue is in Hural.

                                                           _____  . ( 🞮 ) .  _____

     “How could you do this…?  You were always such a dream boy.”

     In retrospect, holding an axe high above his head felt right, though only to a small piece of him.  The sky was red, thick muddy clouds hanging low over him as he stared into the reprehensible eyes of the person, besides himself, that he hated the most.

     Kneeling in front of him, looking frightfully small as he gazed up at his supposed ‘’dream boy’’, his uncle lay in wait.  His face had gone pale, hands raised as if to protect his face, body trembling as he gazed at the gleam produced by the abnormally large weapon.  One fell swoop and he’d be sliced into ribbons, this he knew, yet he couldn’t find it in him to move.  Frozen with fear perhaps, or just regrettably resigned, he just couldn’t convince himself to run away.  He was both bewildered and awestruck by this version of Aléjandro Murphy.

     “I never promised you that,”   Murr hissed through clenched teeth.  Despite the raw emotion in his voice, his face betrayed none of it, blank slate bared to the world as if waiting for it to leave its mark on him.   “My parents never promised you that either.”

     “They failed you, Alé…”

     “They didn’t fail me.  I failed them.”

     The Murphys were a generation of good people. Life lottery winners, always acquiring fortune as predecessors, but unmistakably humble and hard-working.  Not without flaws, all with independent vices, but always good deep down, despite it all.  He was convinced that he was the odd link;  the devil thinly disguised as its shiny brethren,  makeshift halo comprised of bleeding thorns and mangled fingers alight only because of the red rage that sat inside of him like an open flame.  Like a neon sign, his faux virtue flickered and buzzed, attracting only the loneliest of insects before zapping them to dust.

     “You won’t do this…  you can’t…”   Though he was trembling, Lonnie’s voice came out smooth.  In an almost victorious fashion, he craned his neck further, exposing his throat, eyes flitting from the sharp edge of the axe to the angular curve of Aléjandro’s jaw.  His gaze kept crawling further upwards until it could meet Murr’s own, red and gold seeming to lock as if connected via electricity.   “You wouldn’t do this to your mother.  You were her angel.”   

     There was a moment of hesitation.  He was wrong…  he was the furthest thing from an angel, but it didn’t mean that his mother hadn’t thought he was one.  All the time they’d spent together, she’d treated him as if he was a light source, as if he was capable of exuding the same sweetness that she was--  as if he was good.  He’d tried to tell her repeatedly that it was misplaced, that he ruined everything, that he made her cry, but she would never have any of it.  She believed in him wholly.  That was what made this turn of events so incredibly painful for him.

     “You wouldn’t do this to your father.  You were his good boy.”

     There was a harsh sting in his chest, heart constricting as if seized by a fist;  as if somebody had jammed an arm down his throat and dug around in search of the emptiest cavity, filling it only with searching spindles and shadows.  His father had always been doing that…  looking for the good in him.  Even when he’d been faced with the terrible things that his son had done, he’d turned a blind eye, told him that everybody made mistakes, that he was still learning--  was he always going to be fucking learning?

     “And you wouldn’t do this to Kuro.”

     Nothing made sense in that moment.  Despite the harsh glare that shaped his eyes, focus had left them.  He became acutely aware of the fact that he didn’t feel in control of himself--  as if he was on strings, simply obeying the whims of his puppeteer.  Was this all he was worth?  Was his pain just a street corner dime act?  A one-hit wonder before his mysterious master vanished in a puff of smoke?

     “You won’t kill me because you know that Kuro will never forgive you if you do.  You won’t do it because you know that the only thing he’d grace you with ever again, for the rest of your life, is disappointment.  And you can’t live with that.  Can you, Alé?”   He paused a moment, amber eyes gaining light when Murr remained wordless.  Even now, even with his most hated enemy at his feet, he was so weak.   “You love him, don’t you?  That’s the problem.  You need him!  You can’t live without him! That’s the reason you’re even here, isn’t it?  You can’t go off the rails otherwise he’ll know, because he’ll be the one to clean it up!  Can you imagine that?  Being arrested by your best friend?  Ohhh, that’d eat you, wouldn’t it?  Admit it, Alé.  You want to cry just thinking about it, don’t you?  Go ahead, you fuckin’ bitch.  Go ahead and c--”

     KER-SPLAT.

     The only thing he was immediately aware of was the smell of blood.  His face was wet, though not with tears, fingers clenched oh-so-tightly around the handle of the now-messy weapon.  He was trembling madly, like a tent in a blizzard, but he remained standing, dry-eyed and angry.

     Did I do that?  Did I really just kill my uncle?

     Crimson eyes watched as drops of red began to stain the grass below, Lonnie’s dark hand moving to try and stop it from pouring all over his lap.  He was dying, albeit slowly, a look of confused horror gradually settling on his face as his eyes rolled upwards to look at him once more.  He was so shocked  ( and so injured )  that he was unable to speak, fumbling over his words before he finally decided on a redundant:   “You…  you actually…”

     “Yes…  I did…”   As if he couldn’t quite believe it himself.  The weapon was lowered slightly, the quiver in his body gradually lessening the closer to the ground it got.  By the time the muddied tip met the soil, the tremors had left him completely.   “And…  my heart is empty…”

     It hit him like a train.          I don’t care.          I don’t CARE.          I DON’T CARE!

     “I feel…  nothing.”   His stare was unfocused, mouth forming a stunned frown.  I don’t care that I failed my mother.  I don’t care that I failed my father.  I don’t care that I failed Kuro, or Tilly, or my loyal fanbase--  I don’t care about any of that.  I just don’t care about anything.   “M-My…  my heart…”   He was overwhelmed with it then:  joy.  He was choking up, eyes filling with a disconcerting light, madness casting its doomsday shadow over his face as he began to smile, then grin, unable to control himself.   “My heart is empty.  My heart is EMPTY.”   He couldn’t resist, axe pulled back before he swung it forwards once more, screaming with exhilarated laughter as he felt the void spread throughout his chest.  Lonnie’s head separated from his body, flung a short distance away.  He kept swinging, occasionally hitting the lifeless corpse, mostly cutting through air, blood occasionally reacquainting itself with his skin.  It was like heaven--  no, it was like hell, and that was what made it feel like home.  It felt as if he was wailing over some blessed news;  the birth of his child;  the day of his marriage;  the minute of his death.  Laughing like a maniac:  “FUCK HIM!  HE CAN COME AND GET ME ‘CAUSE MY HEART IS EMPTY!”

                                                            _____  . ( 🞮 ) .  _____

     Aléjandro awoke with a start, heart beating wildly in his chest, covers thrown off of him as he shot upright in bed.  A thin layer of sweat covered his forehead as he panted for air, clammy hands pressed tightly against his chest as if attempting to soothe the raging rhythm inside.  Tilly followed shortly after, tender hands meeting his rigid back, soft voice asking what had startled him so--  he told her nothing, even though it was clearly a lie.

     She eventually managed to coax him back into bed, her head meeting his chest, arms wrapped around him defensively.  He laid there like a subdued demon, staring into the dark, heartbeat transforming from its pounding beat to a gentle thrum.  It was just a dream.  Of course it was just a dream…

     He fell asleep thinking the same comforting thought to himself over and over again:  My heart is empty.  My heart is empty.  My heart is empty.