#does iron make stool black

[diet2all]

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[yurinaa-world]

“𝒴𝑜𝓊’𝓇𝑒 𝓇𝑒𝒶𝓁𝓁𝓎 𝒸𝓊𝓉𝑒 𝒶𝓈 𝒶 𝓀𝒾𝒹!”

💫𝒞𝒽𝒶𝓇𝒶𝒸𝓉𝑒𝓇𝓈: Jiaoqiu, Moze, Aventurine, & Sunday x Gender-Neutral reader

💫𝒮𝓎𝓃𝑜𝓅𝓈𝒾𝓈: he's turned into a kid?

💫𝒲𝒶𝓇𝓃𝒾𝓃𝑔𝓈: Fluff, & Spelling Mistakes

💫𝒥𝒾𝒶𝑜𝓆𝒾𝓊 "𝒯𝒽𝑒 𝐻𝑒𝒶𝓁𝑒𝓇 𝒻𝓇𝑜𝓂 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝒳𝒾𝒶𝓃𝓏𝒽𝑜𝓊 𝒴𝒶𝑜𝓆𝒾𝓃𝑔"

“Jiaoqiu, that's enough sweets for you.”

You're worried, truly. Jiaoqiu has this insane sweet tooth, at this rate, when he turns back into an adult his teeth will be black, sore, and full of cavities by then and of course, you’ll be to blame for being unable to resist his cuteness.

His tail sinks and his ears frown down whilst he sits on the stool with his head down in sadness while you lecture him about his health and give him restrictions. Child Jiaoqiu doesn’t know better at all, refusing to talk or do anything after this revelation came out. (he burns his mouth as an adult & numbs his moth as a kid, how ironic)

He thinks you’re just a jerk, ruining his fun and not having any kind of love for him left so he returns you the same attitude (even though you're doing it for his sake). Huffing while putting the candy on a tall cabinet. “Come on, Let's go get dinner.” you offered, after a sigh left your lips at the grimace look he had on yet even with this offer he refused, snapping his head to the side and not even looking back. 

“I’m not going, not unless you give me my candy back.”

Well, you can see his eyes shifting to the side, seeing if you cared enough to listen to his little demands of wanting Cavities and landing himself in a Yaoqing local dentist's office because of your weakness for his pleads. BUT, not this time, no way are you letting him have his way.

“Jiaoqiu,” you mumbled his name as you walked over to him, your tall figure looming over him, casting a shadow which even caused him to be frightened. Staring back up with doe eyes before shutting them the instant you raised your hand.

“Stop it!” he wined, feeling your finger gently pinch and pull at his ear in discipline, while you grinned down at him before your other hand went to touch his stomach which caused him to jerk back a little. 

“You better be grateful that I love you so much or else I would have let you riot your stomach away with those sweets.”

💫𝑀𝑜𝓏𝑒 “𝒮𝒽𝒶𝒹𝑜𝓌 𝒢𝓊𝒶𝓇𝒹 𝑜𝒻 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝒳𝒾𝒶𝓃𝓏𝒽𝑜𝓊 𝒴𝒶𝑜𝓆𝒾𝓃𝑔”

He looked so cute! His little form hiding in the corner while glaring at you with such weary, that you might just shatter from it. He looked so cute as a kid! But Moze turning into a little kid wasn’t what you expected but here you are, sitting a bit far from the corner, and refusing to leave him.

His one arm had bandages on it, several bandaids everywhere, along with cloth taped onto his cheek. A sad appearance that an ordinary child shouldn’t have but it’s Moze and you already have an idea of what kind of life he’s lived.

Smiling at him every time he moves his head up to look up at you, which causes him to just glare and lay his face back onto the knees he’s brought close to his chest.

“Your smile makes you look stupid,” he mumbled the sound of his voice slightly muffled by his knees.

Wow…you can’t help but be left speechless by his words, Moze had never once insulted you—in his words, he would rather die than do something like that. Yet with this predicament he’s in, you’ll let it go (and his cute face).

“Does it make me seem less threatening to you?”

“Don’t think I’ve let my guard down, it’s always the idiots that are most threatening.” He begins going on a rant, you’re not even sure what he’s going on about but it’s just like any other kid with a hyper fixation on things, and he’s prepared to scare you on everything.

“It’s known that you should never suck the poison out of a wound with your mouth….”

It just gives you an opening to get closer to him.

Like a snake in the bushes, you get close enough to the corner, trapping him there. He let his guard down! Clenching his teeth waiting for your next action and thinking how he’ll counter it if he could.

“You're so cute, Moze!” You gush, wrapping your arms around his neck while rubbing your cheek against his and giving him loving kisses all over his face. He’s in complete shock, eyes wide with his mouth agape while his body freezes at your actions.

“I could just take you away!”

your approach is odd...It must be love bombing! people like you don’t exist and like a fool stated your reason! Wait you’re taking it a bit too far! Stop smothering his face with kisses!

💫𝒜𝓋𝑒𝓃𝓉𝓊𝓇𝒾𝓃𝑒 "𝒯𝒽𝑒 𝒮𝑒𝓃𝒾𝑜𝓇 𝑀𝒶𝓃𝒶𝑔𝑒𝓇 𝑜𝒻 𝐼𝒫𝒞 𝒮𝓉𝓇𝒶𝓉𝑒𝑔𝒾𝒸 𝐼𝓃𝓋𝑒𝓈𝓉𝓂𝑒𝓃𝓉 𝒟𝑒𝓅𝒶𝓇𝓉𝓂𝑒𝓃𝓉”

“It’s so cold.”

He was adorable, his beautiful eyes had so much life to them, cute face, he wore rags for clothes while hugging his shivering body to keep himself warm in some way, which broke your heart.

 “Is it cold? wait for a second!” You immediately run to get a blanket to warm him up with, wrapping it around him and making sure no air gets in. Watching him still shiver in the blanket, it would take time for him to even warm up in the first place, Yet you hear his sniffles and slight whines.

Which causes you to do the only thing you can.

Firmly holding Aventurine close to you, having him in your lap, you hugged him very close as if he would slip away. Taking your hand and touching his smaller ones, the cold flesh made you shiver as well, like a shock when you first touched, both of your body temperatures clashed.

He enjoyed it while you shivered.

“Do you feel less cold now?” You smile at him, watching him hold your hand close to his body so he can feel the heat more.

“It feels so nice. Thank you.”

He smiled back at you, and your smile got wider, feeling the connection between the two of you. Watching his eyes quickly begin to droop, sleep taking him away while keeping him in your lap, and gently caressing his head.

“I’ll take care until you turn back, even if it takes forever.”

💫𝒮𝓊𝓃𝒹𝒶𝓎 "𝒯𝒽𝑒 𝐻𝑒𝒶𝒹 𝑜𝒻 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝒪𝒶𝓀 𝐹𝒶𝓂𝒾𝓁𝓎"

Watching little Sunday gush over a simple picture book you had lying around, looking at it with stars in his eyes, and going “ah” or “oooh” while his wings flipped when tiny twists happened in the story. It's too cute! It's good that he took a day off but not when he was turned into a little kid! And it’s not like you can make him go to work like this, can you?

“On Friday he ate through five oranges, but he was still hungry.” he reads, a confused expression plaguing his face, while he takes in the words

“He eats so much? (Name), do you know why he eats so much?” 

His question might’ve just gone in one ear and out the other, watching his confused expression while his wings flapped, It’s too cute! 

Normal Sunday is always to control himself in every situation, never letting himself go in front of anyone else but you and his wings are a big part which causes him to restrain himself to the fullest extent.

The second he sees you staring at his wings for a tad bit longer than you should have, his cheeks turn a rosy pink color—feeling insecure about your gaze on him, his hands going to his wings, gently touching the feather while shifting his gaze to the side in pure embarrassment.

“Is there something wrong with my wings? Are they ugly?” He moped, which made you immediately reassure him. “Of course not! You're so adorable in every way!” you sputtered, trying your best to make him feel better, which made you calm down when his expression twisted into a gleeful expression.

“Really you think so?” he chirped, losing his attention from the book he was reading, it seemed like he wanted to hear more sugary compliments.

if you liked this, consider tipping me on ko-fi! it'd mean a lot!

[lexical-lushes]

A Lesson Learned

“Sit still, dear, this is delicate work.”

I do my best to obey, trying to shut out the tickle of my Maker’s tools like I would any other sensation. It doesn’t do me much good – my phylactery is sensitive in a way my vessel isn’t, and no matter how hard I try to ignore it the work of sealing the little cracks in that vibrant purple gemstone buzzes inside me like an electric arc.

Despite myself, I fidget restlessly, and my Maker’s patience grows thin.

“If you can’t sit still on your own, I’ll need to disconnect your phylactery entirely. Now behave, dear.”

The threat of being pulled into that absent blackness does its job – I find it in me to ignore the buzzing, jaw clenched, teeth grinding against each other. My Maker gives an approving little noise, then continues on with her work, tone softening once more.

“There’s a good doll. You know what would have happened if you’d succeeded.”

I give the slightest nod, still focused on keeping still, on not flinching away from the sizzle her iron makes as it carefully and precisely seals the cracks in my phylactery, whispering the artifact whole again. If I’d succeeded, I’d be dead.

“I’m nearly done, now, dear. Just a moment longer to make sure the mounting is still set correctly.”

I close my eyes, let the ticking of my metronome provide me some meager stability. Finally, after what feels like an eternity, the buzzing in my soul fades and I can feel my Maker pull away, feel her satisfaction with her work.

“There. You can relax now, dear.”

With a gentle sigh, I open my eyes again, let my jaw relax, let my breathing resume. I take a moment to reaffirm my surroundings – sat on the edge of a workbench in my Maker’s studio, stripped of my clothes, one arm wrapped in a brace to prevent the spiderweb of fractures that reach all the way up to my chest from worsening. My Maker is sat turned away from me on a tall stool, carefully replacing the iron in the appropriate drawer.

Turning back towards me, she slips one of many tuning forks out of her work apron, twirling it between her fingers. I say nothing, but I feel a blush creep across my face, warmth tinging my cool porcelain skin at the thought of what must be coming next.

“Yes, dear,” she says, catching my reaction. “I’m going to need to tune you.”

“Just stay relaxed and let yourself sink into it... there’s a good doll...”

She taps one talon against the tip of the fork, sets it singing, and leans in to gently press it into one of my aetheric hooks – I can’t help but do as she says, sinking, sinking, feeling my consciousness pulled inwards towards my phylactery, leaving my vessel a hazy afterthought.

I can feel her winding one of my threads, feel the tune of her fork vibrate into me, her intent a hypnotic, drowning tide that pours in along the thread, filling me up until at last I can take no more, resist no more, and I fall inward, into the comforting warmth of a trance.

...and then I’m wide awake again.

“Such a good doll...” my Maker reassures me, gently stroking one hand through my silver hair, cupping my cheek. I realize I must have been crying – my face is wet against her hand.

“W-what...” I stammer, trying to gauge how long I was entranced. It can’t have been too long – the beam of sunlight that enters the studio through it’s tall, narrow window has only inched across the floor.

“Shh, shh, it’s alright dear. I just had to make a few changes to you. I can’t have one of my dolls hurting herself, now, can I?”

I frown. Hurting myself? Had I...? No, no, that would be silly. Even the thought of it made me recoil instinctively, the fear of a rebuke sharp in my mind for considering the mere possibility.

...Wait.

Oh. Of course. I realize immediately what my Maker meant by her words – I’d had a new rule implanted in me.

Something must have shown in my expression, because my Maker nods softly, tipping her talons beneath my chin and raising my violet eyes to meet her brilliant amber ones.

“Most of my dolls know better than to damage themselves all on their own,” she explains, “but sometimes these things happen. Do you remember why I needed to repair you, dear?”

I start to shake my head, then stop, pausing to examine myself. My right arm is fractured, kept safe in a brace. I experimentally test my fingers, and find them stiff, barely responsive. The mechanisms must be quite damaged. I close my eyes and trace my self-image up from the near-paralyzed arm, up and up, across my chest where the cracks spread and blossom...

I try to imagine what might have caused this sort of damage, but nothing comes.

“...I don’t remember,” I finally admit uncertainly.

My Maker smiles softly, nods. “Good. I’ll tell you, but I didn’t feel it appropriate to leave you with the memory itself. You beat yourself to breaking against a wall, dear. You wailed and wailed and smashed yourself, and then you tried to smash your phylactery. I found you, afterwards, all pulled into yourself, and I took you home to fix you.”

I can hardly believe what she’s saying. I... I tried to destroy myself? Why would I... how could I? A doll should never harm herself.

(Dimly, I remember that that last part is a recent command, a compulsion implanted deep into my soul. It doesn’t matter – I feel it strongly all the same.)

Finally, I find the words to ask my Maker why I had tried to... to kill myself.

She answers with a question of her own, and once again I’m frozen as I realize I don’t know the answer.

“Dear, do you remember why you sold yourself to me? Why you had me make you into a doll?”

How... how could I forget something like that? How could I forget when it had only been a few months? I can vividly recall my life as a human, recall the process of being made into a doll, the blissful feeling of my soul being gently pried from my body and nestled snugly into my phylactery, of my vessel being transfigured from flesh and blood into ceramic and glass and brass, given life by my Maker’s magic...

But when I tried to recall what had driven me to such a permanent decision, I found only a dull ache of longing surrounding a hazy nothingness.

My Maker waits patiently, and under her gaze I feel compelled to try harder to provide a satisfying answer to her question.

Biting my lip, I try to feel out the space around the haze. I remember being... dissatisfied with my life, with who I was, and at how little my attempts to change it seemed to matter. I remember a feeling of elated certainty that this was the way, this was what I had been looking for. I remember... remember...

She must have been very careful in excising the memories she’d asked me to locate, because when I finally find an answer, it’s only in the outline of what’s missing.

The look of pained realization in my eyes proves all the response my Maker requires of me; gently, tenderly, she pulls me to her chest, lets me cry and whimper against her, whispers gentle reassurances. It would be too painful, she tells me, to make you bear those memories. You know everything you need to know about what happened.

I fight it at first, recoil at the idea of being left with a hole in my memory like this. But as she cradles me close and kisses my perfect silver hair and fusses at my broken arm, promises to make me good as new, I realize that she’s right.

Her talons stroke me gently, trailing up and down my spine in a lazy circuit as she hugs me close. Her voice is like a lullaby at this point, drawing out the ache and tension until I feel my springs start to unwind, feel a comfortable weight creep into my vessel as all my strings go limp.

“You’re a good doll, dear... such a good doll. You have a purpose now, alright? Dolls all have a purpose. And you’ll never forget that.”

I nod tiredly, sniffling, aware I’m leaking all over her apron.

She doesn’t seem to mind.

Before long, I’m at peace.

[shirotaangel]

࿔‧ ֶָ֢˚˖𐦍˖˚ֶָ֢ ‧࿔ Magdalena: Black Dragons

- SCENE I, ACT II

- SYNOPSIS: Koko will do whatever it damn takes to buy you.

- PREVIOUS: Scene I

tw : human-trafficking and purchase, smoking, communism, lowkey blackmail, Koko is a clever bitch.

╰┈➤ KOKONOI LINGERED BY THE STALL of the pawnshop, bent down to look at the gold on display behind the glass. He recognized most of them are white gold from Arabia, some he knew by baser instincts is actually iron covered in shimmering yellow paint.

He hummed and stood upright, stretching his slender back.

It was a little off of five, the sky already switching to purple. He came specifically since he thought it'll be less hotter at dawn.

Kyoto is quite hot in these days of October,  the sun can almost be seen melting the lacquer off of the beams of the ancient palaces. A sight to see. But Koko is never one for sightseeing, anyway.

He came here for you. But before that, there were steps. He hated it. It's an inconvenience, really, but the more he thought about it, it brings a smile to his face.

That made you more desirable. This long, dragging process in order to breathe the same air as you - Ah.

"Excuse me," Kokonoi rapped his leather-gloved knuckles on the glass of the pawnshop, "Where can I inquire about Tourism?"

"On the right, second door," the man bent over a spread of silver rings replied, "wait your turn."

Kokonoi hummed and went into the green-lit hallway of the building. The plaster was peeling off the walls, and a ceiling fan buzzed in Kokonoi's ear, producing more noise than the cool air he needed.

Hooking a finger in his collar to release tension, he sat down on the rusting stool by the fish tank, clicking his tongue. Goldfish, eight of them, swam in dark green water.

They're lucky. They might die in a few days but at least they die cool, comfortable deaths. Koko rolled his eyes. They may lose their lives but he lost something more. No amount of goldfish lives will account for that.

Actually no, he hasn't lost everything yet. Yet. If he has, he won't be here in Kyoto, of all places. He hated Kyoto. He always thought he'd be caught dead before he's seen stepping her ever again.

Kokonoi crossed his legs, staring impatiently at the door in front of him, the second in a rotw here in the green hallway. The door is not a door. It's a rectangle space with a flower-printed plastic as it's door. Cheap, but it makes do.

A pair of Americans exited it, laughing and satisfied. Koko pitied them. They're used to the cold in their Western country. Maybe they'll die first before the goldfish does.

Kokonoi strolled into the flower cover of the door, raising his thin brow at the vile smell of cigarettes in the small, cramped room.

Tourism posters in red inks were pasted to hide the ruined walls, stacks of dusty folders were scattered on the tiled floor. Koko took a seat in front of the table, where a small radio played something Luciano Pavarotti beside a grumbling mini fan.

Koko noticed on the right wall hung a yellowing photo of Mao Zedong.

"You're Communist?" Koko asked the woman behind the table wearing an orange qipao.

The woman, maybe somewhere between fifty and sixty, was flipping through a black binder for accounts.

"Force of habit to have that picture," she raised her head, "I was born when the CCP still lived."

"But you speak Japanese," Koko reasoned, tapping his leather-clad fingers on the glass of the table. There are red tickets behind it written in Cantonese.

"I speak all the languages, boy," the woman snorted, "you should've done the same - it could've gave you better chances of winning my little Oiran over."

Kokonoi raised his brow, challenged, "she told you?"

"Why not? We'revery close." The woman raised her sagging arms, "if that girl wasn't so pretty, she could've passed as my daughter."

"Of course she did," Kokonoi muttered bitterly, sticking his pointy tongue against the inside of his cheek.

"Come now," the woman smiled, "why? What do you want with my beautiful girl? She has no time for you. A hundred kings are waiting for her as we speak."

"Half of them not as profitable as I am," Kokonoi answered, tilting his clever head, "where is she right now."

"Sleeping," the woman puffed out acrid smoke from her bony nose.

"Let me see her."

"Why?"

"Because I want her," kokonoi pressed, leaning his weight on an elbow he put on the table, "you out of everyone know what the benefits are when the most beautiful woman in the world is in your side."

"Exactly," the woman looks at him pointedly, "so why do you think I'll give her away just like that? Do you know how many men, powerful men, go through that door to pay me millions for her?"

"One of them me," Kokonoi says defiantly,  "madame, I'm here for a business proposition."

The woman looked at him suspiciously, tapping her cigarette on an ashtray the shape of a dragon head.

"Go on," she urged.

Kokonoi smiled, leaning coolly on his chair. He made this offer days ahead, filled the loopholes and cracks that might fault his argument. It's flawless. He was proud of himself for being so smart. So clever.

"The Oiran's men, all three thousand two hundred and four of them, made you a rich woman, haven't day?" Koko said calmly, proud again for his research, "but not a single one of them are patrons."

The woman glared at him. At this, Koko knew he struck a nerve. He sent one of his men from his division to bribe the older girls in the brothel. They liked to be paid more for information than for sex.

Knowledge, Kokonoi knew, is the divine currency. Oh, if only this woman knew how rich he is right now.

"As Treasurer and Captain, Black Dragon earns a total of three million yen per month, a maximum of five if the - " Kokonoi tilts his head, grinning, "weather is good."

"Go on," she flicked her head.

Kokonoi couldn't believe it - how easy it is to have the woman who owned you to lean towards him in interest, seconds away from giving him her terms of agreement.

He found that, no matter the amount t of money she receives from the you, it's unstable income. He learned you were bedridden from a fever two years ago. The brothel was forced to sell ten girls in the Vietnamese black market just to go by until you healed..

Roppongi also, is an untrustworthy finance. The connection between it and Kyoto, Koko knew, is illegal. The imports exchanged are always delayed because the police trace the money transfers -  another unstable income.

Only Koko can save them all.

"Shiba Taiju, tenth Generation Commander of the Black Dragons, will be your patron," Kokonoi raised his hands in welcome, "finally you have something to make your business a less bit illegal."

There. He said it. Kokonoi loved the shifting of the woman's wrinkled expression, all of which leads only to one.

"Fine," she groaned, "fine."

Kokonoi, triumphant, smiled and laced his fingers over his knee. The woman sighed, deflating back on her chair.

"But you know her, don't you?" She raised her brow, "my pretty, pretty girl?"

Kokonoi was silent for a moment, a flash of memory crossing his head. It made him smile and frown, excited and furious. You're beautiful, the most beautiful he's ever seen.

"Come to Black Dragons," he told you.

"Why should I?" You asked, glowing like a beautiful torch in your red cheongsam.

His answer was what all the women in the world would come running down to grasp, to eat.

"Because you'll be free," Kokonoi said.

Kokonoi offered you something your circumstance can never give. He dangled it in front of your perfect face, all you needed to say was -

"No," you told him.

That was it. Kokonoi could never forget how he bit his lip until it bled when he rode to Taiju at the back of Inupi's bike, leaving the Jansou where you poised and sat by the Mahjongg table you played on with him.

Koko looked at the brothel madame, "of course I do."

"Then you know she'll say no," the woman says, lighting herself another cigarette, "that girl is more beautiful than anyone and anything - it's a given her reasons aren't like most, too."

He knows that. Of course he fucking does. Kokonoi shrugged, "when can I see her?"

"Now."

Kokonoi smiled. You don't want freedom. It's even possible you might not want anything at all.

He remembers it, that look of yours. The endless depths of nothingness swimming under you perfect, perfect skin. Try as he might, he can't really do anything about it.

But he'll get you. Oh yes. He'll get you.

copyright belongs to @shirotaangel

[madelynraemunson]

CALL ME WHAT YOU WANT 𓆩♡𓆪

(strip club owner!eddie x fem!exotic dancer!hargrove!x reader)

𝐌𝐎𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐍 𝐀𝐔 18+ minors LOOK THE OTHER WAY

Ch 007: Buckle Up, Baby

A night in the town with Eddie takes a spicy turn when an outfit on display catches your eyes. And what do ya know? It’s your exact measurement…

* = somewhat smut

** = smut

↳ chapters: 001, 002*, 003** , 004**, 005 , 006 , 007* , 008**, 009, 010, 011, 012* , 013**, 014**, 015, 016**, 017, 018, 019, 020*

word count: 3.5k words

disclaimers & warnings �� dialogue heavy, arguing, trauma dumping again, angst, yearning, shy girl yelling at eddie (as she should), sexual tension, grinding, thigh riding, car canoodling 🫣

“She’s a black magic woman, she’s trying to make a devil out of me.”

♡

Spellbinding is the best word you can think of to describe Nocturna, a town spookier than Hawkins just 20 minutes inland. It sure lives up to its name, with the average closing time for restaurants, bars, and shops being 3:30 AM.

“This city is so cute,” you beam. “Love the late night vibe it’s got going on.”

“Right?” Eddie agrees. “If Hawkins were a Spencer’s, ‘Turna would be the back of it.”

Eds takes you to El Diablo Bar & Grill where you settle for a ‘TURNA Tossed salad’ and beer. ‘The Eddie Special’ may have left you full, but there’s no way you’d ever pass up free food.

Your boss helps himself to a couple of beers as well, both of them way too hoppy for your liking. And just as you predicted, downing two of those bad boys after smoking a shit ton of weed has its repercussions.

“Eddie, what the fuck are you doing?”

Personal space is a foreign concept for Eddie whenever he’s under the influence. Not like that’s any new information. You just didn’t expect him to be so tender, affectionately fiddling with your hair, using it as a mustache, and then attempting to braid it. You’re surprised because he actually does pretty well.

“Where’d you learn how to braid?” you ask.

“Taught myself,” he replies. “That way if Nancy ever calls out, someone at Hellfire would at least know how to do hair. Luckily I haven’t ran into that problem yet.”

“That’s really thoughtful,” you swoon as Eddie goes to braid your other side.

“I’m also learning how to curl hair,” Eddie adds. “If I could get past burning myself with the iron, that’d be great. Until then, I’ll always vouch for a traditional sock bun.”

You watch has he loops your hair around itself to secure the braid, just as he did the first one. Then comes the unpredictable. Suddenly, you’re taken aback when Eddie gives your hair a tug. Aggressively.

“Eddie!” you cry out.

He spirals into an outrageous belly laugh.

You shove Eddie away from you in a playful form of disgust, his dramatics launching him right out of his seat. Customers start to look your way. You hide your face in embarrassment.

“I think you’ve flown off the handle,” you accuse.

“No,” he denies. “Just comfortable that’s all.”

“Yeah and a bully,” you hiss, undoing your braids out of spite. He knows you’re kidding around.

“What?” Eddie questions, reeling you in via bar stool, smirk growing more and more prominent the closer you get. “You don’t like that I pull hair?”

“That’s enough, you little freak.”

Eddie stops, jokingly wincing at your harsh words. "Thought you were into freaks."

"...Shut up,” is all you can think to say.

"Come on..." he taunts, giving your side a soft pinch. “You know I'm right."

He is right.

You poke his stomach with one of your pointy fingers.

"Okay, and what if I was? Does that get you off? Mr. Know-It-All?”

Eddie clears his throat and squirms in his seat.

"No, actually,” he shakes his head, leaning into your touch. “Cuz that's just not true.”

Your eyes find each other again.

An apology lingers in the air. Eddie bites his lower lip as he stares, closing the gap between you two with a slight turn of his knee. You explore his dark irises, his wide pupils. When fixated on you, they emit what appears to be sorrow, with just a pinch of regret.

"Sometimes I'm wrong. And I fuck up,” he admits. “Whether I like to admit it or not."

Eddie chugs the remainder of his pint before slamming it.

You shrug. “Yeah. Like when you told me to get off my phone today but stayed on yours the entire time.”

Eddie chuckles away from you.

“Playing music…” you persist, leaning into him a little more. “Texting people…”

“You jealous?” he questions, tongue rolling around in his cheek.

“In your dreams,” you lie.

You’re so close to him now you can practically smell the beer. He inches closer, the front portion of his curly locks tickling the side of your face.

“In your dreams.”

Your thighs clench. In your dreams, indeed. Eddie winks at you like he knows.

“Whatever you say,” you scoff. “Freak.”

———— 🌹————

After dinner, you and Eddie decide to walk around the shopping strip. Eddie walks closest to the street, leaving you on the innermost part of the sidewalk like a gentleman.

“So who’s Wayne? Heard you and Henry talking about him before we left.”

“He's my uncle,” Eddie answers. “Pretty much raised me since I was a kid. I owe a lot to him.”

You continue to walk. Somehow along the way, you and Eddie end up strolling with your arms around each other. He turns to ask,

“Who is Max?”

“Max?” you’re stunned to hear that name roll off his tongue. Despite him helping with her YMCA membership, you had always registered them as being worlds apart from each other. “She’s my sister.”

Eddie slowly nods in understanding.

“Her full name is Maxine,” you explain. “Max for short.”

“No wonder,” Eddie chuckles. “I always hear you mentioning a Max and have been wondering who that is.”

“You jealous?” you echo him.

He sneers, “You wish.”

You take this time to admire Eddie. His wanderlust eyes. His pronounced Cupid’s Bow. His thick, wavy locks. The tiny freckle at the crook of his neck that you were sure a lover left for him in a past life. The way his dark clothes always seem to hug him so nice. He’s breathtaking. The hottest thing you’ve ever seen.

"WHOA!" Eddie brings you back. "That's the hottest shit I've ever seen!"

There he goes again. You race after Eddie as he scampers across the street, leading you to what appears to be a lingerie-slash-sex shop. On display is a beautiful scarlet red two piece with fluffy wings behind it to match.

DEVIL WOMAN, is what the set is advertised as.

"Whew, lord," Eddie whistles, pressing his hands against the plexiglass.

He turns to you desperately.

"You can make SO many tips with this on," Eddie insists. "I'm telling you right now woman, you need to seize this opportunity."

"Are you gonna pay for it?" you joke, batting your lashes seductively.

"Sure!" Eddie exclaims. "A-anything you want tonight, you'll get."

It sounds too good to be true.

"Not you trying to spoil me..."

"Definitely me trying to spoil you,” a sneaky smirk forms across his face yet again. “Especially since I’ve been an asshole lately.”

It’s a fair bargain. Not like you can deny it either.

You two shake hands, deal, and make your merry way inside Madame Sédutrice’s Love Boutique.

Time to make his pockets — and heart — hurt.

————💋 ————

It fits you like a glove.

Everything is just right. There is no free space, but there is some real estate to breathe. The set is also squat and split proof. Perfect for a good show.

You strut in front of the mirror like a Victoria’s Secret Devil, relishing over how well the fiery red set accentuates your bust, hugs your hips, and highlights the cheekiest parts of your ass with just enough coverage to have the men wondering.

To leave Eddie wondering.

You’re parading around some more, taking selfies at all angles while Eddie talks to the cashier about guitars. Eventually he does circle back around, as you've been in here for a long period of time.

"Shy Girl," Eddie checks on you from outside. "Did you die in there?"

You put your phone away.

"No, but you're about to."

He laughs. "I love the confidence. Let me at her."

You pull the curtain over so that Eddie can see.

“Jesus fuck.”

Eddie sinks down to his knees, the tips of his fingers trailing from your hips to your thighs, down to your calves. He’s being dramatic again, you think, evident by the three bows of resignation he gives you as he continues to take in your beauty.

"What do you think?" you ask him.

"Simply out of this world," Eddie gasps. He stands to spin you around like he once did before. "You look... like an absolute fantasy. Destined for some alternate dimension."

His breathing heightens as his rough hands trail down to your birthmark. And soon, you’re up there with him.

“I can already see you on that stage,” Eddie gushes. “Doing your thing, stealing the show, driving customers wild. The spotlight soaking in all your beauty...”

“The version of me living in your head sounds pretty damn cool,” you giggle.

You snake your arms around the nape of his neck. Eddie blushes. “She’s a lot like the girl in front of me, actually.”

Either of you can let go now. But you both don't.

“Wanna get out of here?” he asks.

"Mmm… I don't think I'm done just yet," you bat your eyes once more. "What’s a set like this without some accessories?"

You grab his hand and he watches in shock — almost starstruck by you — when you manually wrap his hand around your neck.

“Like a necklace of sorts,” you continue. “A choker, maybe?”

“A choker,” Eddie nods. “Yeah, I can do that.”

He gives you a teasing, gentle squeeze. You’re an absolute puddle.

He grins at you connivingly, playfully.

"Lead the way, m'lady. Anything you want tonight is yours.”

———— 🔥 ————

Satisfied is an understatement. You’re strutting back to Eddie’s van now as he trails closely behind, hauling shopping bags that belong to you in each hand.

“Thank you Eddie,” you say as he manages to open the door for you too.

“Anytime, Princess,” he insists.

You get settled on the passenger side while Eddie starts the van back up again. He waits for a while in his seat.

“You looked stunning in that piece,” Eddie raves, the image of you strutting around still living in his head. “I almost don’t want you to wear it anymore.”

You raise an eyebrow. “What? Why?”

“I wanna be the only one who gets to see you in it,” he explains.

“Gatekeeper much?”

“No, I’m just selfish,” he says. “Especially when you look like that.”

Eddie takes it upon himself to fasten your seatbelt for you.

Your eyes trail along as he clicks it in place, adjusting the seatbelt so that it laid perfectly and untangled, protecting your hips…shielding your chest…

“My eyes only, you know?”

“Just yours?”

“Mhm,” he strains. “Mine and only mine.”

His gentle eyes are begging, glued to your lips like bees to honey. His tongue pokes out again, and you watch as he licks his lips in lust. Fuck. You can’t help it anymore. You decide to lean into him and try again.

But hostile air stops you in your place. There's fear in that man's eyes the closer you get and he pulls away from you.

OH FOR FUCK’S SAKE.

You swat the rest of him away. “You’re doing it again.”

Eddie sighs in defeat.

"I know."

The fact that you didn’t have to elaborate is very telling. Eddie is not stupid. He knows the game he’s playing.

You watch with zero sympathy this time as Eddie pinches the bridge of his nose in exasperation. He lifts a hand. You flinch. Then you relax again when you realize the man isn’t trying to hit you.

“I’m VERY aware of what I’m doing, Hargrove. Okay? That’s the worst part.”

“And you think it’s okay? You like stringing me along, is that it?”

“There’s MORE TO IT, alright?” he groans. “I just don’t know how to explain it to you just yet.”

Eddie starts up again.

“I…” he says, his haunted eyes sparkling. “I just. CAN’T. get. involved. with a coworker. Let alone someone who works under me. Think of all the legal issues that can rise up.”

Bullshit.

“That is a FUCKING LIE!” you scream. “A fucking LIE, Eddie and you know how I know that?”

He looks back over at you.

“It’s because you didn’t think twice about it when you were hooking up with Chrissy.”

You’ve had enough of his excuses. Startled, Eddie shies away from you, surprised that you knew of what he so desperately wanted to conceal.

“Who told you that?”

“Who else would know?”

“Everyone at Hellfire, basically,” Eddie laughs pettily. “I just hoped it wouldn’t get around to you.”

Frustrated, Eddie turns off his car. He tosses his keys onto the center console between you both.

“Chrissy and I happened like two or three times. Is that what you wanted to hear?” he asks you. “She was horny, I was horny. She never gave me the time of day in high school so I got all excited. One thing led to another. Thrill eventually wore off. Now she’s just one of my good friends.”

You cross your arms and glare out the window.

“But the reason I was soooo okay with the Chrissy thing is because I only saw her as a fling,” Eddie continues. “End of story.”

“Where exactly are you going with this?”

“The difference with you is that a part of me actually wanted this to go somewhere.”

Does he think you’re stupid? Surely Eddie can’t think you’re just going to fall for his words instead of his actions.

You scoff. “You’re being ridiculous.”

“Am I?”

You muster up the courage to look over at him again. And there he is, his big brown doe eyes glimmering under the full moon.

“I’ve never met anyone like you before, Hargrove,” he mumbles softly. “That shit’s terrifying. For the first time in an incredibly long time I feel like someone gets me.”

You attempt to look away again. Eddie cranes his neck over towards you to meet you where you’re at.

“Someone who gets what it’s like to have a shitty, absent father,” Eddie continues. “Someone who also had to learn how to navigate grief before getting a fucking learner’s permit.”

“You can stop,” you choke. “I get the picture.”

But Eddie continues.

“…Someone who also has to be the bread-winner of the family, not by choice, but by necessity. And someone whose now got a shit ton of trust issues cuz somebody else had to go and fuck ‘em up THAT badly.”

Your throat begins to burn. A soul cry marinates at the pit of your stomach.

"I'm so infatuated with you, Hargrove,” your boss insists. “Okay? You have no idea.”

You tsk.

“You’re infatuated with me,” it’s more of a statement than a question of yours. “Yet you push me away.”

Eddie rolls his eyes. “Oh, come on, like you don’t have trouble accepting things you so rightfully deserve?”

He reaches over to grab your hand. You let him.

"There's nothing scarier than falling for someone who is your literal mirror," Eddie whispers. "Especially when you don't like anything about yourself."

“I know.”

You two fall silent and end up staring ahead for quite some time.

Both of you observe a couple cross the street together. The smitten pair are taking a stroll on the sidewalk, hand in hand and falling into one another like missing puzzle pieces. The guy kisses the girl's forehead, his silhouette reminding you so much of Steve.

“I also didn’t wanna get in between you and Harrington," Eddie mumbles.

“I told you we’re just fuck buddies.”

“But he really, really likes you.”

“Yeah, but if he’s not over Nancy, then what’s the point?”

It’s been a decade since Steve and Nancy broke up and he’s still lovesick over her. When you realized that she couldn’t ever be replaced, you stopped trying to pursue Steve romantically. Eddie falls mute again.

"I'm just his lil pocket pussy for all I know," you break the ice with a laugh.

"Don't say that," Eddie disapproves. "You are more than your body, Shy Girl."

“Then tell me what I am, Eddie,” the wounded part of you speaks. “Since I don’t seem to know.”

His gaze softens. “Well, it’s easy.”

You look at him.

"Corn ball alert,” Eddie prefaces. “But you’re the conversations you have with your regulars, asking them about their day and if they have any updates for you… You're the friendships you make with girls that you don't see a need to compete with. And you're that silly little dance you do when Argyle makes you food. And you’re also the destructive parts of yourself that you keep hiding from but little do you know that even those parts of you tell a story."

The sound of police sirens divert your attention. You shudder at the noise. Eddie seemingly makes note of it and clears his throat as a placeholder.

"…I didn't think you paid attention to any of that, Eds."

"I'm more observant than you think."

You believe him. After all, there are instances when you catch him sneaking a glance at you, turning away too late because you’re caught by his eyes to do the same.

A sigh escapes your body. You interlock your fingers with his.

“I don’t know what... this… is,” you begin. “But all I know is that I really enjoy your company. And that I’ve had a crush on you since the day I met you. If it wasn't obvious already."

Eddie snorts. “Even when I was freaking out over kegs and ground chili?”

“Especially when you were freaking out over kegs and ground chili.”

And now forgiveness is in the air. Monkey see, monkey do, and soon both you and Eddie are grinning at each other from one side of your faces to the other.

“Please,” Eddie requests politely with a gulp. “Will you let me kiss you?”

“Yes.”

To your surprise, Eddie leaves a peck on your cheek out of all places. This fucker, still so polite. He doesn’t touch or graze anywhere else while he does.

“Thanks,” he says as he pulls away. “I guess.”

But you only want him closer now.

“Oh don’t be stupid,” you giggle grabbing his face with both your hands. “Just fucking kiss me.”

You rest your hands at his chin when you pull him closer. And with Eddie’s permission, you sink your lips onto his. His warm breath circles you as your lips attach to one another.

There’s no turning back now.

Eddie’s lips are as soft as a cloud, and they seem to know yours very well. When he’s latched on, Eddie synchronizes with your rhythm almost immediately, getting a few more kisses in before his tongue begs you for entrance. You deny him access and push him back.

“Oooh,” you taunt him, causing him to laugh. “Someone likes me.”

“Maybe,” Eddie blushes, cupping the side of your face with one of his rigid hands. He gives the back of your head an endearing little scratch.

“But you…can’t get involved huh?”

Eddie shakes his head, doing his very best to stand his ground. He’s back to staring at your lips. “No. Definitely can’t…get involved.”

Of course not.

“Not even if I do this?”

You swoop over to press down on the button of Eddie’s seat belt to unbuckle it. Click. He restrains himself, but there’s wonder in his eyes.

“Or this?”

Your hands travel to the side furthest from you as you lean to crank the lever, lowering the head of Eddie’s driver seat to a 30 degree angle.

Amused now, he furrows his brows together and rests his hands behind his head, manspreading as you play that agonizingly long game.

“You’re pushing it, Hargrove…”

Using his unavailable hands to your advantage, you climb over him and assert yourself on his lap. A low groan escapes Eddie’s nose. You make sure to strategically situate yourself right on his crotch. Eddie’s breath hitches, hand hovering over your birthmark as you sink those hips into him. He bucks his up in return, trying to keep up with you.

“What about this?”

“Oh, that’s not fair…”

His hands are back at your waist.

A protruding essence grows in size as you continue to ride Eddie’s thigh. Soft, low whimpers escape from his chest, his dark eyes now beseeching at his mercy. Eddie’s fingers curl, enclosing themselves tightly around the fabric of your baby tee. His available hand gnaws at the seat below him.

“I don’t like playing fair,” you whisper huskily. “I just like getting even.”

Both of yours eyes are glued to what you’re doing, where you’re grinding, and how.

“Why do you do this to me?” he whispers longingly.

“I think it’s safe to say that you’ve been edging me for quite some time, Munson,” you shrug angelically. “Now it’s my turn to give you a taste of—”

You squeal suddenly when Eddie’s hand flies to your throat. The grip he has on you tightens hastily, long before you can even process it.

Shock overpowers you as Eddie studies you eagerly, with flared nostrils and a hot chest. You peer down at him with glossy eyes and yearning lips.

“Back of the van,” Eddie orders. “Now.”

—————————————

tag list: @battymunson , @the-fairy-anon, @ali-r3n, @corrodedcoffincumslut, @bebe07011, @mmunson86 , @eddiesguitarskills , @chelebelletx , @imonhereforareasonsadly , @eddies-trailer-babe @hideoutside , @motherfckerrr , @jxpsi , @munson-magic , @lindseyj23, @sidthedollface2 , @manda-panda-monium , @elvendria , @micheledawn1975 , @hereforshmut , @siriuslysmoking , @nymphetkoo , @m-chmcl-rmnc , @holabeans00, @ahoyyharrington , @keepittoyourselftellnobodyelse

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author's note: i'd be lying if i told you guys i didn't play imaginary barbies in my head in order to map out the argument between eddie and shy girl dfsjklfdkgfgsg would you say I’m a puppet master?

[a-drabble-a-day]

Prompt #22

Restaurant

~~..~~..~~..~~..~~..~~..~~..~~..~~..~~..~~..~~..~~..~~..~~..~~..

In the humid, sweltering heat, amidst the roaring bustle of the metropolis, there hangs a sign.

It hangs from two iron chains, with lengths just slightly out of alignment and an oiled undertone of deep rusty crimson. The sign itself appeared to have been ripped from a wooden crate of some sort, its edges jagged and uneven. Upon it, the words 仙乐客栈 and Xian Le Tavern were painted in a carefree script.

Look beneath the sign, and you will find a flight of steep wooden steps, enticing a sweat-drenched and weary traveller away from the relentless throngs, leading them onwards and upwards to the promise of rest and refreshment.

As you ascend the steps, you notice that while all the steps were wooden, there was a subtle variation in colour tone, as though the owner had tried their best to make them match, but quite obviously had failed.

You also notice the air becoming cooler and fresher, the higher you go. But the coolness did not resemble the harsh cold of the ubiquitous air-conditioners in this land. It was a gentler, calmer, more soothing coolness. That's when the first of the greenery reaches out its friendly fronds to greet you. And it is the first of many.

Every inch, every corner, every nook that does not house a table or a chair, was occupied by a plant, from the tiniest succulents to miniature trees. And you realise, here lies the source of this natural coolness, a shield against the unforgiving elements of the tropics.

Amidst this lush forest, perched upon a gnarly rattan stool and resting both his elbows on a large barrel that served as a table, Xie Lian gave a deep sigh. The spreadsheets were…cataclysmically devastating. 

No chef (Mu Qing quit three months ago), no waiter (he could still hear Feng Xin’s angry footsteps on the stairs), no money (Xie Lian never had any money). Unless a miracle fell from the sky, it may be time for Xie Lian to look up the paperwork for declaring bankruptcy.

But just as his fingers hovered over the keys, he heard another set of footsteps ascend the stairs, slow and self-assured, sounding neither like Feng Xin’s nor a customer’s. 

Soon, the figure emerged, dressed in a striking red top with his cascading black hair gathered in a side braid. He immediately spotted Xie Lian propped miserably against the barrel, and flashed him a small smile,

“I hear you need a new chef?”

What Xie Lian wanted to say was no, I’m bankrupt and we’re shutting down today, sorry but go away.

But there was something about this person, something that made him feel everything was going to be alright, eventually.

And so, instead, he nodded dumbly and offered the stranger a seat.

~~~~~

[readthephible]

Take A Chance On Me (Revised) — Chapter 2 💋🥂

PART ONE | word count: 7872

part two of my test run for this fic!!! slowly but surely i have been working on this story as well as managing college :D i only want to post it on ao3 once i have fully ironed out the plot wrinkles and get well ahead on writing. slightly unrelated fun news: i might (probably) be pitching a scene from this fic for a SHORT FILM PRODUCTION. CAN YALL IMAGINE HOW FUCKING COOL THAT WOULD BE?!? NO BUT SERIOUSLY IMAGINE IT.....if it makes big waves, i can be like "this was originally a phanfic lol B)" and WHAT IF DNP SEE ASOFVJFJIOSFFSJ anyway,,,,

please leave feedback if you feel so inclined. i love this universe with all my heart and any help expanding it is greatly appreciated<3 tags + story under the cut! (PS: tags are for the story as a whole, this chapter does not include smut)

Phil barely had enough time to adjust his shirt collar before getting dropped off in front of the completed Cat and Bear. Only months ago had he first gotten involved in the project, and he had  a surreal feeling seeing it come to fruition. 

An impressive line trailed out of the front doors, the club goers being checked and regulated by a few bouncers. The muffled music was pure noise, lyrics and notes indistinguishable. Lights  flashed like they had minds of their own, colorful and sporadic illuminations across the street. 

To avoid stirring his nerves up any further, Phil sent PJ a quick text that he’d arrived.  

He checked his watch to see it was fifteen minutes before the show was supposed to start. God, that seemed too close. He was waiting in line with the last minute outfit he’d picked out, since last time PJ told him he had dressed much too formal, hoping that the line would move quickly.

As though Phil's thoughts had summoned them, PJ was bustling through, there to make sure he didn’t have to wait in line like everyone else. They guided Phil through the doors, informing him that he could enter through the back employee entrance if he wanted.

The music was louder inside, and while Phil expected it, it didn’t stop him from wincing upon first entering. The bass of the music felt like it was cutting through his skull. He blinked, adjusting to the sound, then looked around to survey the completed area. There didn’t seem to be any sort of show going on yet. The bar had plenty of people sitting on the stools, the few tables on the opposite wall of the stage were all full, and groups of friends leaned against the walls to talk.

“You good?” PJ asked Phil, who stood awkwardly in place once PJ had stopped moving.

“Uh…yeah, it’s just loud,” Phil yelled over the music, nodding as he looked around.

PJ chuckled, “It’s a club, Phil! I gotta go, but make sure you get your tip money from an ATM. Cheers!”

“Tip money? Wait, Peej—“

PJ was lost in the crowd, making his way back behind the employees only hallway and presumably towards the dressing room.

Meekly, Phil retrieved cash from an ATM, thankful that there were multiple employees hanging around the area. After tucking the money into his wallet, he went up to the bar and ordered water with a lemon.

Looking around, the club’s walls were mainly black with silver diagonal stripes, colorful LED strips aligning them like a movie theater, and various tables with sofa chairs or booth seats. Some people wore body glitter, wigs, and eccentric makeup, while others wore more casual clothing like Phil was.

Phil squeezed the lemon into his water, not yet in the mood to actually drink something. He tended to not do so, only at a work party or friend’s party, on the rare occasion he was invited to something—drinking alone felt pathetic. He didn’t even know for sure if he owned any alcohol at the moment.

It’d been a long time since he’d done anything outside of work. But Phil liked working. He liked his coworkers and his steady, often easy going job. Many would call it monotonous, but Phil appreciated the routine, which rattled his discomfort to the newness of the club scene he was surrounded with. His business casual clothing felt out of place, stitched with too much formality to fit into the environment.

The show was supposed to start at 9, but it was nearing 9:15 when Phil checked his watch again. 

He watched a few younger guys with the logo of the bar on their cropped shirts usher audience members to back away from the edge of the stage. It was early in the night, which seemed to make them easier to manage. Then, finally, an announcer yelled through the speakers.

Phil looked around, deciding whether or not he should get up and get closer, the crowd looking daunting.

“You can keep your seat if you want. The performers will be walking around a lot,” a bartender said, walking over to his area, “Can you see okay?”

Phil turned in his stool to say, “Yeah.”

The bartender took the time to neaten up the counter space around him, pausing to look at his unsure expression.

“First drag show?”

“Oh…uh…yeah, it is,” Phil replied to them.

Phil could see that the bartender was dressed completely goth, with dramatic makeup and fluffy hair. They stomped behind the counter in platform shoes and made people’s drinks as easily as breathing. 

“You’re not gonna have any fun being so tense, just enjoy the show.”

“Right.”

“And you don’t seem like the type of guy to do this, but I tell everyone...don’t touch them unless they invite you to.”

“Got it, thank you,” Phil said, holding out his hand then looking at the bartender’s name tag, “Mars?”

“Yeah, Mars,” the bartender smiled and shook Phil’s hand back, “I use they/them pronouns, by the way. Your name?”

“Phil,” he said simply, then followed up with, “He/him. And speaking of pronouns, what should I call the drag queens?”

“She or they is fine for most of them,” Mars said, “I haven’t met all of them, but it’s always safe to use they. And you can always ask.”

“Okay. Thanks.”

As soon as he turned back around, the lights went down in the club and people crowded around, cheering and watching the performers of the night grace the stage.

His eyes went back and forth to take it in. All of them were very tall, especially with their heels and platforms on. There were four in total that were going to be performing, and they all lined up—posing, smiling, and waving to the crowd. 

It was hard to hear exactly what the queen hosting the show was saying, but Phil assumed they were announcing the stage names and making jokes, based on how the crowd was reacting.

He wondered how long PJ was expecting him to stay. Mentally, Phil had a timer for how long he could tolerate social interactions like this, especially ones at such a high capacity like at this club. He almost started plotting out his plan to leave, until he realized.

The brunet.

They were performing tonight.

The speed of Phil’s heart seemed to increase as he took in everything he saw—they wore a pretty, long, black sparkly dress, and the straps were super thin. On their head was a large wig—waves of deep brown cascaded down the back across their shoulders, looking soft to the touch. Heels made them super tall, and they seemed to be gazing out at the crowd, hands on their hips in a confident stance.

Their choice in makeup looked gorgeous on them. Shiny, silver eyelids with smokey liner and shadow, deep maroon lipstick overdrawn, bright platinum toned highlighter on their nose and cheekbones, and dangling earrings hung from their lobes.

For a second, Phil’s focus trailed off, and he imagined dancing with them later into the night. Why was he already going so far as to daydream about the person? He didn’t even know how to fucking dance, and they hadn’t even…looked at him.

As if reading his mind, they looked right at him. Undeniably and curiously, the performer looked at Phil. They even made eye contact for a second, the fleeting look bringing warmth into his cheeks.

Alas, the brunet covered the striking stage lights from their eyes and peered closer at Phil.

—

The performances of the others admittedly passed in a blur. Phil still tipped them, of course, and sang along if he knew the songs they were lip syncing to. He caught a few of their names, but quickly learned that the mystery brunet he had interest in was Daniel Howell.

Whether or not that was a stage name, Phil was curious. But his attention was soon drawn away from the thought when they came up to perform to Nasty by Janet Jackson, seemingly the last show of the night.

Daniel had changed into a sleeveless black leotard with ruffles. Their collarbones and shoulders were being shown off as they ran their hand across them, wearing black glittery nails. With a smile, Daniel poofed up a perfectly styled wig, long and flowy brown with volume as they stomped across the stage with thigh high black boots. They posed with their hand up in the air, pulling a sassy face.

Phil was mesmerized throughout the whole song. The world felt like it was in slow motion, the only indications that time was actually passing were from the synchronized movements Daniel made, following the beats like they had rehearsed them to perfection. Like a magnet, the spot light was on them, casting a shadow of a beautiful silhouette onto the stage. 

They knew how to use their body—shaking their lips or their ass, stretching out their legs, back, and arms, sliding across the stage so elegantly. And not just the stage—they even grabbed onto the rods of the truss, using it as a steady prop to dance against. 

Conveniently, Daniel was headed towards him during the bridge of the song, stomping like the world was their own. It was a stark contrast to how Phil felt, intimidated by the loud music, scantily dressed people, and the ease at which Daniel moved. Phil’s hands trembled to open his wallet, a problem he hadn’t encountered with any of the other performers. He flipped through quickly, in search of the highest cash bill he had to offer��a fifty. 

Fuck, they deserved way more, he was sure of it, but there was no chance in hell he’d be able to get to the ATM in time. All he could do was hope he’d get to meet with Daniel later, and hope that the fifty he waved in front of them wasn’t insulting.

As soon as the note caught their attention, Daniel’s eyes went wide and their smile beamed. Phil felt his heart skip a beat. They graciously accepted the note, making sure to pay attention to him as they added it to a wad of tips.

Swaying their hips and holding Phil’s hand gently, they looked into his eyes—Phil’s heart was soaring, his legs were shaky, his cheeks were amber. Daniel brought Phil’s hand up to their lips to place a kiss on it, which left a lipstick print, then slowly pulled away, tickling him with their painted black nails as they stomped off. 

Biting his lip, Phil watched Daniel’s hips move back and forth as they stepped back up onto the stage. After finishing the song with more gracious movements of their beautiful body, they placed the wad of tips in the plastic tub that one of the workers at the bar took to the back, aside from the fifty pound note, which was stuffed into the top of their costume. Daniel pulled it up over their chest, their bottom lip sucked in and eyes casting a wink towards Phil.

—

At the end of the show, all of the performers were back on stage, each of them holding a shot glass. The host introduced the performers again, Daniel being last in the announcement. 

They awkwardly smiled as the attention was on them. PJ had taken photos of each performer with a professional camera, and the other queens encouraged Daniel to pose. After a few pictures, someone handed them a microphone.

“What, why—okay, fine, I’ll talk,” Daniel said, “Thank you everyone for coming out tonight! We appreciate you taking the time to check us out, and uh…let’s try these shots, hm?”

Phil smiled awkwardly, less focused on what Daniel was saying, but instead the soothing nature of their voice. The performers took their shots, coughing and grimacing afterwards, making Phil chuckle a little.

“What the fuck is that? Battery acid?” one of the queens coughed. Daniel threw the drink back, making a similar face.

“That was strong, bloody hell,” Daniel complained, then sarcastically said, “I mean, it was lovely! Very enjoyable! Everyone should go to the bar.”

When the crowd was silent, they spoke again.

“Seriously. Go get a fucking drink or I’ll lose my job,” they scolded in a sassy tone, making everyone laugh.

Phil still hadn’t drank anything besides water. A worker came by to pick up the empty shot glasses from the performers, and then Daniel was talking again.

“Thank you to everyone for coming. We appreciate everyone’s support. And be sure to get a ride home if you are intoxicated,” Daniel said cheerfully, then waved at everyone as they left the stage.

The host had a bit more to say, then music started to fade in, gradually rising to a high volume. Colorful flashes replaced the stark white stage lights that had been on for the past hour.

Normally, Phil would have left by then. If it were any other social event, he wouldn’t have been more than eager to head out and get to bed. But he couldn’t just leave without talking to Daniel at least once, he still had their lipstick on his hand.

Their lipstick. Fuck.

Phil definitely needed to address this new revelation he’d discovered about himself. He couldn’t, realistically, recall a time ever in his life where he found himself attracted to people who usually wore makeup. Questions about the validity of his label—one that had comforted him for years when he accepted it and lived his life as it—suddenly struck, and fuck, he needed something stronger than water. Something with more taste so he could at least attempt to get his shit together before he got a chance to speak to Daniel.

“Hey Mars, could I get…like, any fruity cocktail you have?” Phil asked when the bartender had a moment. Soon, a cold, tangy drink was in front of him. He took his time being mindful about each taste, deciding that there wasn’t really anything he could do at the moment to fix his worries about his identity. 

That meant he could at least enjoy the night, but it also meant that the issue would be looming above his head until he did do something about it. But what was it that he wanted to do? Take another ‘Am I Gay?’ test and see if the results had changed since he was fourteen?

He’d have to remember to bring it up to his therapist. He had more important things to do, like figuring out how to strike up a conversation with Daniel, somehow.

As he took a sip of his drink, Phil was tapped on the shoulder. 

“Hey.”

Phil nearly choked, seeing Daniel standing behind him, smiling goofily.

“Can I sit?”

“Um, hi,” Phil greeted, blushing and setting his glass down, “Of course, go ahead.”

Daniel’s grin was bright and welcoming as they sat on a barstool beside Phil. They glanced down to Phil’s hand, seeing their lipstick print still on the back of it. If they had any thoughts, they didn’t say them out loud, but their knowing look said a thousand things.

“I, uh, wanted to thank you for the tip. I know you’re one of our investors, but you’re also one of PJ’s friends, right?”

“Mhm,” he introduced himself, “Phil Lester, the boring businessman friend.”

“I wouldn’t say boring. You’re cool enough to come to a drag show,” Daniel noted, pushing the hair of their wig over their shoulder, “How long have you been friends with PJ?”

“A long time,” Phil answered, “Since university, and I’m old, so it’s been a while.”

Daniel smiled, but soon squinted and gave Phil a look over.

“You don’t look that old. You’re probably, what, thirty…four?”

“Seven.”

“Okay, I was trying to be gracious, but you look a lot older than seven, mate,” Daniel teased, making Phil laugh and blush a little, “Thirty seven’s not old, though. Only a few years older than me.”

“Older than a lot of the people here,” Phil mentioned passively.

“And yet, not the oldest,” Daniel reassured, then ordered themself a drink titled The Princess, which was quick to arrive on the counter in front of them.

Phil had the urge to mend the break in conversation. He awkwardly apologized, “I’m sorry I didn’t tip enough.”

“You gave me a fifty pound tip, you spoon,” Daniel reminded Phil as they sipped from their straw with a wide grin, “That’s a big tip for a drag queen…aaand that’s what she said.”

Phil watched the crinkles of Daniel’s eyes as their loud, boisterous laugh filled the immediate area. He loved when a person could laugh at their own jokes, and god, their laugh was contagious.

“Did you enjoy the show, Mr. Lester?”

Phil blushed at Daniel addressing him so formally, giving them a pointed look as he replied, “Just Phil is fine, and…it was…my first show.”

“That’s not what I asked, Phil,” Daniel quipped, sipping their drink.

They really enjoyed teasing him, huh?

“O-Oh, I mean—“ Phil stuttered, “It was great. A lot to take in, but extremely impressive. Especially yours…you’re a really good dancer. I was, uh…like I said, worried that the tip wasn’t going to be enough.”

“Not enough? Hell, there have been times in my life where I was thankful for someone to give me ten pence! Let alone fifty quid!” Daniel exclaimed, then did a hilarious impression of an old English woman begging for ‘shillings’, which had Phil doubling over with stomach pain.

“When I say thank you, I mean it,” Daniel clarified afterward, “It’s very generous, and no, you do not need to worry about that not being enough, it’s plenty.”

Phil nodded, not quite sure where to carry the conversation next. He was a fucking public relations master at work, why did suddenly putting an absurdly pretty person in front of him cease his abilities to none?

“I…I like your hair,” Phil said, then mentally slapped himself in the face at how ridiculously pathetic that was to say.

“Oh, this old thing? Yeah, I haven’t worn her in a while, but she’s usually good about not giving me a headache at the end of the night, so I thought, why not?” Daniel replied, very interested in the wig on their head for a few moments, but it gave Phil a break from being looked at by someone he found intimidating. 

Phil couldn’t believe that the same person he’d had his thoughts dwell to since the weeks he’d first visited the bar was sitting right beside him. Surely he was dreaming.

“Does it actually hurt?” Phil asked.

“I mean, it’s glued to my fucking head,” they answered, “And if the wig is heavy, and it’s been a long day, then yes, it can give me horrific migraines.”

“I get bad migraines too. I sometimes have to wear my glasses even when I don’t want to, or try these weird treatments. It sucks when the majority of my interests revolve around a screen.”

“Right?” Daniel added, “Wearing heels can give you blisters, washing too often can give you infections, not cleaning your brushes enough causes weird skin outbreaks, tucking too long can give you aches in the weirdest places. Drag is not for the weak.”

Phil nodded, eyebrows furrowing slightly.

“Okay, so I picked up on the thing about the wig, the heels, the washing…what’s the last one?”

“Oh, dear.”

Daniel rested their cheek on their fist in curiosity, taking the liberty to explain—well, ruin—something for Phil. He felt wildly uncomfortable after that, but still laughed through it, not expecting himself to be hyper aware of his own crotch so early in front of Daniel.

At least Daniel found it funny, having to grip onto the counter for dear life so they wouldn’t tumble to the floor with how hard they were laughing.

“I don’t know anything about drag queens,” Phil admitted once he finally caught his breath, “PJ’s told me a little bit, but I don’t know most of it.”

Nodding, Daniel said, “I can tell. Ask away. You have one right in front of you.”

“Are you sure?” Phil asked, “I do, actually, have more questions…but I’m sure you have more important things to do…”

“No, no, you’re fine,” Daniel assured, “I've been asked some of the most personal, invasive questions that the English language offers, so don’t worry about offending me, either. Not many things can offend us, anyway. And you don’t seem like the kind of guy to ask weirdly personal shit.”

“Okay. Uh…why drag?”

Smiling, Daniel looked down at their drink, “Mmm…a lot of reasons. Channel my creativity, find ways to showcase my interests and passions in a really unique art form. I actually really enjoy the activism side of it, too. I get to live a different life for a while, outside of the one I usually live. Like, she—“ they gestured up and down their whole body as they spoke, “Doesn’t have to worry about any of the other shit happening in the other version of myself’s life, you know? And this persona gives me a lot of confidence. I’m a Gemini and I was a theater kid, so of course I picked a job where I can get paid for playing a character.”

“That…makes sense,” Phil said.

“She’s not entirely a character, but she’s definitely a higher, better version of myself. I get to choose to make a political statement one night, an art piece the next, make people laugh, or literally if I want to just feel sexy, I’ll throw on lingerie. It’s like making myself into a Barbie doll. But that’s my personal story. If you want a general consensus, because I know you’re more of a business-y type,” Daniel said, pointing at Phil and nearly poking his nose, “You aren’t gonna get one. Drag is very personal. Everyone is going to have their own reasons and intentions behind what they do. If anyone says they’re in it for the money, they’re either lying, or a bad performer. No one in their right mind is in this for the money. They’re in it because they absolutely have to express themselves, so they don’t go crazy.”

Phil nodded, finding their answer absolutely fascinating. He could tell how much it all meant to Daniel, by the way they talked about it so passionately with both admiration and genuine truth. 

“Not to say that we don’t greatly appreciate money and aren’t greedy little rats half the time,” they joked.

“You’ve…insinuated it doesn’t pay well?”

“Mmm. Complicated answer to a complicated question,”  Daniel replied, “In the beginning, it didn’t. Then I made more of a name for myself and started making money, went through a period where I wasn’t but we don’t need to talk about that, and now I’m here. Blessed and booked, honey.”

“Oh, so you have to work a lot to get to a good place…money wise?” Phil asked. 

Daniel nodded and said, “Oh for sure. Whenever I first started, it was a new gig every night. Spent quite a lot of them wondering if this would ever be sustainable for me, and there were two years I basically performed for free, but I kept at it and I’m here today. This is the main source of income for me, but sometimes I go work other places.”

“Sounds a lot like climbing the corporate ladder, I’ve been there. Internships are terrible, in case you were wondering.” Phil joked, intentionally rolling his eyes to emphasize his distaste, “So do you work as often now? I’ve found I have to work less as I’ve kept working my way up.”

Daniel laughed, taking a sip of their drink as they teased, “Doesn’t seem to stop you from working all the time anyway, Philly. I’ve seen you prancing about here in your suits.”

Phil could only blush at that. The pet name, the call out, the way they were arching their back to lean against the countertop. It was all so…enchanting.

“But yes, I work a lot less these days. Luckily, I don’t have to do double bookings much anymore. Weekends of course, but Mondays and Tuesdays are usually when I’m not working. Even then, a lot of the time I’m rehearsing for shows, writing standup, getting fittings for costumes when I can afford it or have a special occasion coming up. Miss Daniel is very high maintenance, I’ll tell you that much. What days of the week do you work, hm?” 

“Uh, weekdays,” Phil said, still being awkward and anxious for some reason. He didn’t know why, the only reason he could pinpoint was that he was subconsciously wanting to impress them. “Nine to five, mostly.”

“Interesting,” Daniel said with a cheeky smile.

Phil’s initial thought was that no it fucking wasn’t, but it was nice of Daniel to pretend they were actually that interested. He played with his hands on the table, suddenly feeling a bit more shy, “It’s not that interesting, actually. I like the routine, but it’s much more boring than your job, Daniel.”

They nodded, a smirk growing as they replied to Phil.

“That’s okay. By the way, most people call me Dan, but you can call me whatever you want,” they purred, emphasizing with a few flutters of their lashes and a bite of their lip. 

Okay, they had to know what they were doing.

Phil felt thankful he’d invested in the dim lighting this part of the club offered, hoping that the ones illuminating from around the counter didn’t give away his fluster. Still, he tried to match their confident, unwithheld ability to flirt, wondering what he’d done to have Dan redirecting the tone of conversation.

“Dan, okay,” Phil watched them smirk, “Can I ask you another question, Dan?”

“Fire away.”

Phil still felt awkward asking even though the bartender had said it was okay. He disregarded the itching feeling of embarrassment under his skin and asked, “What are your pronouns?”

“Oh, I didn’t realize you wouldn’t know. Sorry, any are fine. I’m not that strict about it. I’m just kind of like a…formless blob,” they answered, punctuating with a small smile, “She is fine to use while I’m in drag. And, just so you know, he is fine when I’m not in drag…if the rest of the night goes how I intend it to.”

Phil didn’t know what sensation was more glaringly obvious, the flare of heat in his face or the tightness in his abdomen. 

“A-Alright,” Phil stuttered, trying to catch up with the missed beats, “If I ever get it wrong just tell me.” 

He genuinely did care about Daniel’s pronouns, but the overwhelm of club ambience paired with intimidation had him struggling to maintain eye contact.

Dan chuckled, “I will. What are yours?”

“He/him,” Phil replied.

“Got it. Can I ask you a question this time?” Dan asked, smiling coyly as they played with one of their curls.

Phil watched her fingers, completely fascinated. Looking at Dan’s eyes for so long was starting to get overwhelming.

“Go ahead.”

“Why haven’t you drank for real yet on this fine evening?” Dan asked, playfully bouncing a curl. It sprung back towards her face, then she was coiling it around her finger again.

“I’ve had this fruity thing,” Phil fakely pouted, only now noticing how full his glass still was. 

“Oh come on, you’ve had like two fucking sips,” Dan giggled, “Let loose a little.”

“In truth, I’m a bit of a lightweight,” Phil blushed, having admitted it.

Dan cackled, placing a hand on his shoulder briefly to tease, “Aw poor, Philly. That’s okay, it happens to the best of us. Least you can have a good time for twenty quid.”

Phil shrugged, biting back a smile, “May I buy you a drink?” 

“Pour moi?” Dan jokingly gasped, “Are you trying to get me drunk instead? I’ll have you know I’m basically a professional heavyweight drinker. I’d be five hundred pounds deep if I actually wanted to feel something.” 

Phil laughed at that, relaxing some, “Well if you want a drink despite that, I’ll still buy you one…we can…call it an opening night gift?”

“If you insist, Mr. Lester,” Dan said, batting their lashes and pushing hair out of their face. The Princess drink was empty, so Dan lightly scooted it towards Mars who took it as they walked past. Dan nodded at them as a thank you. As it happened, Phil momentarily envied the smoothness of the action, trained gestures from years of doing so. 

“What would you like, then?” Phil asked, plucking a drink menu from nearby and trying to gracefully hand it to Dan.

“Hmm...I would like…” her voice trailed off as she looked down at the drink menu. They only glanced for a moment before looking up at Phil and poking him in the shoulder, “For you to pick.”

Phil froze, looking with concern, “What if you don’t like it?” 

Dan chuckled, waving a hand dismissively.

Phil began reading over the menu, overwhelmed by the neverending list of options. Dan then placed her hand over one section, making Phil look up at them. For a second, the thought occurred that Dan wanted to hold hands, but surely he was reading that incorrectly.

“What? Why do you look so scared? I’m only covering the whisky because I don’t prefer those,” Dan chuckled.

“There’s a lot to choose from is all…” Phil hesitated, not looking up from the menu. His hand tapped the table beside where he was anxiously reading.

Dan placed a gentle hand on top of his, “Relax there, bub. It’s okay. I like all of the drinks.” 

Phil exhaled a breath he didn’t know he was holding, then asked, “Do you like…Bloody Marys?” 

“Oh yeah,” she mused, “That’s a good choice. I like the shrimp and vegetables they throw on top here, it’s a good little snack.”

Phil nodded as the bartender came by, and he ordered Dan’s drink. Dan removed their hand from Phil’s, grabbing the menu and tucking it back in the nearest bar organizer. Phil missed the touch as soon as it was gone.

“See, that wasn’t so hard,” she giggled and teased, “Sorry to overwhelm you, though.”

Dan turned their head to silently watch the bartender in action. Once Dan’s drink was placed in front of her, she ordered a drink for Phil, too.

“You didn’t have to get me one,” Phil whined a bit, feeling guilty. 

Dan ignored him, making a couple of hand gestures to the bartender before the drink slid across the counter.

“Well, you may not be trying to get me drunk, but I never said I felt the same way about you,” Dan said with a wink, curling a strand of hair with her finger again. Phil’s cheeks began to burn, and he took a sip from the drink that was fucking strong. He tried to play it cool, but Dan could clearly tell he was uncomfortable.

Dan giggled at his reaction, reaching out to rub his side. Their tone was lighter as they said, “You don’t actually have to drink it if you’re seriously not comfortable with it. I don’t want to overstep, but I also want you to have fun, Philly.”

“I am having fun, it’s okay,” Phil smiled at her softly. It was nice that they actually cared about making sure he felt comfortable, Phil had had far too many experiences where he felt his boundaries were overstepped, especially at clubs. It didn’t feel that way with Dan at all though, which he was very grateful for.

He admired Dan as they ate some of the vegetables from the top of their Bloody Mary. It was then he noticed Dan’s hand still on his side. Dan looked unbothered for a moment until Phil watched her realize it, too—causing her to slowly retract her hand.

They sat in silence, eating the toppings of their drinks for a moment, giving Phil a moment to think. He really appreciated Dan taking all the time to answer his questions, not expecting to feel so welcome in a place like this. Usually, Phil didn’t enjoy going to clubs this much. He typically found them loud, smelly, and a sensory nightmare. 

Phil twirled his straw in his drink, before looking up at Dan, who was already looking back before he had even looked up. It took him by surprise, but he said what he was thinking anyway, “I didn’t expect this to be such a nice experience, honestly.”

Dan’s brow furrowed slightly, but her smile didn’t falter as she asked, “How so?”

“I wasn’t expecting you to be this nice,” Phil admitted.

Dan chuckled, tilting her head in an adorable confusion, “Me? Or drag queens in general?”

Phil shrugged a bit and asked, “Is both an option?”

“I…think it can be,” Dan replied, smiling at him softly, “But it’s good to know that’s how you feel about me. Hopefully you’ll find the other nice things I have to offer.”

Before Phil could fully react, another queen approached them. They wore a blonde, slicked-back wig, and Phil had only briefly seen them dancing whenever he needed a break from being intimidated by Dan.

“Danny! Come dance with us!” they exclaimed. 

Dan’s confident, sarcastic persona resurfaced so that she could tease her friend. 

“Well hello to you too, A’Whora,” she yelled back to the queen, who was barely wearing anything at all.

Phil thought it was very interesting to watch Dan be able to switch up their personality so quickly. It was a talent that Phil definitely did not have.

The queen stomped over to scoff, “Don’t start with that, I’m just trying to make sure you aren’t being lame!”

“I’m having a conversation, if you couldn’t tell,” Dan sassed, flipping their hair for dramatic effect.

“Bring the hunk, too! It’ll be a good time!” the queen replied, wiggling their eyebrows at Phil before strutting back to the dance floor.

Phil chuckled lightly, half out of awkwardness, and half because he genuinely found it a bit funny.

Dan turned back to face Phil, “I’m so sorry about her. I promise you, she’s really nice too! Would you want to go dance with me?” 

Phil felt nervous at the proposition, “I don’t really know how…” 

“I used to be terrible too, it’ll still be fun!” Dan said, and okay, maybe her smile could brighten the darkest of rooms and, quite possibly, convince Phil to do something as embarrassing as dancing in public. 

Phil was having a very difficult time with the thought of telling that smile no. He pondered for a moment, taking a sip of his drink.

“I do need to go to the bathroom, though.”

“You don’t have to ask me permission. Go piss, girl.”

That caught Phil extremely off guard and he almost doubled over laughing. While he was distracted, Dan reached out to grab Phil’s hand—the same one with the lipstick print from before—and kissed it again.

An intense, warm blush washed over his face as Dan dramatically kissed it, yet again leaving behind another print and fluttering her lashes. 

“I’ll be dancing. Come find me.”

“All of this talking and not even a real kiss?” Phil asked, feeling emboldened all of the sudden.

Dan smiled back, booping him on the nose, “Not if you’re too impatient, honey.”

She smiled, winking at Phil then turning to leave. Phil watched her disappear into the crowd before walking towards the bathrooms. 

Once inside, he found it empty and he took a deep breath. A blurry recollection of what had just happened played in his head, less recollective of the conversation itself and more of the fine details. How passionate Dan had been talking about certain topics, that boisterous laugh, that sweet tone and side rub when comforting Phil from a wickedly strong drink. He looked at himself long and hard in the mirror, painfully aware of what he had just agreed to, and acknowledging that he was an idiot for agreeing to it.

He had just managed to make a new friend, and they were having fun clubbing together. And Phil had agreed to meet them on the dance floor. Nothing else to see there.

Unfortunately, it was far from that simple. Dan was not some person he’d just met—they worked at the business Phil had officially invested in. Phil’s public presence was mostly wholesome, from charity events and philanthropic donations while still performing well in a money making, corporate sense. A stake in a nightclub was already out of Phil’s usual wheelhouse in comparison to supporting animals or underprivileged youths. And the second he’d laid eyes on Dan, every ounce of professionalism he had brought with him at the start of the night had been thrown out the fucking window.

It wasn’t as simple as talking or dancing. It was flirting, it was touching, it was drinking. It was…risky.

Phil took a deep breath, took care of his business, and went back out on the main floor. The energy was still there. Loud music, bright flashing lights, and vivacious groups of people contrasted harshly against Phil’s deflated mood.

“Oh, Phil, hey!”

PJ, not now, nearly made its way past Phil’s lips. But he held his tongue with all the might in the world.

“Hey, Peej,” he tried to say without exasperation, “How’s it going?”

“Great, I reckon!” PJ practically cheered, “This turnout is amazing!”

“Yeah, it really is,” Phil said. Awkwardly sticking his thumbs in his pockets, he rocked back and forth to listen to PJ talk at him some more.

“I can’t wait for our next business meeting. I have so many ideas to share with you.”

“That’s great, I can’t wait to hear them!” Phil felt bad for sounding so fake, really. He wasn’t supposed to be here to be distracted by Daniel, but couldn’t help his annoyance that PJ was getting in the way. Luckily, the conversation ceased from there, aside from goodbyes.

After talking to PJ, he went straight to the bar, ordered a drink, and as he waited for it to be prepared, he turned his head to find Dan. 

There were so many people on the dance floor, and multiple drag queens towering over the crowd. Yet, somehow, Dan was easy to spot, dancing an actual routine as if she owned the place. A shining star, eclipsing the rest of the people shoved together.

Mars slid his drink across the bar, and he thanked them before chugging about half of it. He took a deep breath, sipped the rest more thoughtfully, then left the glass on the counter and went into the crowd.

Phil checked the time on his phone as he walked over, to see that it was nearly midnight already. A remix of a song he liked playing all over the club filled him with the last bit of confidence he needed. With a pep in his step, Phil walked across the dance floor to Daniel, who was beside their friends. Daniel spun around and they nearly bumped into each other. 

“Oh, hey,” Dan greeted, smiling widely, “You ready to dance?”

When Phil shook his head, Dan protested with a laugh, taking his hands and moving them. She looked into his eyes, dancing and lip syncing. Dan let go and spun, giggling, before grabbing Phil’s hands again and getting a lot closer to him. They were almost chest to chest now, if it weren’t for Dan’s extended height.

“Hi,” Dan said with a giggle. Phil was starting to realize that Dan laughed flirtatiously at nearly everything he did or said. It was really cute.

“Hi,” he answered. The song blaring from the speaker transitioned into another. 

Although towering above him, Dan looked incredible. Courage and confidence seemed to radiate with every breath she took, and Phil had to remind himself that he just needed enough bravery to be in Dan’s presence—everything else after that seemed tolerable. Dan continued to guide him to dance in different ways, encouraging him even if he felt like he did really badly.

Dan was talking, but not a word made its way to Phil’s ears. Instead, he was mesmerized by their gorgeous face and intoxicating perfume. After speaking, she looked down at him expectantly for an answer.

“Oh, ‘m sorry, I didn’t really hear you because of the music,” Phil lied.

“I was just saying that A’Whora was right, dancing would be fun. Especially with a ‘hunk’ like you,” Dan giggled again, rolling their eyes as they recalled the other queen’s antics.

Phil felt a blush creeping up his neck, but laughed anyway.

They continued to dance for a while, and as they did, Phil had much more of a blast than he had first anticipated. The alcohol melted his nerves like ice, his own confidence beginning to emerge like a morning’s sunrise. He didn’t even feel like he was embarrassing Dan by poorly attempting to dance. 

Moments with Dan were intimate and flirty, but also filled with jokes, short stories, tripping, and awkward moments. Dan eventually took off their shoes and had someone take them somewhere so they could be closer to Phil’s height. Songs would come on that Phil knew the lyrics to and Dan would be surprised as they sang or lip synced it together.

“You know this song?” Dan asked loudly at one point, “I’ve always thought of it as a hidden gem.”

“I’m still gay!” Phil yelled over the music, “I just didn’t know about drag queens.”

Dan laughed loudly, squeezing his bicep.

“What?” Phil chuckled.

“You just screamed ‘I’m still gay’,” Dan laughed, “It’s funny.”

“Oh, right,” he said, blushing slightly. 

“I’M STILL GAY!” Dan screamed, and because of the loud music and talking, her announcement barely turned any heads. She laughed hysterically.

“I’M GAY!” Phil added, laughing with them, “STILL!”

That made Dan laugh even harder, so much so that she was sarcastically getting onto Phil for ruining her mascara from tears of laughter. Some more songs cycled through, and they were perfectly shielded from the crowd, in their own personal bubble. 

However, the liquid courage didn’t overshadow his general discomfort of an extremely extroverted environment for as long as he would’ve hoped. He tried his best to mask it from Dan, not wanting his discomfort to translate and sour the mood. But he was growing tired of sweaty people with barely any clothes on rubbing against him to pass through, the strobe lights that made his eyes sting, and the music was starting to hurt his ears. 

“You okay?” Dan yelled over the crowd so Phil could hear.

Shit.

Phil quietly nodded, but thankfully instead of continuing to dance, they reached to touch his lower back. Dan shooed off anyone that tried to engage in conversation with her as she led Phil out of the crowd and into a quieter area—the VIP lounge.

There were much less people on the sleek leather booths, the few speakers in the corner weren’t pumping out music nearly as loudly, and it was better maintained by the waitstaff, who were actively cleaning tables and picking up leftover glasses. Sure, there were plenty of handsy couples, but it was the closest he’d get to a casual area besides hiding in the back.

“Thank you,” Phil eventually replied, then asked again, “Can I be honest?”

“Yeah, what’s up? Are you sure you’re okay?” Dan’s voice somehow managed to cut through the chaotic noise.

“I’m starting to get really overwhelmed,” he admitted, and then the sounds were muffled—Dan had placed her hands over his ears. 

The touch didn’t tip him over the edge, instead grounding him and calming him down a bit, and the reduced sound helped. Dan smelled really good, overpowering the sourness of alcohol in the air.  Their  hands were really warm and soft as they clearly tried their best to comfort him. Phil couldn’t make eye contact, but he knew Dan was looking at him, trying to read his expression. 

“I totally get that,” Dan sympathized, “Is this helpful?”

“Yeah, it is. Thank you,” he said. Barely noticing that he’d been bouncing on his feet, he tried to stop, but caved in. Dan had stayed with him all night, despite seeing him looking awkward plenty of times already.

“You’re so fucking adorable,” she said after a while, and Phil managed to look at her then, checking to see if there was sincerity behind it. The answer was yes.

He wondered if the warmth rising in his cheeks was evident, hoping Dan wouldn’t feel his blush on their palms. 

She started to ask, “Would you…”

Phil looked in her general direction.

“Want to go somewhere else? With me?”

So much for trying to hide his blushing face.

“I’d really like that,” Phil said, as Dan nodded.

Slowly removing their hands from Phil’s face, Dan said, “Okay, let me get some bags ready. I’ll meet you near the back in like…five to ten minutes?”

“Okay.”

Dan nodded again in acknowledgment. “Would you be able to get a lift while I get ready to go?”

“S-Sure,” Phil agreed, sitting at the bar while Dan went back to the dressing room.

“Make sure you tell them to come around the back.”

When Dan returned, she had two large bags, one duffel bag over her shoulder and a rolling suitcase. They stood in the hallway that separated backstage from the rest of the club, signaling for Phil to follow them.

The hallway was incredibly narrow, twisting and turning the longer they walked down it. Phil didn’t remember the hallway being that long, but he had been drinking a bit, and Dan, like always, was distracting. Dan shoved open the doors to a back alley, and Phil took the handle of the rolling suitcase to help. She casually strutted out of the building.

“I told someone to distract PJ,” Dan admitted once they were outside, “So we don’t have to worry about him.”

“Oh, okay,” Phil responded.

It took him a few seconds to realize the silence as the two waited for a ride. Dan was still dressed completely in drag.

“Hey, sorry if this is weird for me to ask, but…will you be safe?”

Dan snapped their head to turn and look at Phil, extreme worry suddenly apparent in their eyes.

“Did you…change your mind?”

“No, no, I meant—“ Phil started to speak, almost caught off guard by how terrified Dan looked. “I’m…I’m sorry. I meant, like, you’re still in drag. I don’t have a problem with it, I’m just concerned if the driver will be weird or hateful or—“

Dan audibly exhaled a sigh of relief, looking down at the ground. He was mindlessly playing with a Hello Kitty luggage tag attached to the strap of his duffel.

After clearing his throat, Dan said, “Oh. Um, when drivers can accept their rides, they know this is a gay area, so they shouldn’t if they’re homophobic or weird. Worst case scenario, I have like, pepper spray and stuff.”

“Okay, I just wanted to make sure. I’m staying with you, don’t worry. But I also don’t want to force you, you can talk to me.”

They had a bit of a blank stare out into the dark alleyway, but nodded at Phil’s words.

[manicplank]

The Color Pink (Part 7)

Noisecouple lovers rejoice.

This one took me a minute to get to.

Hazel had woken up before her alarm clock in the morning. She strutted over to the bathroom and hopped in the shower. She ran the water so hot that the mirror had steamed up. She went back into her room. She had a vanity dresser that she sat in front of. On it was all of her makeup, a curling iron, and a hair dryer. It was a bit of a mess. She toweled off her hair and turned the lights on the mirror on. She imagined herself as a movie star getting ready for the set. She imagined if that was how Theodore felt when he was getting ready for filming. She hummed a little tune as she blow dried her hair. She used the a round brush and a special addition to put a peppy upward curl at the end of her hair.

She approached the door of the cafe. The bell above the door rang as she walked in. That was the sound that started her day. The Vigilante came in shortly after she opened, as usual. "Hi, Vigi," she greeted him cheerfully. He tipped his hat at her, "Mornin'." She placed a mug and filled it up with fresh black coffee. He slithered up to the counter and climbed up to the stool. She added three sugar cubes to the coffee and slid the mug to him. He sighed and pulled out a newspaper.

"Quiet today, hm," she spoke.

"Yeah. It was bailing day for the hay field. Had to store it all afterwards before the rain came. Lots of heavy work."

"Sounds... not great."

"Eh, it's a living. I got some good helpers, though."

"Did Mort help?" She chuckled.

The Vigilante laughed. "Naw, never. He always makes it a bit worse. Always wants to be on my hat." He sipped his coffee. "You heard from The Noise, lately?"

"Yeah, actually. We've been talking on the phone a lot. I haven't seen him in a while, though."

He raised his eyebrows at her.

"Don't look at me like that," she pouted. "He's been busy on set. They're making a new movie, something you might be interested in."

"Oh, yeah? You think so?"

"Yeah. It's a western, The Loud Sound."

The Vigilante looked disturbed. "The hell does he think he's doing makin' a western? He doesn't know a thing about bein' a cowboy!"

"I think he's playing a bounty hunter rather than a cowboy."

He slammed his hands on the counter, "WHAT?!"

"Whoa, whoa, relax. It's just a movie."

The Vigilante scoffs. "I bet it's gonna be terrible."

Hazel shrugs. "All I know is that he's been working a ton. A lot of overtime."

"You sure he's not avoiding you?"

Hazel face palms. "Why do you have to be so negative?"

"I'm just trying to-"

"I DON'T NEED YOU TO PROTECT ME!"

The Vigilante leaned back in shock with his hands up. It was unlike her to get angry like that. "Is... Is there something wrong?"

She sighed, "Sorry, I didn't mean to snap at you like that. I'm just sick of you being so overprotective. It's not helpful. I don't want you putting words in my head that make me paranoid. I... I like him. I think I like like him."

The Vigilante let out a sarcastic laugh before he sipped his coffee. "Little too soon to say that."

She gave him a death stare. "Like you, you- No, Hazel. Be nice, Hazel. Don't say that. Be nice." She inhaled and gave him a wide-eyed stare. "Would you like me to top off your cup," she asked through gritted teeth.

He had a wide-eyed look of slight fear. "Uh... No, I... I think I'm gonna get going, actually."

"But you haven't even finished your coffee."

He laughed nervously. "Those cows ain't gonna feed themselves!" He took out cash and put it on the counter with a forced smile.

"But you feed the cows at dawn before you even come here."

He slithered backwards toward the door with his hands up by his head. "Then the chickens... Bye!" He dashed out of the door in a cartoonish manner. Hazel rolled her eyes and put her head on her hand as she rested her elbow on the counter.

-

The rest of the day was boring for her. No one else came into the cafe. After The Vigilante turned her mood sour, she was having a tough time coping with the emptiness of the cafe. The Pig City police didn't even come in. She was feeling discouraged. She got home, and even her house seemed empty. She sat down on the couch and sighed. She checked the time; only 4 p.m. She wanted to call Theodore, but she figured he would still be working. She wasn't feeling like cooking, so she ordered takeout from one of the Chinese places in The Pig City. Orange chicken with white rice and a side of fried rice. She slowly ate it carefully. The food made her mood slightly better.

Time went by slowly. It finally reached 7 p.m. Hazel picked up the phone and dialed The Noise's number. He answered after a couple rings, "Hello?"

"Hey!"

"Oh, hey Hazel!"

"Were you sleeping again?"

He chuckled. "No. I figured you might call."

"Oh yeah? How come?"

"Lately, you've been calling at around 7."

"Oh... Sorry..."

"It's okay! It doesn't bother me. I uh... I like talking to you." He smiled as he twirled the phone wire around his finger.

She blushed. "I like talking to you, too. How was your day?"

"Ugh, it sucked!"

"What happened?"

"We're still working on that movie, The Loud Sound. It was going okay, but then we started to have issues with the microphones. The supporting role kept forgetting his fucking lines."

"I can't believe how long you've been working on that movie."

He groans. "Yep, going on three months, now. I swear, every time we get a good pace going, something goes wrong. I mean, yeah, movies take a while to film and edit, but this one is taking even longer."

"Aw, that sucks."

"It does. We've been working overtime a lot still. I'm so fucking tired."

"I'm sorry to hear that."

"Yeah... How was your day?"

She frowned and sighed sadly, "Slow. The Vigilante came in as usual, but he was the only one who showed. The cafe has been so empty, lately. It makes me sad."

"That blows."

"Yeah... I don't know... Sometimes I wonder if opening the cafe was a mistake."

"Let me ask you this; does it make you happy?"

"Well, yeah, sometimes. I always wanted to start a business, but I think the tower wasn't the best place to do so."

"I think it's because not everybody knows about it. I've tried spreading the word."

"I know. A couple people have come in saying they heard about it through you."

"Your location also isn't the greatest, no offense."

"No, you're right! I've been thinking about asking Mr. Pizzaface for a different location, but I feel like it'll be useless."

"Yeah, he's sort of a stiff."

"I guess I'm just feeling a little discouraged..."

"I'm sorry, toots."

"..." She looked upset.

"Hey! I have an idea!"

"What?"

"What if, and hear me out, what if you catered to the studio a few times a week? It'll be a ton of orders plus good money."

"Huh... I guess it wouldn't hurt to try."

"Awesome! Maybe that'll put everyone in better moods. You wanna try maybe doing it tomorrow? We're all gonna be there around 10 but filming starts at 1."

"That'll work! But how would we do it?"

"Hmm... I'll probably write down everyone's orders. I'll collect the money and give it to you. And I can help you out! We'll both bring the coffee to the building. If it's a lot, I can bring someone else with me, too."

"That sounds perfect!"

"All right!"

She chuckled. "So then I'll see you tomorrow. I should get going to sleep so I can get everything ready early."

"Oh... Yeah, okay! I'll, uh... I'll see you tomorrow."

"Okay, then. Goodnight!"

"Goodnight."

Theodore hung up the phone with a huge smile on his face. He was so excited that he got to see her again, but he was also nervous as he still got butterflies when he thought about her. He couldn't stop thinking about their date. He wanted to ask her on another one, but he didn't have the time lately. Having her cater the studio was his grand idea of getting to spend time with her while he was so busy.

-

Hazel woke up at the first beep of her alarm clock. She felt that it was a big day for her and her business. She got to cater NTV studios, she had to do her best. Better yet, she got to see The Noise again, so she had to look her best, too! She brushed her teeth extra well and swished mouthwash vigorously, then she washed her face and used just a touch more moisturizer than usual. She went to her vanity and added a small curl to the ends of her hair as always.

She opened up her cafe at the usual time, but she was busy preparing more pots of coffee than she regularly does. She was a tad bit anxious from the anticipation. She still had plenty of time, but there was only so much she could do to prepare. She didn't want to ground too much coffee too early so it didn't go stale. The bell rang as The Vigilante came in. "Hey, Vigi," she greeted him.

"Howdy," he responded.

She prepared his usual black coffee with three sugar cubes. She slid it to him on the counter and started getting out supplies to get ready for the big order. The Vigilante noticed her working frantically.

"You alright, Hazel?"

"What? Oh! Yeah! I'm fine! I'm just a bit anxious on account of the fact that I'm catering NTV studios today!"

"Really?" He smiles. "That sounds like a big order."

"Yeah. I forgot to ask Theodore what time he was coming."

"Theodore? Who is that?"

"The Noise."

"His name is Theodore?"

"Yep! THE-odore Noise! Get it?"

The Vigilante thought about it for a moment. "Oooh. Okay. I see it now."

"Anyways, he asked me last night if I'd be willing to cater the set today. I figured it'll be great for business. I mean, things have been awfully slow."

He shrugged. "Well, that's a good thing! I'm sure that'll bring in some good money for ya, too."

"Yep!"

-

Ten o'clock came quickly. Noise came through the door in a yellow hoodie and grey sweatpants. He had a long list of orders. "Okay," he sighed. "So, this might've been a bad idea."

"What happened?"

He handed the list to her with a worried but shocked expression.

"Oh... That's um... That's a lot..."

"Yeah... I didn't realize that literally everybody on set would order."

She smiled with determination and put her hands on her hips. "Well, it's too late, now. I've got this!" She immediately went to work, grinding fresh coffee, setting fresh brews, lining up cups, pressing espresso. The Noise watched her. He felt guilty as he watched her slave over the counter.

"Do you want me to help you," he asked.

She looked at him and shook her head. "Mm-mm, I can do this!"

"But I-"

"Shush! I'm trying to focus."

Incredibly, Theodore went quiet. He sat at the counter with his hands clasped. She checked the list every few seconds. It was like watching a factory line but with only one worker. He was amazed at how quickly she worked. She even wrote names on the cups to make it easier to hand them out.

"You wanna help me?"

"Mhm," he nodded.

"Here," he handed him a stack of cardboard drink carriers. "I'll hand you the drinks and you place them in these."

She placed drinks at the counter as he set them in the holders, but he could barely keep up with her. She was going so swiftly. Before they knew it, they had 10 carriers with 4 cups each filled up. She shook her hands as they finished up.

"Alright," she smiled, "all done! Um... Theodore, are you okay?"

Theo was short of breath. "I'm fine, I just uh... I feel like I just ran a marathon."

She chuckled. "Sorry, I can get a little intense sometimes."

"How," he huffed, "how are we going to get all of these to set?"

She put her fingers on her chin. "Hmm... Oh!" She snapped her fingers. She ran to the back and came out with a three tier cart. "We can use this! We'll have to stack them really carefully."

They placed the drinks carefully on the cart, stacking some on top of each other. As they got the last few carriers on, Hazel nodded at him and began to push. "Try to catch any that are going to fall, okay?"

"Okay," Theo responded.

-

After a good 20 minute walk, they finally arrived at the building with all the drinks in tact. Theodore beckoned her to follow him as he led her to the set. Several people cheered as they saw them coming in. They went over to the mostly empty concessions table and placed the coffees on it. They were immediately swarmed by people scrambling to find their coffees. Everyone was excited to have coffee that didn't taste like pizza. Hazel felt a tiny bit overwhelmed as she was surrounded by strangers, but just as fast as they came, they left, and the crowd cleared out. She took a deep breath, "Phew!" She looked at Theo, and they laughed together.

"That was a lot," he said.

"Yeah, but I think it was worth it." She smiled.

"So what do I owe ya?"

Hazel had a horrified expression on her face. "Oh, my gosh! I forgot to ring up the orders!"

Noise laughed. "Here, come with me." She followed him nervously as he led her to his dressing room. He took his wallet out of one of the drawers from the vanity and pulled out $400 cash.

She gasped. "No, no, I don't think it would've costed that much!"

"Well, this is with tip."

She froze for a minute before she pocketed the money and pulled him into a hug. "Thank you!" She squeezed the air out of him. She let go so he could take a breath.

"Yeah," he had a giant smile on his face. "No problem."

There was a knock at the door that made the two jump. "Mr. Noise," Mary, his makeup artist spoke. "Can I come in?"

"Yeah, you're good!"

Mary walked in slowly. "I hope I'm not interrupting anything."

"Oh, no no, I was just paying her for the coffees."

Mary smiled. "Well, they want you in costume for rehearsing." She had her makeup supplies with her. "So, if you don't mind..."

He clicked the vanity lights on and sat in the chair. Mary placed the makeup on the dresser. "Excuse me, love," she aired as she walked around Hazel.

"Oh, sorry," Hazel responded. "Well, uh, I should get going..." She started to walk toward the door.

"Wait," Theo blurted, "don't you want to stay?"

"I'd love to, but I have to get back to the cafe. I think I'm going to close it up early and get some rest."

"Alright, then, go get some rest. That order was huge. You remember your way out?"

"Um..."

"Here," he stood up, "I'll walk you out. I'll be back in a sec, Mary." Mary nodded at him with a smile.

He led her out side by side through a short corridor then through the set that was set up like a western saloon. She was amazed at the build of the set. Theo looked at her and grinned as she stared at the set in awe. People waved to her and thanked her as she walked through, and she waved back with a smile. They reached the door of the building and walked out together. Hazel turned around, still smiling. She held her arms up and out. "C'mere," she exclaimed. Theo leaned in and hugged her. She squeezed him and picked him up for a second. "Oooh, thank you so so so much!" She put him down, but before she pulled away, she gave him a kiss on the cheek. He became wide-eyed and flustered. His face was almost pure red.

"Yeah," he muttered. "Uh, no problem."

She had her hands clasped together and had one foot on the toes as she twirled her ankle around. She was blushing lightly. She couldn't believe she just did that. "I'll call you," she spoke softly.

"Yeah. I'll answer." Noise laughed nervously.

Hazel gave him one more hug before she walked off. Theo was as stiff as a board. His legs felt like they could give out at any moment, and his heart was racing. He took a few deep breaths before he walked back in the building and straight to the dressing room where Mary was waiting for him. She had a huge smile on her face. Her eyes followed him as he walked to the chair and sat down.

"That was her, wasn't it," Mary asked.

He wouldn't make eye contact with her. He cleared his throat, "Yeah... How could you tell?"

"Well, for one, you asked her to stay. You never ask anyone to stay. Two, you took her straight to your dressing room. I thought I was going to walk into something I wasn't supposed to see." She chuckled as she saw Theodore get even more flustered.

"No, no, we weren't-"

"And three, you just came back from walking her out, and you are red as a strawberry!"

Noise hid his face in his hands as he brought his left leg up. He couldn't look at her.

"If you don't mind me asking," Mary continued as she organized her makeup set, "what happened out there?"

"Nothing much," he uncovered his face and put his leg down. "She hugged me tightly and thanked me."

Mary raised her brow with a smile. "And that's it? That's what has you beet red?"

He clenched his fists and slid down in his chair. "She... kissed me on the cheek."

"Oooo," she teased.

"Shut up!"

"Okay, okay," Mary laughed. "I'll stop messing with you. Now sit up and close your eyes. I have to make it look like you actually slept last night."

[hidelias]

A bend in space-time Season 1 - [Chapter 22: What can't be summoned]

Chronological markers: this scene fits like a deleted scene from season 1, épisode 9, around 06:10 (between the moment when Pogo asks to tie Diego up, and the moment when Klaus looks for drugs in his room).

Suggested soundtrack : Elliott Smith - Between The Bars

---

April 1st, 2019 - 06:44 am

Never has the countryside surrounding The City seemed so obscure and vast. Through the windows of Hermes, it seemed to roll on and on, endlessly. We arrived as quickly as we could, in the pitch-black night. At the end of the Rolls' strength, and at the limit of my own power to propel it. I couldn't help Five teleport Allison into the house; she had to be carried.

We seem to have moved fast enough for Grace to intervene in time. With quick, precise gestures, without her robot hand ever shaking, even when working on someone she'd been programmed to call her own daughter. And watching her wield the suture-thread like that made me realize what she really is.

Grace is a miserable mother with a minimalistic emotional program. Her conversation always brings you face to face with yourself: it's not a real interaction, outside those well-trodden paths. However, she is a mechanical prodigy, a machine for protecting, nurturing, caring, healing. Where does her technology come from? Certainly not from Rodrigo's hardware store. I don't know how Reginald Hargreeves designed her, or from what. No one here seems to be wondering as much as I do.

The poor Diego, totally knocked out, provided the first blood bag to transfuse his sister. It's so ironic that Diego swoons when he sees his own blood, as he's always playing with sharp objects. Even a needle was enough to make him pass out, and this brings me a smile.

Klaus insisted on supplying the second blood bag, claiming he was clean. I think he even said it twice, and it's rare for him to insist. Grace isn't programmed to take sides, and Pogo refused categorically. The Valium was considered a long way off, more than 24 hours behind me: so I offered my arm voluntarily.

Hargreeves Mansion's medical room is huge, almost disproportionate today, and now I have plenty of time to contemplate it. It's filled with complicated equipment, machines whose function I don't know. Carts, designed to treat up to six people at once. In another time, it may have run at full capacity, and I don't want to know in what way. I'd rather not know what the returns from missions were like here. But the way almost everyone left - as soon as they could - says a lot about the memories that lay on those tiles.

Only Klaus stayed. For a moment I thought it was to keep me company, or because he can stand seeing that needle in my arm better than anyone else. But it's nothing like that, I can tell, because his stooped posture on his stool is unmistakable. In my ten years with him, I've come to know this attitude, even if it's rare. He's brooding. And whatever he has to say, he's bound to spit it out.

I tried to hold on, to see if he'd talk on his own. But I'd rather not wait for Pogo to come back. I stand still, my arm immobilized by the blood puncture, trying to catch the gaze he's not giving me. After tonight's events, I'm not sure I'm ready for what's to come. But what else can I do? So I ask him, a little reluctantly:

"Klaus, what's wrong?"

At first, I think he's not going to tell me anything, that he's about to keep staring at that device on his left, which looks to me like a respiratory assistance machine. But finally, after a heavy sigh, he swivels his stool to face me.

"I'm fed up to the back teeth, I think".

He just said that very quietly, but I have a bad feeling about it. This calm is only a manifestation of this in-between time, when he contemplates his own anger.

"Fed up with what?" I don't raise my voice. Allison rests not far away, though I know she can't hear us. "This week? Me too, I confess, I-" "No. I'm sick of being ignored."

I remain motionless in my seat, looking away from Allison on the stretcher. Slowly, my foreboding is becoming as tangible as my matter. Klaus usually doesn't express his negative feelings; he prefers to drown them out. Is sobriety, this time, encouraging him to speak out?

"You mean…" "I'm trying to help, and even though I'm as sober as a camel, Pogo keeps treating me like I'm radioactive." I huff, checking that the old chimp isn't there. "He doesn't know, I guess-" "But it's not just him, Rin. Nobody gives me a damn bit of credit."

I look down at the floor. The truth is, it's always been like this, wherever he's been, but Klaus was probably too stoned to be really affected by it. The problem is, he's just opened his eyes for the first time in fifteen years.

This morning, I heard Five overshadow the information Klaus brought back from his conjuring of Reginald Hargreeves, attributing the revelations to Pogo. I knew it would linger on his consciousness. Luther hardly listens to people, Allison isn't interested in anyone but herself, or so I think, unfortunately. I don't know why she has become so invested in Viktor this week. I'm afraid it's to ease her own guilt. But Klaus isn't done.

"Even when I speak the truth, the first thing people assume is that it's coming out of my fucked-up brain. Even when I try to be as serious as possible. I feel like no matter what I do, it will never change".

He's right. I've seen him try to be serious with his siblings, I don't know why - with them - it just doesn't sound serious. He's different when he's talking to me. But their dynamic is hard-wired now, and I don't know how to reshape it either.

"None of them give a damn about me".

I think he's wrong. Diego is - by far - the one who cares about Klaus the most. Even if - sometimes - his impetuous temper resurfaces. And above all…

"Ben," I say.

I glance at the pile of sterilization boxes he's sitting on, next to the defibrillator. His spectral energy shimmers before my eyes, against the wooden walls inlaid with anatomical boards. I can almost make out the shape of his face, and I realize it's a first. Klaus isn't stupid, he's well aware that now I 'see' him too, or his energy anyway.

"Ben is nowhere near giving a damn about you." Klaus shakes his head. "Ben only comes when he wants to. And he also leaves when he feels like it." I sigh. "No one can stay with you permanently. This week you asked me to stay but I can't do that all the time either. I might as well not have been there". He frowns. "Hey, I was there too when your mother died." I immediately shut down at these words. But it's true. He was even the only one who had been there. In his own way. "You slept for two weeks in the entrance hall of my building." Even the family on the fifth floor complained about the smell of weed. "Still, I was there". "Yes. And I don't forget. I don't forget this either."

He runs a hand over his eyes. "You know that everything's worse when I'm alone with myself. It makes it harder to watch them not give a damn."

I know that. That when he's not alone, the ghosts almost never show up. But he can't always look for an external solution to his problems, human or chemical. Always relying on someone or something.

"I don't know what to say, Klaus. Maybe we're not enough, yes. Maybe a whole community still wouldn't be enough."

The truth is, I feel overwhelmed by what he has to cope with. And this week, I really became fully aware of what he had to live with.

"I'm really doing what I can to help you." "To help me…" His gaze is darker than ever, contrasting with his rainbow t-shirt. "You know what would help me right now?"

Unfortunately I feel that this is not a real question, and that I'm not going to like whatever comes next.

"What would help me would be to go get your Valium shit from the alley, and swallow the whole box."

I'd guessed so. And my mind is blank now, upon hearing this. I know it's rhetorical, I know the box has dissolved into rainwater. But hearing him speak that way painfully stirs my stomach. He's doing it on purpose, I think. Because I've already found him, a few years ago, having really done that. And he adds:

"Because you're not listening to me either".

I get it. I understand what he was getting at all along. The problem isn't just Pogo or his siblings, I can tell from the bitter look on his face. I know what's coming, and I feel a shiver run up my spine. I should have smelled it the first time he didn't let me speak. The Valium. That's what it's been all about.

"Klaus, I know you'd told me." "Twice."

He'd said that I might be needed for help, that I could be too numb to do so. And events almost proved him right.

"Klaus, I…" "You chose to listen to Five's dithering, instead of me. You've only known him for a week."

He's not aggressive. He's just coldly sad and frustrated, because I've taken into account his brother's statistics, which are disconnected from human feelings and the unforeseen events of reality.

"I made a bad decision, okay," I say. "But I listened to what you had to say anyway. I didn't want to risk anything. It wasn't about trusting him or you, it was about making sure I wouldn't become a danger."

I know he thinks I never was one and never will be. But my anxiety overcomes my rationality. He crosses his arms, as he never does.

"Well, as you saw: the Valium was the danger. But you didn't give me that much credit either".

He sits straight on his stool. Without wavering. Ben's posture, more visible to me than ever through meandering energy, seems really pained.

"Klaus…," my voice is almost a plea, and the needle hurts my arm. "A week ago, you were stealing stuff from your father's office to resell and fund your dope. You were hanging out naked in the living room. Talking to the lamp - not you, Ben: the actual lamp. You were totally high at nine in the morning. I can see your progress, just give the others time to take it in…"

"Not a week ago", he says, "ten months ago." "Ten months for you, and besides, if you want me to talk about it…"

He squints, suddenly aware that - I too - am about to tell him a painful truth. And I look at him weakly, as the bag of my blood fills up next to me.

"You weren't planning on coming back at all, were you? Tell me." My words burn my mind, but I've been brooding too, to a point that maybe he can't imagine. "You wouldn't have come back, if… if Dave… hadn't been…"

Damn. How I hate myself for not being able to keep my mouth shut sometimes. Slowly, Klaus gets up from his stool, and I see Ben's energy coming down from the stack of boxes, as if trying to stop him from doing anything. Or me.

"Is that what you think?" he whispers. "That I didn't care?" I can't move, still holding my arm, but my eyes are blazing. His expression, his attitude, the lotus flowers. I'd better shut up. But I can't help asking: "What were you planning to do?"

Silence falls heavily, even on Allison's closed eyelids. I hope with all my heart she can't hear anything. Klaus is trembling, and I can see he's going to try desperately to defuse the conversation.

"Perhaps I was afraid of using that fucking briefcase again and finding myself like an idiot in the middle of the dinosaur era."

That's probably true. But I'm not a fool: I know it's not the only reason. I stare at him, and I don't even have to insist for him to sigh and search for his words again, his infinite sadness back.

"Maybe I knew you'd still be here when I would finally come home. I guess I just… seized the opportunity to live something unexpected."

It's something I said at Viktor's. That no matter what, we'd always end up on the same couch. But this time, it leaves me with a bitterness I'm not sure I understand. And Klaus squints painfully.

"He was so young. So full of dreams, even in the middle of that fucked-up war. With so many hopes. Where the hell are your hopes now, Rin? You even think you could trigger the end of the world!"

These words make my breath stop. I know life has made me serious, and this week even more so. The last times we laughed now seem lost in the mists of time. Klaus exhales suddenly, as if he needs to clear it all out. And he adds, sadder than ever:

"I'd like to bring you back, but it seems I'm even less able to summon you".

I can't even speak to him anymore, but I understand what he's saying. He just hit me in the heart, without even looking at me. I'd like things to change. I'd like to go all the way back. I wish we could talk the way we used to. But how many hours does this world have left? I remain motionless, while Pogo's footsteps come through the back door to retrieve the blood bag and transfuse Allison again.

"Master Klaus," he says without wondering what we're really talking about. "This is no time at all for childish prattle".

Klaus blows out a stifled laugh. Of sarcasm, of sadness, of disillusion. He remains quivering with rage for a short moment, he grits his teeth, he hesitates. And finally, setting off for the door without even looking back, he says back through Ben's ethereal figure which vainly tries to stop him:

"It was a real bullshit to stay sober".

---

Notes:

This chapter resets what was close to exploding. As with many arguments, it's not easy to tell who's in the wrong. Maybe no one is, maybe they both are. But I think Klaus's feelings should be listened to.

I was also wishing that Klaus could, at some point, develop the reasons behind his on-screen desire to take drugs again. I didn't feel this thread of logic was so well developed on screen, so I hope it is now.

Perhaps you've sensed that something is happening with Ben, as Rin begins to let his energy skills take hold… Soon, more changes are coming.

Any comment will make my day! ♡

---

A bend in space-time, the masterlist :

- Season 1 (complete): Table of contents - Season 2 (complete): Table of contents - Season 3 (complete): Table of contents - Season 4 (in progress) : Table of contents

[fragileizywriting]

you're, like, seventeen and you are the world's most awkwardest alpha. you are too tall, too broad-shouldered, pack quite a lot of muscle naturally even though you don't work out, and every single morning you're praying that you won't just one day smack your forehead into the top of the doorframe to your room. you've removed your braces a few years ago, but still hide your teeth because you find your fangs to be too big for your mouth. when you were younger and you got into fights with other kids at school, one of them punched you on the cheek so hard, your fangs actually sank into your own lip. you actually went completely through it, poking out just underneath. you have scars there. snake bites. how ironic.

you have a friend. best friend. barely-ever-apart friend who is an omega. she's much smaller than you, but her personality is louder than you are taller. she's a hard worker. a take-advantage-er. every time she sees you, she takes advantage of your soft, buttery heart and begs to watch documentaries. it's her favorite thing. you find yourself researching all kind of facts about penguins, because she finds them so funny looking, and you like that. she says they remind her of you, especially when they fall and get back up, because they look so humiliated after something so simple just happened.

you are seventeen and you think about her a lot.

every single time the two of you are together, the two of you are together. the two of you are playing video games, catching up on homework, babysitting some cousin from either side of your family or doing errands— she's running across paris like a cat chasing her own tail, trying to keep up with her busy family; you're following her because you like her company and you worry when she's all by herself running around the city and you know no one will mess with her since you look like a brute— or even at her work, you help out too. you look awful in a hair net. but so does she. you're not so self conscious about yourself looking stupid with your hair pulled up when she also looks like an egg.

a pretty egg.

but it's summer time. most of the times you see her during summer vacation is when she's at the cash register, bored and doodling away at a sketchbook with ideas that she confesses she'll never be able to act on because of how her parents need her to work at the bakery to keep it afloat. she sits on a barstool in front of the register, next to the vitrines that have pretty confectionaries that need to be refrigerated. she's taking advantage of the cold that seeps through the cracks of the glass door. when you show up— ducking through the door, a habit you can't stop now— you can see whisps of black hair curling around her temples. her bangs are flat. humidity sticks to her white skin like dew. in your attempt to work your mouth again— desperately trying to remember how your tongue is supposed to move in order to speak— she's already rolling her eyes, hopping off the stool and telling you that she'll make you that one green drink that you really like. the spinach one. she has a baggy of it close by, near the blender as if she's been expecting you. she always does.

you don't expect her to bend down, though.

you're in shock— your tongue isn't working, neither is your mouth, but your eyes definitely work. you can't stop looking at her shorts. pretty pink shorts, jeans, high-waisted because that gives her enough space to embroider little silly designs on the pockets and make them stand out. she'd stitched green flowers on the lip of every pocket, dotted by dark pink flowers. you'd say the name of the flower if you could remember, but it's gone to you— you're most focused on the shape of her butt, anyway. strong thighs and calves glisten with that damp sweat, you're still at a loss for words when she says something about how she put some bananas in the cupboard she's reaching for. her smile is blinding when she's finally done making you that smoothie. she refuses to take a sip. she hates spinach. that's alright; you seem to be very thirsty, anyway. you swallow all of it down before she can even tell you that she snuck in some oatmilk in there instead of regular. you're not a vegan— you eat eggs, you drink milk, you're okay with butter— but the fact that she's trying to get the smoothie to not taste like hell to you is so touching.

you're seventeen when you get back home, hide in your room, and you think about the entire interaction. about how when she gave you the smoothie cup, your hand just dwarfed her little fingers. you think about those hands. those fingers. how they couldn't get around the cup but yours could just-almost meet. you think about how she gives a big smile, proud of herself for making you something that you like drinking. it's the smile that crinkles the corners of her eyes, and you can see it— almost briefly, like a dream— what those smile lines will look like in a few decades, still looking at you, still twinkling with endearment towards you.

you're thinking about that one time she took a sip of your straw, just when you told her to give it a sip. just one go. spinach isn't that bad when there's something sweet involved. you remember her lips around the straw. how you hadn't thought it through. how you'd watch her grimace— not because she was sharing a straw with you, but because she didn't like the taste. an indirect kiss. you'd indirectly kissed her. her mouth was around the straw. a perfect 'O'.

you're popping a knot before you can even stop yourself.

[beardedmrbean]

People go to many extremes to celebrate St. Patrick's Day, but generating green stool shouldn't be one of them.

Your morning trip to the bathrooom revealed you may have had one too many green beers last night. Do you need to be worried about green poop?

To find out all things green poop, we checked in with Mayo Clinic, UnityPoint Health, healthline.com and medicine.net.

Here's what you need to know:

Is it OK if your poop is green?

According to mayoclinic.org, all shades of brown and even green poop are considered to be normal. It is rare for the color of your poop to indicate a potentially serious intestinal condition.

Is green poop an infection?

Maybe, according to medicine.net. Many people experience green diarrhea and it will usually go away on its own.

If you're experiencing severe diarrhea symptoms when your poop is green, your stool may be an indication of something more serious and you should contact a physician.

Why is my poop green?

The color of one's poop is generally dictated by the food you consume combined with the amount of bile that exists in your poop, according to mayoclinic.org.

What is bile? It's a yellow-green fluid that digests fats.

Enzymes chemically alter bile pigments as they make their journey through the gastrointestinal tract. This is what changes the color of your poop from brown to green..

What does green poop mean?

According to mayoclinic.org, the bile doesn't have time to break down completely due to food moving through the large intestine too fast — such as diarrhea.

What causes green poop?

According to mayoclinic.org, there are few dietary items that bring about green poop:

Green food coloring (dyed beer, flavored drink mixes or ice pops).

Green leafy vegetables.

Iron supplements.

According to UnityHealth, other causes for green poop may include:

Bacterial or viral infections.

Gastrointestinal disorders − such as Crohn’s or celiac disease.

Why is my poop green, but I didn't eat anything green?

Foods using artificial or natural food coloring struggle with absorption while they pass through gastorintestinal system, according to healthline.com. This allows for blue and purple foods to leve behind a residue and that leaves poop green during the digestive process.

Such food tiems include:

Blue or purple ice pops.

Blue or purple icing.

Blueberries

Grape-flavored sodas

Red cabbage.

Does green poop mean a bad liver?

Bile is created in the liver, but green poop does not an indication that your liver is going bad, according to UnityHealth.

Why is my poop black?

According to mayoclinic.org, some dietary reasons for black poop include black licorice, iron supplements and bismuth subsalicylate — which is basically Kaopectate or Pepto-Bismol. However, you shouldn't take black poop lightly.

What does black poop mean?

Black poop may be a sign of bleeding in the upper gastrointestinal tract — such as the stomach — according to mayoclinic.org. Anyone who discovers black poop after a bowel movement should seek immediate medical attention.

[shadowqueen402]

Kalpana's Domain

Like all Second-levels and Reala, Kalpana has her own domain. She had created it on the day that she and NiGHTS left Nightmare.

Just like with Owl's Sanctuary from my previous post, Kalpana's domain can also be found in the forest. But it is rather in a different part of the forest and can only be accessed by a door that's hidden in plain sight.

Interestingly enough, Kalpana doesn't have a throne in her domain. Unlike the other domains, Kalpana made hers to feel exactly like an actual loving and safe home.

When a Visitor enters the domain, they are immediately in the first room; the living room. It has light green walls, two black and white couchs with blue and red cushions, a coffee table, and a grey rug that ties the room together. At the door is a light yellow indoor mat. A console table with a couple of small yet pretty vases can be seen. There will even be a small photo of Kalpana with Wizeman… for some reason. A large portrait of Crystal Castle will hang on the wall. There is even a fireplace Kalpana would light up when it gets really cold. (Where the fireplace is located is where the TV is at in the picture below.)

Behind the couches is the dining area and the kitchen. The dining area consists of a table with four chairs that each have magenta cushions. There are even two stools behind the table that are for the eating nook, which is located at the kitchen. In the kitchen, there is a sink, a stove, a cabinet where plates, bowls, and cups are stored, a refrigerator, and a pantry for storing canned goods, snacks, and cereal. Though not seen, there is a cutting board, a spice rack, and cupboards where pots and pans are kept. Between the dining area and the living room are a flight of stairs that lead up to a hallway.

In the hallway, there are five doors that lead to more rooms. Three of them are bedrooms, to be exact. The first door leads to NiGHTS's room. Though it's mostly pink, there are some purples in it to suit her style. There is even a bench by the window that will give her an amazing view of the forest regardless of each time of the day. While the bookshelf and desk are present, she doesn't have a laptop. Her corkboard has drawings that she once doodled when she was a child pinned up. By her bed is a framed portrait of Pure Valley. Her bedroom at Kalpana's domain is where NiGHTS loves sleeping at the most.

The second door leads to Reala's room. Canonically, it's currently empty due to him staying loyal to Wizeman. But, going by @redrockbluerock's AU where Reala defects againt Wizeman, Reala inhabits the room. His room in Kalpana's domain has red walls. Despite having some blacks in his room, there will also be some whites to represent his road for redemption. He does have a portrait of Mystic Forest in his room.

The third door leads to Kalpana's room. It has mostly whites and pinks upon entering inside. Her room even has a door that leads to the balcony. But Kalpana rarely goes out on the balcony as this would risk herself getting spotted by her husband. She even has a framed portrait of Lost Park hung by her bed. Kalpana makes a very clear rule to her two children that they cannot enter her room unless they absolutely need something.

The fourth door leads to the laundry room. This is where Kalpana will wash, dry, iron, and fold clothes. It has a sink that is used for washing clothes that cannot be in the washer. Though not seen, there is even a drying rack for clothes that must be hung to dry. A shelf full of detergent, scent boosters, fabric softener, and dryer sheeters is also in the room. There is even a ironing board where Kalpana can iron the clothes.

The fifth and final door is the bathroom. The tiles where the bathtub is are white. There is a large mirror and a large sink. A pale blue bathroom mat is seen on the floor. Though not seen, there is a toilet with a handheld bidet. The shelves, which are located in the back have shampoos, body washes, sponges, towels, toothbrushes, and toothpastes. (Imagine NiGHTS and Reala fighting over for the bathroom! 🤣)

(The first two pictures are from the Yandere Simulator website that I recolored. The other five are from Pinterest.)

@marinerainbow (Figured you should see ALL of Kalpana's domain.)

[renodots]

Transforming Your HDB with Urban Industrial Interior Design

Does the raw and authentic charm of urban industrial interior design HDB flats appeal to you? Then you have excellent taste! Rooted in the rugged aesthetics of late 1700s industrial settings, this style isn't just for sprawling New York lofts - it's also perfect for apartments in Singapore.

What is industrial interior design for HDB apartments all about?

An ample and relaxed space where every beam and pipe is shown off instead of hidden - this is the essence of industrial decor. It favors dark and noble designs that look effortlessly chic despite their unfinished vibe and more masculine palettes that feature rich materials and deep, warm hues. Industrial interior design for HDB is all about solid wood, brick, and metal - elements that make it a timeless choice and keep your home forever in style.

Top tips to nail an industrial interior design for your HDB flat

Think open and minimalist. The point of industrial design is to keep your apartment spacious and uncluttered. Consider subtly using black-paneled skylights to divide areas and adding large mirrors to deepen your space. Doing the sets, you emulate the expansive feel of old industrial buildings without having to embark on a significant renovation.

Always look for straight, wide, and clean-lined wood furniture. Such pieces capture the true spirit of industrial design. Add a few metallic accents, like a rustic wood high table with metal elements that remind you of an old workshop, complemented by backless stools.

Create a brick wall using brick tiles (or wallpaper if you're on a strict budget). This is the most efficient way to add an industrial character and warmth to your HDB flat.

Mix and match cohesive materials in terms of color and texture. Imagine natural wood with metals like iron, steel, and copper or stone with leather. These combinations create a cozy yet urban touch.

Stick to earthy tones like blacks, greys, taupes, and ochres. These colors work well with industrial materials and instantly add edginess to your apartment.

Show off structural elements such as exposed pipes and beams, whether original to your flat or added for style. Don't be afraid of rough and worn materials to heighten the industrial feel.

Keep textiles simple. Regarding industrial interior design for HDB flats, minimal patterns reign supreme. Instead of soft fabrics, focus and leather pieces in black, brown, or cognac to add that nonchalant touch of luxury.

Invest in "raw" flooring materials such as waxed concrete or concrete-look tiles. If you want something warmer, natural wood floors with a worn look will also work.

Lighting should be simple but bold, straightforward yet impactful. Metal lamps or retro bulbs hanging from black wires are great choices.

Accessorize smartly with just a handful of accessories to complete your industrial transformation. You don't have to buy a lot. Think large clocks, metal wall art, and vintage cityscape photos (which are cheap to buy online). Keep it tasteful and avoid clutter.

Are you ready to embrace the industrial style for your HDB? Visit Renodots for more inspiration and to check out design resources in Singapore!

[undiscovered-horizon]

Old dog, new tricks - Kaz Brekker x Reader

SUMMARY: Looking for someone to give you a quote on a stolen painting, you find yourself reaching out to a middle-man called Dirtyhands or the Bastard of the Barrel. Little do you know, you've met him before. A long, long time ago...

WORDCOUNT: ~ 1.7k

It's pouring in Ketterdam. Black clouds cover the sky, hanging so low it looks like the bell towers scrape them. Thunder rolls in the distance. Some say that rain is refreshing, that it cleanses body, mind and soul. Perhaps it does but not in Ketterdam - the rainwater only leaves pedestrians feeling dirtier as though the coal-coloured clouds tainted it. The air begins to smell in an odd way as if the water washes something foul before falling to the cobbled streets; something not quite alive that can’t seem to die. But perhaps those somber words are true and thunderstorms truly do cleanse. In that case, it isn’t some largely unknown flesh rotting away but the sins of the city and its people washing the streets before falling down the drain like many things do in Ketterdam.

Those who can, flee the streets into the warm confines of their homes. Hats, umbrellas, even newspapers - anything just to keep the dirty water out of their faces. Some of them would mutter a swear word between pants and grunts as they made haste to the nearest shelter. Those who can’t, however, do not seem any grumpier than they usually do. For them, it’s just another day of soaking in the black rainwater stained with the unspoken secrets of the citizens. Wrapping worn-out coats tighter around their famished bodies, they cuddle the cold, stone walls a little closer before letting out a tired sigh. 

On days like this, bars and pubs earn their most delicious coin. If someone’s home is too far, a brewery is a great place to be with a good drink, a good game and tolerable food. Among the rather large group of workers, traders and unfortunate pedestrians is the most curious stranger. She stops for a moment to look above the heads, at the crow cast from iron hanging above the entrance. Dressed in a foundry worker's clothes and a patchy coat, she fits the landscape of Ketterdam like a glove. Soon, the stranger followers the other patrons inside.

Thunderstorm or not, the bar looks rather cosy and fashionable, considering its location and clientele. The standard was high enough to make the working class feel good about themselves instead of inadequate.

You squeeze through invigorated, already quite drunk, groups of people who have become friends the moment they accidentally sat at the same table. Some bump into you but they never apologize - hard to say where they can’t or won’t. Others, the sober and brighter ones, notice their pouches gone after some time when they go to make another bet. Furious, they throw their hands at the first miser their accusatory finger points to. Despite that, they do not see you, even if they do look. To all those poor bastards gambling and drinking their life away, you're nothing beyond a mirage dancing in the corner of their eye; a fleeting thought that you saw something but can't quite articulate the nature of the illusion. And just like the bar patrons, you, too, quickly dismiss the mare as a trick of the imagination. Just as soon as the thought of the phantom disappears, its place is taken by severely mundane things: a pint of beer, a frivolous smile of a scam artist, a suspiciously good streak of a cocky man.

By the bar sits a man with a top hat at his side. While all the other workers are busy losing their money, that one simply sits there with his back turned to the rest of the room. A bottom-up, empty glass is placed beside his hand. The man is waiting.

Sitting down on the stool next to him, you don’t let your eyes leave the prize. "You look like you've been around, good sir.”  The stranger turns to look at you. A spark of amusement glistens in his eyes. His brow lifts ever so slightly, beckoning you to continue. “Tell me, where can I find a man called Bastard of the Barrel?"

He turns his whole body towards you, leaning his arm on the bar counter. "Boss is pretty busy these days, you know? Might not have the time or desire to see you."

You give him a flustered smile, trying to appear a little too stupid to be cunning. "I won't take too much of his time,” you reassure him quickly. “If you could please pass the message to him that I have a painting from the Greaves' collection. I'm looking for someone who can give me a quote."

"That Greaves' collection?” he repeats. His face momentarily lights up as he surely sees right through your facade. “I thought it was impenetrable."

"They say that about every prison, don't they? And yet the world is as it is."

The man stares at you for a moment, his fingers frantically tapping the counter. Clearly, you’ve got someone’s interest. But will it be enough? 

"Quote or not, I think he'll be interested in this. Come on."

Without waiting for your response, he takes his top hat and leaves, walking past you towards a small staircase in the corner of the bar. You quickly follow in his footsteps, never getting too far from the man - you’re to appear as nothing more but his shadow.

Out of the corner of your eye, you notice a streak of darkness move like a plant’s leaf swaying gently when there is no breeze. Curious, you follow the disturbance to what seems to be its source - a young woman dressed in dark robes. Leaning against a wall, in the corner where the yellow light doesn’t quite reach where it should, she’s impossible to notice to anyone who doesn’t know what to look for. In that spare moment, she notices you too.

Having walked up the stairs, your guide knocks thrice on the door but doesn’t wait for an answer before opening them. There, in the small office littered with papers, you notice a face so familiar and yet strange you begin to question your own sanity. Could it be…? 

It’s like staring at a winter landscape during a toasty, summer day - you know the fields in front of you are the same but at the same time, they will never be more different. His face is more serious than you remembered. Strong, sharp features accompany his light eyes to create a truly chilling demeanour of a seasoned man. Despite undoubtedly looking like a handsome, young man, a spectre of a boy he used to be lingers beneath his skin.

Feeling lost and shocked, you frantically tear the hood off your head. "Kaz?” you’re not sure whether you’re asking him or yourself. “Kaz Brekker?!"

His eyes widen momentarily. Before he knows it, Kaz jumps to his feet, having to lean against the desk because of his leg. He doesn’t seem any less surprised, although he does appear to be better at hiding it - at least on his face. "You sly old fox,” he says in a low voice. Something akin to a smirk curved a corner of his lips upwards. “You just won't die, will you?"

You can’t help but scoff. After all those years of wondering whether he’s even alive, you find him in a complete accident. "As much as I'd love to see you crying over me, I like being a nuisance a bit more."

"You know each other?" the man, whose name you still do not know, vaguely points between you and Kaz.

To your mutual, utmost surprise, the two of you answer simultaneously: "We used to." The shock seems to drown out the hint of nostalgia and regret in your voices.

“Right…” he nods slowly. “I’ll leave you to it then.”

And before you know it, the door shuts and it’s just you and him. On one hand, again, but on the other - for the very first time. The words used to dance in a merry-go-round inside your head. Painful, yet truthful. Yes, you used to know Kaz like no one else. It sounds, you realize, as though the last time you had met, it was a different world, a different lifetime. To some degree, it’s true.

“What are you doing in here?” Kaz asks curtly. You can’t help but find his tone angry, almost accusatory. A strand of his hair falls on his face.

Unwilling to face the responsibility of years of silence, you settle for half-hearted jokes. “Your office or Ketterdam in general?”

“Both, preferably.”

Has he always been this incandescent or has longing simply white-washed him in your memories?

“Same as you it seems - work,” you say with a shrug. For a moment, the two of you stare at each other, unsure what to make of this unforeseen reunion. Then, you let out a tired sigh. If you have changed as little as you think so, he can definitely see right through you. “I won’t lie to you, Kaz, this isn’t a social call. I come here in business. I stole a canvas from Jurgen Greaves’ private collection and I’m looking for someone who can give me a quote.”

Kaz clenches his jaw. His blue eyes stare into you, maybe through you, as he clearly ponders something. Before continuing, he sits down. “I know an art dealer who might be interested. But first, you’re going to tell me everything.” Do not be mistaken - it’s an order, not a request. Truthfully, he got out of the habit of asking and pleading.

"It's a long story and a lot less interesting than I'd like to admit."

"We've all night,” he states. Not letting his gaze falter, Kaz gestures to the chair across from him. He still doesn’t take no for an answer.

He’s absolutely furious but only partially at you. It’s mostly his lack of understanding that gets on his nerves - the girl he remembered, a skilled and beautiful woman now, could have anything she wanted if she only asked. So why would you choose this path? With pearls and servants within arms reach, what are you doing in the Barrel, among murderers and liars? The surname of Greaves' resounds in his head, only fuelling his frustration: not only did Ketterdam dare to taint you, but you've also made good friends with that black stain of filth.

His chest clenches and Kaz feels disgusted for a moment. The parasite of corruption has nested under your skin, spewing its venom into your veins.

“Oh, don’t make me blush.” Although your dismissal is nothing beyond a jest, you still sit in the appointed chair. Maybe you want answers too, after all.

Still staring at you with that stern, cold gaze of his, Kaz sits back in his chair, clearly unwilling to end this conversation anytime soon. 

[simpforrooster]

be careful with my baby pt 2.

Bradley 'Rooster' Bradshaw x F!Reader

Read part one here.

t/w: cursing, mentions of alcohol, mentions of death, some angst

....did he really just say that?

You didn't sleep a wink. How could you?

First, he drops that bomb on you.

Second, he had you pulled against him, his large hand splayed across your stomach.

Once he fell into a deeper sleep and that iron-clade grip loosened, you stealthily rolled off the couch and into his bedroom.

No way you could stay next to him on that couch with all those confusing thoughts in your head. Plus, his bed was a million times more comfortable than the couch.

When you finally decided it was an appropriate time to head into the kitchen, it was 7 am.

Rooster is still asleep on the couch, letting out little snores every now and then. His hand rests across his forehead, and you know he will complain that his arm is sore from that uncomfortable sleeping position.

You expertly move around his kitchen, putting on coffee and finding something to whip up for breakfast. Rooster's refrigerator and pantry are pretty bare bones since he just got back from a mission, but you manage to make something work.

Thank God your grandmother taught you how to make pancakes from scratch.

Rooster stirs on the couch, and you hold your breath.

"Fuck..." he moans. This has to be the most sexual-in-a-non-sexual-setting-thing he's ever done. "How much did I drink?"

Okay, so he remembers he asked you to stay over.

"Too much," you tell him from the stove.

Rooster rolls off the couch, his clothes from the previous night disheveled. He runs a hand through his sandy hair, grimacing as the lights in the kitchen hit him.

"Coffee?" he chokes out. You motion to the full mug you made for him on his bar. He slides into the stool opposite of you. Bringing the mug to his lips, he takes a large sip as if this coffee is a magical elixir that will cure his massive hangover.

He groans, confirming that that was exactly what he was hoping for, and the elixir failed him.

You can't help but let out a small giggle.

This man is adorable.

And sexy.

God, so sexy. How can someone be sexy and adorable?

Rooster smirks up at you. "You laughin' at my pain?"

"Always."

The two of you fall into a rather comfortable silence, considering the last thing he said to you before falling asleep, while you finish up the pancakes.

You set a plate in front of him, and take your own to the barstool next to him. Rooster digs in like he hasn't eaten in months.

"This is it," he gestures to the pancakes, "not the coffee. This is the magical hangover elixir. You have to stay over every time I drink to much from now own."

The compliment turns your cheeks pink. In the years you've known Rooster, this is the first time you've ever cooked for him. Your platonic nights spent together usually involved take out of some kind, or Hard Deck bar food.

Which is much better than you'd think.

Rooster takes both your empty plates to the sink, a new pep in his step thanks to your magical pancakes.

His words, not yours.

You watch as Rooster cleans up the kitchen. He told you when he grew up, the person who cooks gets out of clean up duty. Seeing Rooster act so domestic does things to you you didn't know possible.

Neither of you has brought up what he said last night. You're terrified he doesn't remember it. He remembers he asked you to stay, but maybe he blacked out before whispering those words to you.

Maybe he thought he was asleep and dreamt saying them?

You try not to dwell on it as you sip your coffee. The coffee is the best part about being at Rooster's. He always stocks up on fancy blends, sometimes bringing some back from overseas.

"Thank you for taking care of me last night," he mumbles, pulling you from your thoughts. He's drying the skillet you used, not making eye contact with you. "I hate when I step over that line I've drawn for myself."

You know Rooster likes to keep a clear head about him and typically stops after a few beers, but it's not like the rest of you haven't been there. Rooster has taken care of you countless nights. You've seen Phoenix guide Bob out to her car. Jake has pulled you down from a few tables. Hell, Mav's pulled a glass out of Jake's hand before when he's had enough.

Everyone looks out for each other.

"Roos, stop beating yourself up. You were celebrating a successful mission."

Rooster still hasn't met your eyes. "It almost wasn't." The words are so soft, you almost miss them.

Your blood runs cold. Being friends with fighter pilots has it's risks. You are well aware that when any of them go up, they may not make it back home.

"If Phoenix hadn't been there..." he trails off. His hand circles the skillet that is well dry by now.

You don't pry. Rooster has a very specific way of letting these moments out.

"All I could think of in that moment was you. Fuck, and how I've been such a coward."

Your heartbeat picks up. If you were wearing your Apple Watch, you're certain you'd get a "high heart rate" alert. You swallow your nervousness, waiting for his next words.

He finally sets the skillet down. Bracing his hands on the counter's ledge, he looks up at you.

"I meant what I said last night."

The confession knocks the wind out of you. The two of you stare at one another and your breathing starts coming in ragged intervals.

"I hate that I had to be drunk to say it. I've been so afraid to ruin this friendship." His eyes peer into yours. "I don't have family besides Mav, and I thought if I came clean, I'd loose you as a friend. I couldn't bare that."

Words still hang at the bottom of your throat, so he continues.

"When I was nose to nose with that jet, all I could think about was that I'd never told you how I felt. Dying without you knowing my feelings, shit, I couldn't believe it."

A tear escapes your eye and rolls down your cheek.

"So, I meant it, y/n. It wasn't just some drunk words."

The emotions you're feeling hit you like a tidal wave. Thrilled that Rooster feels the same way. Devastated that you almost lost him. Angry that he doesn't think more highly of himself.

"Please say something," he mumbles to the counter.

It takes every ounce of courage you have. "I love you too, Bradley."

His eyes snap up to yours, and within an instant he's rounded the bar. He swivels the barstool toward him. Looking up at him, with his arm above your shoulder, you feel so safe and small. His other hand brushes a piece of hair behind your ear. He hits you with the sweetest grin you've ever seen on your face.

"Can I kiss you?" he mumbles.

"You better, Lieutenant."

Rooster's hand trails from your ear to cup your face. Leaning in, his mouth covers yours in the safest kiss you've ever had. Your arms lock around his neck, pulling him as close to you as you can.

"Better than I've imagined," he whispers when he pulls back.

You answer him with another kiss.

a/n: I hope y'all liked it :) I'm so here for domestic!Rooster

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taglist:

@justanothermagicalsara

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[wildbornsiren]

Almost does Count. || Rhett Abbott/F!Reader

Almost does Count. 

Summary: A terrible, horrible, no good very bad week. And one almost that isn’t an almost. Rhett gives you a hand, and makes things a little better. 

Warnings: drinking, Rhett punching someone, pining

Notes: For the lovely @princessmisery666​, love you wifey. Comments and reblogs make me happy. Likes are appreciated. Thank you so very much for reading, it’s appreciated and means the most. 

** Tag list is gone, visit @wbslibrary​ **

There was one thing that you could count on. The bars of Wabang were loud, crowded and full of people who paid no mind to what was going on around them. Which is why no one says a damn word when you sat at the bar, beer bottle slick with condensation in front of you, rubbing at your eyes with the heels of your hand willing yourself not to cry. It had been a red-letter week, the car broke down and it would take scrimping from the next three paychecks to pay for repairs, and that’s if you can convince one of your coworkers to give you a lift to and from.

There was nothing that could make this week worse.

“Hey baby.” There’s a grunt as someone sits on the barstool next to you.

“Terry, tonight is not the night.” You lift your head from your hands, glaring at your ex-boyfriend. Though, calling him your boyfriend was generous. It wasn’t much more than a few crappy dates, most of the time spent fumbling with each other in the bedroom.

“I mean, I could help. You just got to talk to me baby.” His fingers travel up your arm, circling your elbow. “Come on, let’s get out of here. I’ll help you forget all your worries.”

“For all of thirty seconds while you jack-rabbit between my legs, come and roll over and go to sleep?”

“Oh, come on now baby, there’s no need to get nasty outside the bedroom.”

“Terry, you couldn’t get nasty in the bedroom, I’m shocked you can identify it.”

“You know what,” His hand tightens on your elbow. “I’ve got half a mind—”

“That’s the first smart thing you’ve said all night.” A second masculine voice says. Smooth, quiet, a voice you know very well. “Come on. The lady’s not interested. Move on.”

“You know what Abbott. I’m tired of you walking around like you’re something important just because you can last 8 seconds on a bull. You can’t last that long on a woman.”

“Terry!” You slide off the stool, putting yourself between him and Rhett. A stupid move, but you know Rhett wouldn’t hurt you, and you can handle anything Terry managed to deal. “Too far.” You break the hold on your arm. “You need to go.”

“We ain’t done here,” He snatches at you, fingers iron tight. Terry yanks you toward him, causing you to stumble. You slam into the bar, feeling the edge of it bite into your torso, knowing you’ll have a bruise later.  

There’s a heavy crack of skin on skin, a grunt and the sound of someone hitting the floor. The rest of the bar notices what’s going on, as chaos breaks out all around you. Rhett is rubbing his hand, Terry’s laid out on the floor, not moving, on his back.

“Come on,” Rhett says quickly, offering you his hand. You take it, and he tugs you through the crowd, leaving a few crumpled bills on the bar. The night air is cool and crisp, the sky pitch black, stars stretching out endlessly above you. You find yourself pinned against the passenger door of his truck as he fumbles with the keys. Laughter bubbling up in your throat, wild and an alternative to the tears and frustration you feel just under the surface. Rhett helps you into the truck, racing around the front to get in behind the wheel.

Tires squeal as he peels out of the parking lot, struggling one handed with his seatbelt as he gets onto the main road. “I can’t believe you did that!”

“I don’t much care for how he treated you. He has no right to speak to you that way.” Rhett glances sidelong at you. “Told you that before,” his voice is a little softer. He drives for a while, heading out of town, landscape being taken over by dark pastures and fields.

“Thanks,” you lick your lips, staring out the window. You can’t bring yourself to look at him. After a week of bad things piling up, you were in the cab of Rhett’s truck. With a thousand ‘almosts’ filling the space between you. The two of you had always been a little too close, too friendly. Inside jokes, quiet glances. You’d watch him ride; he’d drop by the famer’s market to keep you company while you sold produce. Hands brushing together, easy enough to be passed off as accidental. The way his hand tightened on your hip while he spun you around the dance floor.

The way you could sit in absolute silence with him, not saying a word—and have it be the best conversation in the world.

You almost had him, but he was taken. Almost ended up cozied up together at a bonfire, but you were enamored with someone else.

Almost hurt worse than being alone.

Which is why the string of shitty boyfriends, terrible one-night stands, and occasional rodeo boy that came through Amelia County. All because of a lanky, sweet man who stood at your side as a friend, and an almost.

You’re jolted from your thoughts when Rhett turns the ignition off. He’s parked at a diner, and he tips his head with a grin. “Let’s get some coffee, and you tell me everything that’s going on in that head of yours.” He’s opened your door, offered his hand to steady you as you hop out of his truck. Rhett keeps a hold of it as you walk to the diner, a calloused thumb smoothing over the back of your hand.

A corner booth, his knees knocking against yours as you huddle around the small, slightly sticky table. Two cups of coffee and a massive slab of apple pie with two forks sit between you. He’s letting you talk, his hands wrapped around the worn mug, listening with a slight upturn to his lips.

Everything comes out. The car problems, the work problems, that it hadn’t rained nearly enough this year and things were already looking lean. Each little drop in the bucket of bad bubbles up. “And then Max ate my slippers.” You stab at a slice of apple with your fork. “My brand-new slippers. He knows better than that. I came home and he brought me the sole of one of them like it was a present.”

Rhett laughs, really laughs. You can’t help but smile at the quiet sound. His eyes crinkle and there’s an unrestrained joy to it—happy is a good look for him, and not one that you get to see often. It’s something that you want to see on him all the time.

“Thanks,” there’s a lump in your throat. “For looking out for me.”

He passes you a handful of scratchy thin napkins when you sniffle, wiping at your eyes. “S’alright darlin’. Just let it out.” Rhett leans closer, his fingertips so gentle as they tip your chin up. “I’m just a phone call away. I know it’s hard to pick up the phone, but it’s not good to let it fester.” That same thumb brushes over your cheek delicate and soft.

“I’ll take a look at the car, if I can’t fix it, I’ll work something out with Jenkins alright?”

You nod mutely, wiping your nose. “Sorry.”

“Darlin’ you’ve picked me up outta worse.” He says, “Now finish that pie, and I’ll take you home.” He picks up his coffee again. “You need some rest.” He won’t let you pay, but you leave a tip on the table. The drive back to your place is nice. Rhett is humming along with a song on the radio, and the night air is so cool and clear. You sing along, letting the wind bounce your hand back and forth when you stick it out the window.

Rhett follows you up the porch stairs, a warm presence at your back as you unlock your front door.

“You want to come in?” You ask, looking up at him. The porchlight casts harsh shadows on his face, and yet he’s still one of the most handsome men you’ve ever seen.

He smiles softly, tipping his hat up. “Not tonight darlin’.” He kisses your forehead, drawing you closer, an arm around your waist. “Don’t get me wrong, I want to, lord I want to.” Rhett’s words brush against your skin, his lips pressing them softly to your cheekbones. There’s a slight scrape of his stubble when he nuzzles against your jaw. “But you’ve got so much on your mind, darlin’. And when I have you for the first time, I want all of you.”

Rhett’s mouth eases over yours, kissing you softly. He’s sweet and gentle, backing you against the doorframe. One hand light on your waist, the other braced above you, pinning you. “Go on inside, sweetheart. Get some rest.”

He pauses, “for me?”

“For you.” You whisper. You can feel the warmth from his kiss coursing through you.

“You work tomorrow?” When you shake your head, he continues. “I’ll come over look at the car after I feed the horses. I only accept food and kisses in exchange for mechanical work.” He winks at you. “Go on now.”

You open the door, stepping into the house, still buzzing with the effects of Rhett’s touch. The door closed solidly behind you, you lean against it, trying to control your racing heart. It’s not until you lock it, that Rhett’s heavy footsteps go down the stairs and his truck roars to life.

/end