#fight club sticker pack maybe

[gomi--neko]

My job as an artist is to just make hypothetical merch that id want

[scarisd3ad]

Jump then fall | Steve harrington x fem!hopper!reader

Prologue - seven

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Summary - ‘And though I can’t recall your face I still got love for you, your braids like a pattern love you to the moon and to Saturn’

Warnings - loss of a sibling, divorce, fighting, cursing

"I'm gonna miss you," Steve mumbled into my shoulder as his little arms wrapped around my body. "Me too," I whispered back. I didn't want to move. I was well adjusted in our little town, I had my friends, I was just getting used to kindergarten, and I had Steve Harrington. my best friend and next-door neighbor who I did not want to leave behind, but dad got a new and better job in New York, so we had to pack up all our belongings and move from the tiny town of Hawkins to the big city. "can't you stay with me? We have enough room. "I shook my head "My daddy would be sad if I didn't go with them," I whispered back before they pulled away and placed me in my car seat. I was gone for good.

It wasn't like Steve, and I didn't stay in contact for those 7 years I lived in New York. it started with letters and drawings being mailed back and forth and then calls every Tuesday and Thursday night after school. But then we got older, and those letters and calls had farther and farther days between them. Then when Sara got sick, I shut down. I didn't send any letters or call him for months. After Sara died, my parents grew distant not only with each other but with me too, so I sent a letter to the one person who knew me better than my parents, Steve Harrington.

Dear Stevie,

I'm sorry I haven't called or sent any letters. I've been busy with school and other things, you know. I miss you. I hope I can come and visit you soon. My dad said we might go back to Hawkins to visit during the summer. Maybe we could have a sleepover if we do. Maybe we can call whenever you get this? I can fill you in on everything that's happened. Anyway, how's school??? I started this new book club at school and it's so fun!!!! I know you'd probably call me a nerd for it is, but it's really cool, and the people are nice too. I also made this new friend. Her name is Hannah she's so cool! She's an eighth grader!!!

Are you still playing basketball? If so, I wish I could see you play. Maybe you could play for me if I visit this summer! Dad said I could walk to your house every day if we did. I miss you and I hope we can call soon; I really need to talk to you about something that cannot!!! be disclosed over letter I need to like actually talk about it you know? I haven't really talked to anyone about it, and I need to or I'm gonna burst. Also, I'm sending these cool stickers that I got at a coffee shop here. I thought you'd like them. They're basketballs! Anyway, again I miss you a lot and can't wait to talk to you again.

- love y/n

(P.S. sorry again for not sending any letter)

I didn't get a letter back, nor did we visit that summer. Instead, that summer my parents divorced, and my mother decided she no longer wanted to be a mother, so my father and I moved into a crappy apartment in Brooklyn while the divorce took place. Luckily, that fall, the divorce was finalized. My mother gave up all parental rights legally, giving all custody to my father, and we moved back to Hawkins.

A week before 7th grade started my father, and I moved into a 2-bedroom house 3 streets away from Steve's. the first 2 days were full of moving boxes and decorating my new room so on the 3rd day I walked over to Steves with a plate of freshly baked cookies in clasped in my hands. During the seven years Steve and I sent letters back and forth, he always hoped he'd be able to try my baking, which was a skill I learned during 5th grade.

I grasped the plate in one hand as the other reached up to knock at the door. There weren't any cars in the driveway, but his bedroom light was on, which made me assume he was home. But after 30 seconds I didn't hear a 'I'm coming' or hurried footsteps. I was starting to doubt my intuition. Maybe he had just forgotten to turn off his bedroom light. Despite my doubts, I knock again, this time a bit harder. Then I heard a loud groan from inside before the door swung open."Wh-holy-y/n?" the annoyed look on his face immediately morphed into shock.

"You didn't respond" I giggled with a smile, "I-I guess it got lost in the mail" he whispered before launching himself into me. His arms wrapped around my body, and he pulled me close. The cookies were still clasped in my hand. I hoped the foil would be enough to keep them on the plate. "Wait, wait, wait" Steve pulls away so we're making eye contact. "You came all the way here just because I didn't send a letter back" his brows twist into a confused furrow as I laugh "No Stevie, we moved back" his face stays confused as he asks "Why" It was a long story, and not one to be told on the front steps of his house. "Long story. I'll tell you later. Can I come inside?"

"Yeah, yeah"

-

Steve and I sat on his bedroom floor that afternoon munching on cookies as I told him everything. I cried a lot; I hadn't cried about anything in the last four months. But with Steve, it just seemed like everything just came pouring out. Even though the last time I saw him, we were both 4 feet tall and missing teeth, it just seemed to click with him even after all these years. "Sarah got sick," I started with as Steve took a bite out of his cookie. "Oh...is she alright?" he asked voice laced with concern as his right hand reached over to grab my hand. 

I shook my head as tears pooled in my eyes, "N-no um she's-she's gone Stevie" Steve was silent as his hand squeezed mine. I'd never talked about Sarah or her death to anyone, not my mother, not my father, hell I didn't even talk to the therapist they took me to when I didn't want to talk to them. This was the first time I even uttered the words 'she's gone' It was like I was in denial, like if I never said the words, it would all reverse itself and I'd have my sister back. "a-and my parents we're fighting a lot, so they got divorced" tears began to trickle down my cheeks as I squeezed my eyes shut, fighting back tears. "And my mom she-she said she never wanted to be a mom, so-so she left."

That afternoon, while Steve's arms embraced me and sobs shook my body, I came to a shocking realization. The realization hit me hard that maybe listening to Steve's voice over the phone for the past seven years, and reading his letters he always signed off with 'I love you - Steve Harrington', might have done something to me. Something to my changing adolescent brain that would have altered our friendship for good. Maybe it was for the best that the week after winter break, Steve Harrington became one of the most popular boys in school and subsequently decided to no longer be my friend.

Taglist

@sheisjoeschateau @nothankyou138 @gleefulleve @luluw-20

[brightlight-dazzlingeyes]

ibiza night fever | chapter 03

pablo gavi x original female character [+18]

synopsis: to celebrate her recent freedom, sofie’s best friends invited her to spend the summer in ibiza. after four years, a tattoo and countless fights – sofie was single. she was dumped on her 22nd birthday; now all she asks for is a calm and relaxing vacation with her girlfriends – no boys allowed. warnings: age gap, alcohol consumption, smut, angst; minors dni.

previous chapter | masterlist | next chapter

Chapter 03 | I’m a ruin 

“I know I'm playing with your heart

And I could treat you better

But I'm not that smart”

The wondrous vacation continued the next day. The girls decided it would be a Spa Day. Even though they were all in their early 20’s, the chaotic alcohol driven last couple of days started to creep up on them. They needed fresh energy for more chaotic alcohol driven days. At the spa, they were welcomed at the reception with views over the sparkling bay of Cala Xarraca. They were greeted with soothing music and the scent of lavender. They changed into white robes and slippers and headed to a relaxation room. Sofie laid on a massage table, waiting for her Lomi-Lomi Hawawiian massage. Her mind immediately wandered to thoughts of her ex-boyfriend. She couldn't help but wonder what he was doing at that very moment. Was he thinking of her? Or had he slept with someone else too? They had matching tattoos. Got them a couple years ago. Not a lot of people know about it, as it’s quite hidden. Pablo probably saw it, if he paid attention. As the masseuse worked her magic on Sofie's tense muscles, she felt a sense of longing for Thomas. She missed the way he used to make her laugh and the way he would hold her close at night. But their relationship was over for a reason. He left her.

“So you changed your mind?” Chiara asked her as they were getting pedicures.

“About what?”

“Not having sex while in Ibiza. Which, let me just say, was an insane idea to begin with.”

“Oh, you know what? Yes, I did. I came here to feel good, so, fuck it. Feeling desired is part of the healing process, maybe? I don't know.” Sofie was confused, even in the peaceful environment she still couldn't think straight.

“So… I can set you up with other guys?”

“No way! I mean, maybe? Coming here and not sleeping with anyone was like a spiritual journey, but sleeping with just one guy feels embarrassing. Especially a random 18 years old who probably doesn’t even remember my name anymore.”

“Sofie, baby, I’m looking at you and I know for sure he remembers your name.”

The girls enjoyed massages, facials, and a dip in the hot tub. They chatted and laughed, catching up on each other's lives. During lunch, at the spa’s luxurious restaurant, Sofie felt the need to let go of the past and focus on the present. 

Pedri texted her in the afternoon with a nightclub address and a questionable Garfield sticker. It was an illustration of the orange cat doing a peace sign. Sofie chuckled and nonchalantly suggested the same nightclub as the girls next destination.

**

"The Electric Octopus" was known for its wild parties and eclectic music. The club was packed with people from all over the world, with neon lights flashing and the bass thumping so loud Sofie could feel it in her bones. As the crowd pulsed around her, Sofie lost herself in the music, moving her body to the beat. Still paying attention to her friends, she noticed Rebecca looking anxious, scanning the crowd as if looking for a familiar face. There was no way she knew Pedri was here, or that he specifically organized for her to come. But it was like she could feel something in the air, his presence. Call it chemistry, if you will. Suddenly, Rebecca felt a tap on her shoulder and turned around to see Pedri, dressed beautifully in black with a mischievous grin on his face. The two friends hugged, with the man discreetly winking at Sofie, thanking her.

“Come on, we got a private booth.” Pedri guided the girls to the secluded area. The booth had a sophisticated vibe – it’s own private dance floor – plush seating, dim lighting, and a table for drinks and snacks. The place was big enough to fit more than a dozen people, and there were already a few hanging out when the girls arrived. Other young athletic men whom Sofie could only hope weren’t footballers as well, and a couple of gorgeous girls. Pablo was there too, playfully chatting with one of the girls. He didn’t look surprised to see her, but Sofie couldn’t hide her anxiety.

They all got introduced, but even as the time passed by and Sofie got more comfortable around the strangers, she couldn’t shake off the nausea of meeting Pablo under these conditions. He was clearly slightly drunk and overly straightforward with his flirting. Sofie felt small and unimportant. At some point, when Sofie got distracted with the music and their friends, Pablo sat down next to her.

“Hey.” He whispers in her ear. “You don’t get to be jealous.”

“I know, I’m not!” Sofie was blushing and Pablo was adoring it.

“You look jealous.” 

They were looking into each other's eyes, way too close. Closer than Pablo was to the other girl.

“Im not.”

“You’re acting jealous.” He’s teasing her, whispering in her ear.

“I’m really not.”

“You look beautiful.” Pablo smiles, admiring her. She really does look beautiful. “Give me your phone number.”

“No.”

“You gave Pedri your phone number, Sofie. This is ridiculous.”

“Yes, well, I like talking to Pedri. He has really nice stickers.”

“I can show you something a lot nicer than Pedri stickers.”

Sofie laughs at that and the boy can’t help but laugh with her. She shakes her head and takes her drink to the dance floor. She tries to put some distance between them. Sofie feels hot. Looking back at the seating area, the girl – Ana – is already back at Pablo’s side. Good. Good.

The room around her only makes her feel worse. Becca is fully making out with Pedri in one corner and her other friends are one drink away from doing the same with the boys they bonded. The booth feels too crowded. Sofie took the french exit and left without saying a word. Outside of the club, feeling the ocean breeze and the island’s cold 2AM weather, Sofie calmed down immediately. The noise and chaos of the club had been overwhelming, and she was glad to be out in the fresh air. On one hand, she was very attracted to Pablo and enjoyed spending time with him. On the other hand, she didn't want to get hurt again. She needed time to think and reflect, to figure out what she wanted and what was best for her. Suddenly she heard someone calling her name. It was Daniel, the yacht owner.

“Sofie, is that you?” Daniel said, grinning. “Wow, you look amazing! What are you doing here by yourself?”

Sofie smiled back, politely.

“I’m just taking a break from the club. It was getting a bit overwhelming there.”

Daniel nodded in agreement. “Yeah, I hear you. It’s crazy here tonight.”

That’s when Pablo walked out of the club. He scanned the area and spotted Sofie talking to someone. Daniel, he recognized him. They were mutual friends. Small world, apparently.

“Hey, guys. What's going on?” He approached them trying to appear casual.

“Oh hey, man!” Daniel turned to him, surprised. The three of them exchanged pleasantries, but Pablo felt insecure around Daniel, who seemed to have a natural ease with Sofie that he couldn't match. After a few minutes of awkward small talk, Sofie asks:

“So, we should get going, right?” Sofie raised an eyebrow, praying Daniel would get her cue. Luckily for her, he did.

"Right. Yes. We should get going. Sorry. mate, see you later?” He taps Gavi on the shoulder and waves goodbye.

They walked along the beach and Sofie tried to start small talk, but Daniel wasn’t having it.

“What was that about? Gavi did something to you?”

“Oh no. It 's not like that. I think I did something to him. Listen, I don’t wanna talk about it. Let me just text my friends, I kind of just dipped on them.”

Daniel nodded and waited for her. “Do you wanna go back to my place? I have some friends over, but it won’t be as noisy as the club.”

“Okay. I guess.”

“I’m not helping you for free, though. I want you to answer a question.”

“A question? Okay. I thought you were about to ask for a blowjob!”

“Girl, I don’t need to ask for blowjobs.”

“Alright…”

“I want to know about Rebecca. And Pedri. Are they together? What 's the deal?”

Sofie stops walking, biting her lips.

“Honestly? I don’t know. But I know she’s not into you. Sorry.”

"That 's okay. I’ll just settle for second place.” Daniel tries to put his arm around Sofie’s shoulder and she pushes him off.

“Hey, fuck off!”

They laugh and he looks at her as if he’s wounded.

“Please don’t tell me you’re into Gavi.”

“I won’t tell you, then.”

In the morning, when she wakes up on Daniel’s couch still wearing yesterday's clothes, Sofie gets a text. 'Pool party today! Bitch, don’t forget! - Luisa.' Sofie groans. They organized a pool party in their villa and Sofie regrets ever feeling excited about anything. There was another text, from Pedri. It was a Garfield sticker. The orange cat was wearing sunglasses and holding a floater. Great, just great.

[astrayan]

i made some tags but i want to talk more about some "red flag" books. sorry for any typos or if my english is incorrect at any point, it's not my first language.

i added the following tags:

let's start by saying i happen to LOVE haruki murakami and i think his philosophical takes on his books are marvelous. like i said in the tags, you HAVE to be older to understand some things that are not explicit when you're younger or on a first read-through (for example, fight club doesnt pack the same punch [haha punch] when you read it a second time, then you see the signals pointing to the end were there all along but you didn't pick up the information). that's what i mean by saying picking up undertones when you're older, you have more information to contextualize (or re-contextualize) a book.

like, imagine you're 14 and you read american psycho. you probably don't even know what a yuppie is. and by missing that you're missing why bateman acts the way he does. and it does the same thing fight club does, which is to present us with unreliable narrators. but again you may not pick that up until you're older and can understand the themes of toxic masculinity (fight club) or the objectification of women, critic to the capitalism model and mental health issues (american psycho).

i love sylvia plath but admittedly, you do have to be a certain age to read the bell jar because of its themes of mental health, depression and suicide, but those are not red flags, those are triggers. why are these people keeping away a beautifully written story about mental health issues saying it's a red flag to read this book? this makes no sense to me. and tbh i HAVE to laugh at the sticker on gone girl. "if shes reading this she probably watched jennifer's body at least once". this cracked me up. i am aware of its flaws but i love jennifer's body (and it's a fuck you to men everywhere despite the ending), and that comment is so correct. gone girl also says fuck you to men, and it should not be considered a red flag. like... grow up maybe.

now, about the thing that will probably haunt my dreams this night. HOW IS FRANKENSTEIN ON A RED FLAG SHELF?! sure it's philosophical af but i read it at a young age and as i grew up i reread it a lot (i do have this problem, instead of buying new books, i reread mine because having dynamic reading means i end them REALLY fast and i end up with the same books to read lol), understanding more and more with more age. HOW in the world is this book a red flag? i honestly can't see it. yeah it is horror and a bit sci-fi but i was reading stephen king by age 9 and i turned out (mostly) fine. this one pisses me off to no end.

anyway i don't even know if anyone will read this but i already typed everything so. i'm ending these here. if i misexplained or mansplained anything pls let me know (i'm a trans man so please fell free). and if you wanna know more about the books that i mentioned both in the tags and this post, i can try and give a trigger warning or a spoilers-free synopsis of the ones I've already read.

[thiswasinevitableid]

for the meet ugly asks, 18 with the ot4? nsfw, if possible? thanks

Here you go! It is indeed NSFW.

18: we were just introduced at a party by our mutual friend and when my partner comes to join us, you freak out because you were just outside making out with them and you pull me aside to tell me

“Duck! Over here!” Aubrey waves him through the crowd, pointing to the lumberjack lookalike next to her, “this is the guy I was telling you about. Barclay’s an old friend of Dani's and, get this, he and Indrid know each other too. Wait, where is mr. mothman?” Aubrey cranes her neck.

“He had to work a late shift, but he says hi. Literally” He fumbles his phone, “fuck, sorry, first thing to go when I’ve been drinkin is my coordination.” He eventually triumphs, showing them the photo of Indrid, silver hair tied back and Void the Rat perched on the sleeve of his ‘Waffle House’ shirt. The sticker on the photo says “Hi!”

“Aww” Barclay’s voice is the epitome of gentle giant, “he always wanted a rat. I’m glad he got one.”

“Whelp, now that I got you two talking, I’m gonna go spend some ‘quality time’ with my girlfriend.”

“Just don't get caught makin’ out in a closet again.” Duck calls. Aubrey flips him off with a smile.

“So how did you and Indrid--oh, there you are babe. Thought you mighta snuck out to take a work call.”

“No, just had to de-escalate a shoving match on the back porch. I know you love Jake, but maybe next time we should just have him over rather than coming to the kind of party we outgrew in undergrad. I’m discovering I don’t enjoy being under the influence in this kind of cramped party anymore."

“Yeah, not really loving the noise. I lose my voice enough in the kitchen. Duck, this is my boyfriend, Joseph. Joseph, this is Duck, he’s a friend of Dani and Aubrey’s.”

Duck crunches his cup as his mind takes a violent spin an hour into the past.

He’d been out on the side deck getting some air and sipping his beer when a guy who looks like he walked in from the set of some splashy T.V show where everyone is hot joined him. His lips looked damn good whenever he sipped his beer and Duck did his best to turn on the southern charm. It was sort of working, until he complimented the guys button up; it was covered in drawings of cryptids--including mothman, Indrid’s favorite--and fit him in the way that made Duck want to rip the buttons off with his teeth. As soon as he demonstrated his enjoyment of listening to a hot guy talk about monsters, the taller man moved gradually closer, bumping shoulders and locking eyes with growing boldness. When Duck said the song booming out of the house was his go-to for putting the moves on someone, the other man asked to see his technique.

They spent the next three songs in the darkest corner of the porch, Duck’s back pressing into metal slats as his new friend wove his fingers into his hair and teased their tongues together with an experts touch.

When Duck breathlessly asked if he wanted to go somewhere more private, he murmured, “Only after we’ve had a chance to talk about some things.”

Then his phone buzzed and he was gone, leaving Duck horny and tipsy under the stars.

Back in the present, he does everything possible to keep from meeting Joseph’s eyes as he mumbles, “I, uh, I, I need some help with somethin in the kitchen? Fuck, yeah, kitchen, Barclay can you come help?”

“Sure. Be right back, babe.”

The kitchen is packed with people doing ill-advised things with drinks, so Duck keeps Barclay in the hall as he whispers, “Man, I, I’m so fuckin sorry but I gotta say somethin’. Joe and I, we, uh, we already met.”

“Makes sense, he’s been in town a year. I just got here.”

“That ain’t the kind of meetin I mean. We got a little, uh, friendly on the porch tonight.”

Barclay gives an “ah” of understanding. Then he chuckles, “thought he looked a little ruffled when he passed me earlier.”

“I’m real fuckin sorry, I didn’t know. ‘Drid and I got an, an agreement, but I shoulda checked to see if he was datin someone.”

“That would have been smart.” Joe appears at Barclay’s shoulder, “but that’s why I said we needed to talk before we did anything else.” He strokes Barclay’s beard, “you and Indrid aren’t the only ones with an open relationship of sorts.”

“Ohthankfuck.” Duck slumps against the wall.

“While I was making sure no one made a punch that could give them alcohol poisoning, you were getting hot and heavy? That’s not fair, babe.” Barclay teases.

“I’ll make it up to you, big guy. Are you safe to drive?”

“Gonna give it another half-hour, just to be safe. You need a ride home, Duck?”

“Uh, sure, that’d be great.”

Soon, he’s bundled in the back of a Subaru, Joe sitting beside him while Barclay navigates through Saturday night traffic. They luck out; the game ran long, so they’re not fighting the throng coming out of the football stadium. When they reach his apartment, Joe stops him and hands Duck his phone. Duck didn’t even feel him take it in the first place. As he waves goodnight, he spots a new number sitting in his contacts and smiles.

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

“...the point is, it amuses me that Joseph shares my taste in me.” Indrid sips his white chocolate mocha, then yawns wide enough for Barclay to spot his tongue piercing, “apologies, I didn’t get to bed until three.”

“Jesus, man, gonna tell Duck to start knocking you out.”

“I was working on commissions.”

Barclay gives him a disbelieving look.

“....I was working on commissions until midnight. Then I spent three hours watching videos on the finer points of home entomology.”

“There it is. You can’t fool me, I remember what you were like at sleepovers.”

“It was very important to read every single Eyewitness book your parents generously bought you.” Indrid takes another sip with an imperious tilt of his head.

Barclay bumps his unoccupied hand, “It’s so fucking nice to see you again.”

Indrid looks at him over his glasses, brown eyes as beautiful as they were when he was sixteen, “Likewise. Oh!” He perks up, “do you know what this means? We can have a double-date! I’ve always wanted to try that.”

“Sure Joseph will be into it; he has a spreadsheet of optimal date locations. Bet he’ll have fun making one for double-dates.”

“That is...exceptionally geeky.”

Barclay sends a love-struck smile into his coffee cup, “Yeah, he is.”

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

Joe is more diabolical than Duck gave him credit for. And he thought he was pretty fucking cunning after he suggest seeing the local hockey team; the chilly arena gave Indrid and excuse to cuddle up to anyone who held still for too long and gave Joe plenty of opportunities to make double entendres about sticks in Duck’s ear.

But a night out at “Woofs” AKA the kind of gay bar where Duck and Barclay get hit on constantly is a whole new level of torment. Especially because Indrid hangs off Duck proudly (when he’s not teasing Barclay for the number of free drinks he’s getting) and Joseph even asks him to dance. When he peeks over the taller man’s shoulder, he sees Barclay resting his hand on Indrid’s arm while whispering something that makes him grin.

Dancing really is the most fitting thing he could be doing, because it’s what all four of them have chosen to do about this; dance around the fact that Indrid and Barclay dated, dance around the fact Joe and Duck kissed, danced around the fact that they’re more or less acting like a polycule already.

“Oh no.” Joe mutters, eyes on the door, “things are about to get loud.”

Duck’s about to point out that the club is already loud when he’s pulled out of the path of not one, but two bachelorette parties. They opt to stay, although Barclay gets hit on by someone who doesn’t believe he’s gay. Joe takes him onto the floor for a slow dance while Duck steps into the bathroom. When he comes out, his boyfriend is nowhere to be found.

“You guys seen ‘Drid?”

Joe shakes his head, all three of them already moving for the door. They find Indrid across the street on a bench, hunched over and tapping on his knees.

“‘Drid?” Duck sits gently beside him, “you get overwhelmed?”

Indrid nods.

“You wanna head home?”

Another nod. Duck suspects the overstimulation spiked without warning, which usually means…

“You need to be nonverbal for a bit?”

This time Indrid looks at him when he nods, then cringes when he sees Joe and Barclay are watching.

“Our place is closer.” Joe offers, copying Duck’s tone, “we can all bus back there so you can be somewhere quiet. Or, um, if you need it to just be you two, that’s fine too.”

Indrid holds up a finger, indicating option one. Duck helps him up and let’s him stay hidden against his shoulder while they wait for the bus.

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

This used to terrify Barclay. He and Indrid would be hanging out, would be stealthily holding hands in the top row of the football stadium, and his boyfriend would shut down. Barclay, sensing distress, would try to figure out what was wrong, would start to panic when Indrid couldn’t communicate the things happening in his mind and body. They had more than one fight where his attempts to help only made Indrid more overstimulated to the point he snapped at him to fuck off (and, on one occasion, hissed at him).

They worked it out eventually, Barclay keeping a mental list of things that soothed his friend. Watching Duck do some of them, how calm and loving he was, makes something complex bloom in his chest, as vibrant and beautiful as the Dahlias Duck brought them from the garden (“weather’s been so fuckin weird things are bloomin when they shouldn’t”).

When they make it home, Duck stops in the living room and looks between Indrid and Barclay for a moment. Then he murmurs, “‘Drid, you want Barclay to keep you company for a bit?”

Indrid smiles and nods, takes Barclay’s hand and follows him to the bedroom. He lets his memories drive, keeps the light off, arranges his body so Indrid can relax against him, and pets his hair with slow, light motions. His friend hums, meaning he’s on the right track. As he strokes his head he notices the black roots peeking through the silver; it was jarring to see Indrid with pale hair when all his memories were of dark locks of it falling over his face or catching on Barclays hands.

He looks good with the silver. More like himself.

Metal pokes his chest. He takes the glasses Indrid hands him, sets them on Joseph’s stack of library books, then gives a startled, “nnfph” as his friend pulls Barclay on top of him.

“Like the weight” Indrid mumbles, wrapping his arms around him. The longer they lay there, the easier it is to overhear the conversation in the other room.

“I feel awful, if I’d known I’d have never recommended we go somewhere like a loud bar.”

“S’okay, Joe. ‘Drid is still a little wary of tellin people that’s something he has to consider when goin’ out; Dani and them get it, but other folks think he’s bein’ a buzzkill.

“That’s ridiculous.”

“You’re tellin me. Besides, sometimes it comes up so fast, or happens in places he ain’t anticipatin it. He’ll be okay, especially with Barclay takin’ care of him.”

A pause, then, “Do you need someone to, um, take care of you?”

“Joe-”

“It’s alright if the answer is no. But part of my plan was to get everyone in a, um, bit of a frisky mood.”

A snicker, “Frisky?”

“I was trying not to be too crude.”

“Joe, you know how I feel about you. But we gotta check with the others to be sure everythin is on the level.”

“Tell them to come in.” Indrid whispers, a smile plain in his voice.

“Uh, babe? Could you and Duck come in here a sec?”

“Everythin oka--ffft” Duck snorts a laugh, “guess he improvised not havin a weighted blanket.”

“That I did.”

Duck bursts into a grin, hurrying to settle on the bed near Indrid’s head, “Hey, sugar. How you feelin’?”

“Much better. It helps that this one is very soothing.” He toys with Barclay’s hair, sending goosebumps up his arms, “though it seems he had a slighty different reaction to our contact.”

Barclay was so distracted by the conversation that he hadn’t realized his cock was hardening along the familiar warmth of Indrid’s thigh whenever one of them shifted.

“Fuck, Indrid, I’m sorry-”

“It’s alright. In fact, it is rather relevant to what you two were discussing in the hall. Am I correct that we all wish to be in some form of polyamorous relationship with each other?”

“Yes” say two voices along with his own.

“Wonderful. I suggest we hash out details later. Right now, it seems you two have, ah, unfinished business.”

“Fuckin finallyAH” Duck cackles as Joseph knocks him backwards, kissing him frantically while yanking up his shirt. As soon as his belly is exposed Joseph begins pawing and groping from there up his sides. Indrid nudges Barclay so they can sit up, allowing the other two more room to disrobe. Or, more accurately, for Joseph to disrobe both himself and Duck, since the shorter man is having trouble moving his limbs between bursts of laughter and moaning.

Joseph crawls backwards, shoving Duck’s legs apart and groping his thighs, “I’ve wanted to get my hands on these since the party. Lord almighty did you look good in those jeans.” He kisses his way up the left thigh, moaning and mouthing at the skin. His posture puts his perfect ass in the air, which happens to be one of Barclay’s favorite views in the whole world. He unzips his pants, fights to get his cock out as Indrid begins offering commentary from beside him.

“Mmmm, were I not still rather exhausted, I’d make him do that to us both.”

Joseph raises an eyebrow, but doesn’t move his mouth from where it’s teasing Duck’s inner thigh.

“Know you would.” He reaches down to play with Joseph’s hair, “‘Drid’s got a whole fantasy where you blow him while I sit on his face.”

“Funny” Barclay’s voice is turning rough with desire,“he’s got one where he takes all three of us at once.”

Joseph’s face lacks any trace of self-consciousness, a rare thing for him, which means this whole arrangement is fucking brilliant. He simply nods, then takes Duck’s dick into his mouth.

“JEsus, fuck, Joe, ohfuckyeah.” Duck holds Joseph’s head encouragingly, “shoulda known you’d be good at this, you’re so fuckin good at everythin, fuck, fuck.”

Barclay grips his cock, trying to stroke in time with movements of Joseph’s head. Slender fingers carefully push his aside as Indrid purrs, “allow me.”

“You, you don’t have to, you said you were tired-”

“Not too tired for this” he strokes up more firmly, then brushes their lips together, “or this.”

It’s like tasting Hershey Chocolate or Marionberry Pie, transporting him back to their shitty hometown in Eastern Oregon, to summer heat on his skin and basement air in his nose as Indrid proved that yes, kissing boys was what he wanted to do.

Indrid’s certainly gotten better at it since then. Barclay likes to think he has, hopes the other man is feeling even half the things currently piling up in Barclay’s chest.

“Oh.” Indrid sighs as he pulls back, “that’s even better than I remember.”

A particularly loud moan from Joseph, underscored by Duck cursing happily, brings them back to the present.

Barclay moans as Indrid’s hand moves more deliberately.

“Do you remember the first time we did this?”

“Uh huh, c-couch, in that, fuck, that basement rec room at my house.”

“You came so fast.”

“Can’t really blame me.”

“Given the sounds he’s making, he might do the same thing now.” Joseph smiles at them from over Duck’s knee, “that’s one of the best things about you. You’re so sensitive, big guy.”

Barclay whines his name. His boyfriend winks, then dives back down to render Duck speechless.

“You really are” Indrid nips his ear, “remember when we, ah, lost it to each other?”

“Mmmhmm” he whimpers, squeezing his eyes shut as if that might make all this last longer. Joseph echoes the noise, making Duck groan.

“Just picture it, Joseph” Indrid is getting into it now, panting and pink-cheeked, “Barclay, eighteen and even shyer than he is now, in my lap, begging me to fuck him.”

‘I, I wasn’t the only one begging.” He grins.

“Of course not. I was desperate to get to it because just seeing you naked had me certain I was going to--one moment” he releases Barclay’s cock, ignoring his whimper to clamber into a position that allows him to kiss Duck as the shorter man grinds into Joseph’s mouth. He doesn’t pull back until Duck’s hips slow and Joseph is busy wiping his lips.

“I can never resist kissing you while you cum.”

“Fuck I love you.” Duck cups Indrid’s cheek. The silver haired man rubs against his palm a moment, then retreats. Duck growls at Joseph, “as for you, you got ten seconds to open your legs so I can show you a good time.”

“So thoughtful” Indrid pecks his cheek, returns to Barclay, “now, where was I…”

“Shy, AHshit, fuckingchristthat’s good.” Joseph’s legs sprawl open as Duck finger-fucks him, sitting on his side to kiss him without obstructing Barclay’s view.

“Ah yes.” He kisses Barclays neck, hand teasing the head of his cock, “you insisted on bottoming because you were so scared you might hurt me. I can still see it, you on your hands and knees, asking me to take you--those were your exact words--then whimpering when I finally got my cock in.”

“Fuck” Joseph is clearly enjoying the story; if Barclay had known he was into this, he would have made all his exes record voicemails describing their exploits.

“If memory serves I came very fast, because you were so much tighter than I expected and you, you felt so good. I used my hands to get you off-”

“Uh huh, fuck, you hadn’t pulled out yet and it was so fucking good, fuck, Indrid-”

“You made such cute noises when you came” a slow, deep kiss as heat floods him, “I wonder if you’ll do the same now.”

“Probably” is all he grunts out before he’s cumming hard enough that most of it hits Joseph’s stomach rather than Indrid’s fingers. His head lolls as his cock pulses, and beneath his own heartbeat he picks up Duck ordering Joseph to be good and cum for him. After a moment, there’s the distinct moan his boyfriend makes during his climax. It’s followed, confusingly, by weak laughter. His eyes flutter open to see Indrid licking his cum off Joseph’s chest, which happens to be ticklish.

He scoots over to join them, Joseph kissing him sleepily the instant he’s close enough.

“You sure you don’t need to cum, sugar?”

“I’m only half-hard, and I know I’m too tired to make it the rest of the way. Not that this wasn’t supremely satisfying. But you each owe me an orgasm sometime in the future.”

“All in favor of blowin ‘Drids mind tomorrow mornin’”

He and the other two raise their hands in sync. Then the four of them collapse, laughing, in each others arms.

[shimzus-a2]

📝 give me 3,000 :)

📝: about half of their phone storage is just photos of each other. when they go out to eat, hikaru takes so many pictures of her, and because she’s not as comfortable using her camera for anything but landscape photos she gives her phone over to him so he can take selfies of himself, too. when he moves away from japan for school, she looks at his pictures a lot 🥺

📝: when they were younger and it was cold in the winter, shimizu would hold a blanket and wrap it— and herself— around hikaru’s back. then she put another blanket over top of herself. they kinda looked like a double-wrapped taco bell burrito : hikaru in the middle, then a blanket around him, then shimizu hugging him over the blanket, and a blanket over her too. she stopped doing it when he got super tall/his shoulders filled out and she couldn’t comfortably hug him all the way around. 

📝: on that note, puberty was ... wild. when hikaru started growing, shimizu was really suspicious and demanded to measure him every week to make sure that her eyes weren’t actually betraying her. she still has a notebook somewhere with a stray page titled “ hikaru-kun’s height, week by week ” !

📝: shimizu is normally on paper fan duty for him during festivals ... not because he asks for it, but because she’s thoughtful and thinks ahead of time that it might be hot for him if he doesn’t have a fan. she keeps him cool, but her wrists hurt by the end of the evening because of how much she fans him.

📝: when she took up track and field in middle school and was asked to give a self introduction to the team ( which included explaining her motivation for joining the team ), shimizu announced, “ i have a friend who i had to chase around a lot. i think he made me fast. please take care of me. ”

📝: she carries a spare inhaler in her bag everywhere she goes, including to karasuno even though he doesn’t attend with her. her parents and she have diligently learned about the proper protocol if he starts having an asthma attack near them, so they’re all fully prepared to take care of him should it ever happen. 

📝: hikaru is the ONLY person to ever hear shimizu sing at karaoke, and it was just once. she forbid him from taking videos.

📝: she writes him letters when he leaves japan ... 🥺🥺🥺

📝: sometimes, shimizu jokes that hikaru doesn’t actually have a twin brother. he off-handedly mentions something to her about kaoru, and she turns to him with a puzzled look, asking, “ eh ? kaoru ? who is that ? ” this joke lasts sometimes for hours as he tries to explain to her that he, in fact, has a twin brother named kaoru. she gives in eventually and admits that she knows, but she was just messing with him. 

📝: she names the parrotlet he got her after him— while “ hikaru ” means something like bright/light, she names the bird “ akari, ” meaning light ( girl’s name, different kanji ). 

📝: i just think ......... it’d be neat if hikaru helped her pick out a swimsuit like he did for haruhi ..... just think that would be kinda cute. then on their obligatory beach ova scene, they go fishing ( kiyoko pulls a record-size fish ) and cook it on the beach for dinner. i think that’s cute.

📝: when they go on long trips by train/bus and have to use that public transport, shimizu always ends up falling asleep. she tries not to because she knows that they’ll need to get off on the right stop, so she should be awake and listening for the right announcement ... but she can’t help it. public transport makes her sleepy, and she ends up falling asleep on hikaru all the time.

📝: matching socks !! in middle school they bought matching socks together, and from then on it kinda became a habit every year to buy a new pair of matching socks. shimizu wears them with her track suit regularly, and if karasuno didn’t uphold a uniform dress code then she’d probably wear them on her first day of classes too.

📝: she won every snowball fight he initiated in elementary school.

📝: they’ve done matching halloween costumes, absolutely. hikaru probably had to invite her to a party because she didn’t have many friends and wouldn’t have been invited otherwise, but she would definitely come if it was an invitation from him. they probably did something cute and tame ( and potentially got kaoru in on it ) like the three blind mice from shrek, or together decided they could be salt and pepper shakers or maybe a pair of vampires ! regardless, they were very cute.

📝: when he gets sick with a fever, shimizu goes out of her way to cook him some soup, pack it up in a little bag, traverse over to his house, and sit just outside his bedroom door to talk to him through the wall so he doesn’t feel alone. normally, she doesn’t like to come over to his super fancy rich person house, but if it’s for him, it doesn’t matter.

📝: she draws things for him all the time, and so long as he doesn’t tell her honestly how bad her art is, she’ll continue to do it. hundreds of tiny pieces of papers with little birds who have eyes too big, or tanuki with rat tails, or totally unclear blobs meant to resemble people they both know ...

📝: their purikura photo booth photos are so otherworldly and obnoxious. they put EVERY sticker on, and use the sparkle pen to write out “ best friends ! ” in any space they can. when they print them out, it’s one of the only times hikaru will be able to see shimizu actually laugh out loud. she didn’t realize it in the booth, but when the photos are in her hand she thinks they’re so stupid that it’s hilarious. she loves them !

📝: face mask saturdays. that’s all i’ll say on that.

📝: obligatory childhood moment where hikaru catches a frog and shows it to shimizu, who then says, “ it kinda looks like you. ” his eyes start to get big and sad, like ... really ? i look like that ? so she gives the frog a little kiss to make him feel better.

📝: another obligatory childhood moment when shimizu first gets her glasses, and hikaru puts them on and tells her, “ wow. you’re blind. ” she never forgets this. one day, he will know too ... she is waiting for his eyes to go bad ...

📝: i think we’ve already previously established this, but i’m running out of steam on these headcanons so i’ll re-use it. after her track and field matches, hikaru gives her piggy backs and treats her to snacks. if she ever twists her ankle, he’s the first person there offering to help her up and to carry her off the course to get it looked at/wrapped up properly.

📝: she’s not as nosy as him about crushes and love lives, but of course she’s absolutely curious about what kind of person he likes. she decides to spring it on him with no warning at lunch once, asking, “ ne, hikaru-kun. what’s your ideal type ? ” and after he gives her a legitimate answer she never brings it up again. it’s nice to note and file away, though.

📝: they go strawberry picking in the summer and i will NOT budge on this. alternatively, there are these flowers in japan ( idk what they’re called ) like honeysuckle, and you can suck out sweetness from the stems. hikaru and shimizu definitely have had afternoons playing with the flowers. 

📝: one time when she was asleep hikaru drew a smiley face on her chin using her beauty mark as one of the eyes.

📝: when pokemon go first came out, they played it together religiously. shimizu always beat him in 1v1 matches, but overall hikaru has rarer pokemon than she does ...

📝: they’ve definitely stayed up too late texting each other before. shimizu manages it well and doesn’t look super tired during class, which is a good thing, but when it happens a few days in a row she realizes she needs to find the heart to tell him to stop messaging her so late so she can sleep.

📝: he used to pick her wildflowers until she told him it was bad to just pick them right out of the ground. so to cooperate, hikaru just took her out on long walks to look at pretty flowers and would tell her, “ if i could pick them, i’d get you that one and that one ! ”

📝: she regularly buys him good luck charms from temples. when she knows that he has a test or a big host club event, shimizu will get a charm and give it to him before !

📝: when they hug it’s either like half a second long or three minutes long. there is no in between. he pets the back of her hair or rubs her shoulder, and she fists his shirt in her little hands. THEY’RE ADORABLE.

headcanons about our muses ! ,

[lesbianlovelanguage]

Lost Boys of Starwood Ch 1

Fandom: Stranger Things Paring: Harringrove Chapter 1/10 Rating: T Co-written by myself and the amazing @catharrington​

Summary: West Hollywood California was a lighthouse on the beach for Steve Harrington moving down from nowhere Indiana. But for billy Hargrove it was a cage with golden bars kept locked by his father good and tight. They both found safety inside the darkness and splendor of Starwood, but will they be able to see the only way they can be truly found is through each other?

Read it on ao3 here or in the read below

“Get your fucking hands off of me!” Billy grunted, trying to squirm his way out from between two massive bouncers.

They ignored his shouts and threats, and continued to lead him outside. Once at the door, they threw him on to the street and slammed the door behind him.

“And fuck you too!” He gave one final middle finger at the closed door, and huffed before pulling out his almost empty pack of Lucky Strikes and lighting up a cigarette. This night was turning out to be a bust. The few drinks he was able to pilfer from the bozos around the dance floor weren’t doing much more than giving him a light buzz. When Billy tried like hell to convince an older guy to buy him a shot of Jack, the old geezer got security involved. Billy had just slid his hand up the meat of this guy's inner thigh a little, nothing big. No one is ever down for a good time any more.

Thankfully, the lights of Hollywood Blvd never turned off. He walked slowly, hands stuffed down inside the pockets of his tight denim, sweat from the club slowly drying on his naked chest. Billy left the top buttons open, even out on the street, wouldn’t want anyone to miss the show.

In his short year of exploration of the strip, Billy was proud to say he had been in each club at least once. Usually he was able to get a beer in his belly and a hand on his ass before he got caught and kicked out for being 17. He didn’t look it though, hand to god. He could pass for older, no problem, the earring and cocky smirk only aiding in the ruse. It’s just he didn’t have a fake ID, and, whilst Billy hid his age, he never hid his loose sexual orientation. Some clubs were okay with it and some were not, to say the least. The ones that didn’t care played the music that Billy craved. The angry lyrics, the loud guitar, the volume breaking the metal from the speakers as quick as they can, that’s the music Billy needed in his veins.

Taking slow drags from his cigarette, head down and debating about going home for the night, Billy started hearing some halfway decent music. He turned up his head to the sound of hard drums and a fast guitar start up, followed by an angry voice practically screaming I don’t wanna live to be thirty-four. Billy was definitely intrigued, and so he followed the music to another club. The neon sign naming the bar as “Starwood” and proclaiming the night’s guest to be a band called The Circle Jerks . Between the music and the name, Billy couldn’t find one reason to resist as he steered towards the doors. The chaos of the loud music at a shitty bar seemed exactly the kind of excitement buzz Billy was craving so deeply.

Just as he was poised to go in, Billy faltered in his step as a towering brick wall of a man covered the doorway. His one hand pushed the heavy door open, while the other was almost closed in a fist around a bloodied up man's throat. They walked out farther into the sidewalk, with the bouncer dragging the other man like a doll.

Billy knew an opportunity when he saw one, and even though there was a heavy thrill in seeing this fight and getting a look at the full sleeves of ink up and down the bouncer’s arms, Billy saw an opportunity. Billy used the distraction to dive for the quickly closing door.

Inside Starwood wasn’t much. The hallway was blacked out and the floor was scuffed from use to be just as dark. Multiple layers of faded posters glued to the walls on either side were a buffer to the noise, but not a good one.

Billy let his hands slide alongside the short hallway as his ears lead him around a corner into a thick mass of bodies.

As soon as he entered the main area of the bar, he was overwhelmed in the best way. The music was loud and fast, the bodies were sweaty and constantly in motion, and the booze was pouring freely and creating sticky puddles that merely added to the atmosphere. For the first time in a long while, Billy felt at home. It was easy to slide between the dancing bodies towards the bar in the back. He hung back, read the crowd, and easily snuck over to a particularly crowded spot at the bar.

He tucked himself just behind a thin woman who was already slurring her speech and snatched the neck of a beer bottle right under her nose. She was too busy leaning forward into the space of another girl talking with her hands to notice the thief, and once Billy took enough steps away she would have no reason to suspect a thing. Sometimes people let their guard down too easily at a bar, and while Billy knew about that, thankfully he just wanted to get drunk tonight. He cleaned off the lip of the bottle with the hem of his shirt before gulping it down for dear life.

There was a uniquely shaped stage on the other side of the large room, taking up almost the whole wall but was narrow. The band performing that night had the singer squashed between a massive drum set and a guitarist who held a wide power stance in tight leather pants that fit him like a second skin. The singer didn’t seem to have a care in the world as he bumped and even grinded against his guitarist's ass during a long and heavy solo.

This bar kept getting better and better to Billy. He wondered for a moment if he would have luck with what he attempted in his previous escapade. He had leaned up against a support beam covered in stickers and something sticky, but he didn’t care about that, nothing he hadn’t felt before in other places like this. Sea blue eyes scanned around the dark room hunting like a shark.

Then he saw someone, a lanky boy, fresh as a daisy but rushed and sweating behind the bar. He had long brown hair that just seemed to float above his head like a damn halo, and brown eyes that were just as big. From where Billy was standing all the lights of the stage reflected off those eyes, rainbows of colors, and when the boy slid a glass down the bar top and smiled, it was just as fantastic. Something that pretty shouldn’t be in a place like this, where the floor was basically one big puddle and the paint was peeling. He belonged on the cover of those magazines Susan read. Billy wanted to get his lips on that smile.

Billy chugged the last of the beer and marched over to the bar, waiting for a minute until it seemed that the bartender, with eyes like that damned cartoon deer Bambi, had a second to stop and wipe his hands down with a rag, then Billy took his shot. He caught the boy’s attention with a small gesture, and he had to yell over the noise, but he didn’t really care who heard.

“Hey, fuck me if I’m wrong, but is your name Bambi?”

He heard a couple hoots and cheers from the small gathering around the bar, but all he got from the boy was an eye roll, and he strutted to the other side of the bar to continue working. Bambi it was going to be then, his goal for the night, and oh was it going to be a fun chase.

He didn’t get to keep good on his goal however, because after staring at Bambi, or rather Bambi’s ass, for a minute and debating his next move, Billy felt a tap on his shoulder. He turned around, and came face to face with a person who was so clearly a skinhead, and not the nice kind judging by the nazi ring and the white laces in his boots, it made Billy want to roll his eyes.

He’d dealt with assholes like this at other bars, but he really didn’t want to go home with more bruises. It couldn’t be helped though, when the bald bastard leaned in close and spit “You a fucking fairy?” in Billy’s face.

Billy’s jaw flexed. This man was bigger than him,  but Billy wasn’t a push over. Hours under the sun surfing through unforgiving waves, weight lifting, and getting into more fights than he would care to remember has left him with an impressive physique of his own. Billy knew he was cut. And he knew how to win a fight. It wasn’t always about bigger or stronger but sometimes about the tricks.

“Who’s asking, big guy? Looking for a good time?” Billy flicked his eyes back across the bar just for a second to make sure that Bambi’s eyes were fixed on him. Their brown color sparkling with something intense as they connected. “Sorry but I’m taken right now-“

“Can’t fucking go anywhere these days without some faggot trying to suck dick in public. You’re disgusting!”

Billy couldn’t keep his smile under control, practically baring his teeth at this point. “You wanna watch me suck his dick, fella? Promise I’ll make it a show.” Then Billy’s tongue darted out to swipe along his bottom lip rapidity, wagging so suggestively, and it was turning the bald head on this bastard bright red. He hollered loud over all the music and noise of the bar, then lifted two hands gripped like fists in a club, fully ready to swing at Billy’s head of curls.

But then, the skinhead's shout was cut short. His anger boiled over so he was attacking all offense, leaving no room for defense. Billy easily leaned to the side and lifted his arm to push hard at the back of his sweaty, ugly head, successfully sending the thick skull of the man into the bar with a sickening crunch. That must be his nose, Billy had heard that noise many times before.

The skinhead crumbled to the ground, whimpering pathetically as he tried to stop the blood flowing from his face. Another man at the bar was lumbering over to haul the man up, maybe another security guy, maybe the same one from the door, Billy wasn’t watching. He only had eyes for Bambi, turning in place to stare at the bartender.

The sweet brunette bartender had obviously heard and seen what Billy did, and it worked like a charm. He leaned one hand on the bar and another against his hip, fingers coiled tight around the part where his shirt was tucked into tight denim jeans. “Nice show,” he had his head leaned down to look at Billy but his chin cocked up, like he was sizing him up. “Got a name?”

“Billy! The name’s Billy, pretty boy. But you can call me any time.” He had to yell over the music that hadn’t stopped.

“Order a drink, Billy. Whatever you want, it’s on the house.”

“You on the menu?” Bambi clearly hadn’t expected Billy to try and flirt so blatantly again, blinking a couple of times as if to process what he had meant.

“Sorry Billy, not tonight. How ‘bout a beer?” His voice was loud from having to holler over the sounds of the bar, but somehow soft and spoken just into Billy’s ear. It felt almost like a caress.

Billy grinned, at least this time wasn’t an out-right rejection. It could only be a matter of time before he wormed his way into Bambi’s heart, or at least his sinnfully tight jeans.

“Or, what about a Dirty Shirley?” Billy said, licking his bottom lip.

“How about a good ol’ Moscow Mule?” Steve hollered back, a light chuckle in his voice.

“I think I’d much rather a Quick Fuck.” Steve’s eyes glinted mischievously under the harsh lights of the bar.

“I know just the drink for you.” He then proceeded to mix together three different types of alcohol from the bottles lining the back wall. He poured it all into a little shot glass and placed it in front of Billy with a flourish.

“Well, pretty boy, what’s it called?” Billy asked, trying not to seem too eager, but fuck if this wasn’t the most fun he’d had in while.

Steve finally leaned over the bar towards Billy, and whispered in his ear. Soft rose petal lips tickled the blonde hairs curled under the lobe of his ear.

“It’s called Blue Balls,”  Steve pulled away, looking like the cat who got the cream, not realizing that his snark had only cemented Billy’s determination to win him over.

With one quick move, Billy downed the shot easily and stood up.

“You got me, Bambi, I guess I can handle a little blue balls tonight, but next time I’m really hoping for that Quick Fuck,” and with that promise of a return, Billy strode deeper into the club, thinking

You may have won this battle, Bambi, but I’m gonna win the war.

--

So this started as me being thirsty for headcanons, and then catharrington was a genius and brought up the amazing idea of punk!Billy in California, and well... Lost Boys of Starwood was born! I'm so excited to start sharing this story with y'all, so please let me know what you think :)

Also, if you're into punk music, totally check out the music in this fic! It's all LA based bands from the 1980s. Or message me for a playlist I made lol. Also let me know if you’d want me to make a taglist for this series!

[unmaskedagain]

His Name was...

Okay, I got a ask a about a minuete ago from someone who wanted to know what else do i write. I love writing. I’ve been writing since I was twelve. Because of this ask, I decided to post my most recent short story. I haven’t really edited it yet. Its very short. This will be the first piece of originally I post on here

           Her name was Princess Sparkle Ranger Moon. Only I get to call her Princess Sparkle though. She loved glitter, and cheese pizza, and ice cream, and she liked pink, and yellow, but not icky red, but her favorite color was blue.  She colors all her drawings in blue, even the ones on the wall. She had a magic wand, and was superhero queen of the world.

           We met just after she turned three, and instantly came the best, best friends ever. We went everywhere together; to the movies, to the park, outer space. We even get to be mermaids whenever we want. She tells me everything, and I tell her everything. It’s the best.

“Happy Birthday to you,” The small crowd sang around the little curly haired girl with a crown on her head and the biggest smile on her face. “Make a wish, princess.”

           She’s turned four today. And she saved me a spot right next to her. She wouldn’t even let anyone sit there. I was her best friend, and she swore she couldn’t turn four without me. We were gonna be best friends forever.

           Princess Sparkle turned six today. She has lots of new friends because she’s a big girl now, and is in the first grade. We play together at recess. The other kids call her ‘Rina. But not me. She’s still Princess Sparkle to me. Princess Sparkle likes unicorn stickers now, and chocolate chips cookies. Her favorite color is still blue though. She called dibs. Because blue is the prettiest color in the world. My eyes are blue, and she says that’s why she likes me the best.

The birthday party was really fun. I played with a lot of the other kids. One of them, Lena, even brought a friend like me; her name was Daisy. And Princess Sparkle told them I’m her best friend forever and ever. She let me help her blow out her birthday candles too.

I liked Daisy. We played together when the other kids were busy playing pretend. Daisy said Lena was her fourth kid. She said she’d have another soon. Lena was growing up, and that she didn’t need Daisy that much anymore. Daisy said it happened with every kid, and even that Princess Sparkle would grow up too.

She turned seven today, and had the best party ever. There were games and superheroes. And Princess Sparkle was Supergirl. Because Supergirl gets to dress in blue and blue was the best color ever. I got to be her sidekick. There was a piñata that looked like a bat. We didn’t play together a lot though. It was fine though. Princess Sparkle was having so much fun. And we planned a deep sea diving trip soon. Princess Sparkle said she was going to invite her new friend Melony. I can’t wait. And then after that, she promised we’d go dancing on Jupiter.

We’re going to have the best time ever. No matter what Daisy said. Princess Sparkle wouldn’t just stop being my friend. Or stop playing with me. Princess Sparkle was my best friend forever.

It was her eighth birthday, and everyone called her Sabrina now. She wore glasses, and didn’t always like them. But they were blue, and she liked blue. We haven’t talked in a while. Princess Sparkle was always really busy these days. She was in girl scouts, and in ballet. She was always dancing. She loved dancing. It was why the party was a Dance Party. All her friends were there. But none of them said hi to me. It made me feel bad. I didn’t mind too much because Princess Sparkle was really happy all day. I was in the back but I got to see her blow out her candles. Melony sat next to her. She’s Princess Sparkle’s other best friend. I like to think I’m still her best, best friend though. She still smiled at me sometimes when she’s alone in her room. She draws pictures of me and her going on adventures. She likes to draw now, not just color.

I hope we play together again soon. I miss her. I miss Daisy too. We don’t see each other that often anymore. She has a new kid. He just turned five. He was really nice.

Her tenth birthday was a blast. It was a pool party. And everyone came. Even kids I never met before. Princess Sparkle was a really good swimmer. Everyone said so. Especially after she showed how brave she was and jumped off the highest board. I knew she was brave though. We used to fight pirates and evil space mummies. One time, we even dove into a volcano to rescue a giant diamond.

We don’t play together anymore though. She hadn’t even said hi in forever. It was like she couldn’t even see me. Daisy said something like this would happen. But I didn’t want to believe it. Princess Sparkle and me were the best, best friends, forever and ever. Even if we don’t play anymore. Or go on adventures. Even if she never said hi to me again. She was my best friend. Though I’m not her’s anymore. Melony and Sam was her best friends. They did everything together. They had the most fun ever. They even wore matching swim suit.

Princess Sparkle wore a blue one because blue is still the best color ever. I’m happy she still liked blue.

She was eleven now. She didn’t want a little kid party, she said. She wanted to go play mini golf with her friends. Maybe laser tag. Or go to the movies. I think it was because Melony moved a little while go. Princess Sparkle cried a lot. I heard her telling Melony on the phone that she didn’t want to have a party without her best friend.

I told her that she had lots of friends still. They all really liked her. Princess Sparkle could still have a party. She should still have a party. But she couldn’t hear me. She hasn’t been able to hear me for a long time. It was fine though. Her mom told her the same thing. Melony told her the same thing. She didn’t listen to them either. She just cried harder when she had to get off the phone

I wish I could comfort her like I used to, like whenever she fell down or got an owie.  I’d cry with her and hug her and then she’d feel better. I can’t hug her anymore though. I hadn’t been able to for a long time. She hadn’t been able to see me for a long time. I still cross her mind a lot whenever she looks at her old drawings. It’s why I’m still here. Daisy said I should’ve faded and moved on a long time ago. But I don’t want to.

Princess Sparkle decided to go play Laser tag after all. She was on the blue team. The blue still made her smile.

I hadn’t seen Princess Sparkle smile so big since the time we rescued Peter Pan from zombie Captain Hook, and he declared her leader of the Lost Boys. But I guess turning thirteen was a pretty big deal too. She did a slumber party for her birthday and all the cool girls got invited. Most of them were cheerleaders like her. Or on the dance team like her. Or on the swim team like her. Or were from the art club because they liked to draw and paint like her. She was still really busy. So busy she only thought of me once every now and then. And the time between the two was very long.

So long that sometimes, I don’t even see myself when she does. It was like I was there but not really. Was this fading? Or maybe fading was when one second I was there and then I’m gone, and when I come back months had gone by.

I’ll have to ask Daisy, she has a new kid. Princess Sparkle’s little neighbor Callie. Callie was really nice and loved to play.

Princess Sparkle wore red pajamas. I wonder why she didn’t wear her blue ones. She still liked blue, right? She had dips.

She thought about me today. I can’t believe it. She thought about me today. Her mom had brought me up, I guess, which made Princess Sparkle laugh.

She was wearing a red dress, and was saying something about junior prom. I wonder what day it is. Princess Sparkle looked a lot older. Taller. Her hair was longer. Did I miss her birthday? I hope I didn’t.

Princess Sparkle laugh again, “God, I can’t believe I used to tell everyone I was best friends with a dragon.”

           Why not? Why couldn’t she believe it? I was right here. If she just tried, she could see me. She could see me and we’d be best friends again. We’d go on adventures. I’d take her back to mermaid land. All the mermaids miss her. They ask about her a lot.

“A dragon with blue eyes,” Her mom corrected, “And who was never, ever bigger than you. Oh god, what was its name?” Her mom told Captain Sparkles to pose so she could take pictures. “You were a kid. Little kids do that.”

           They took more pictures. And I wished more than anything for her just to look at me. But I can already feel myself going again.

“You look amazing, sweetie.”

           Princess Sparkled squealed, “I know! When I saw this dress, I knew I had to have it. The cut is amazing. Plus I love red. It’s my favorite.”

           Red? What about blue? When did her favorite color become red? I still remember when it was blue.

           She was leaving today. She had packed up her boxes in the car and was going to away to school. It was a good school, but it was far away, which was why she had to leave. Princess Sparkle wanted to fix people’s hearts. I think she’ll be really good at it. She could always make anyone feel better. Princess Sparkle would be the greatest doctor ever. Though, I think she only wanted to be to a Doctor because then she could become really good at fixing kid’s owies. So they would never be sad like she was when she learned her ankle didn’t heal as well as it should. She’d never be a professional dancer.

           I’m happy she decided that being a doctor is good toon. Even if she has to pack up all her things and probably leave forever. But at least I got to see her one last time. She came across an old drawing of a polka dotted dragon with blue and eyes, and tried to remember why she drew. Or when she drew it. It was the first drawing she ever did of me. She had been excited about her new crayons. I told her it was the best picture ever.

           She didn’t remember. She threw away the picture.

           It was fine. She hadn’t been able to see me for a very long, long time. Or talk to me. Or hear me. And now she couldn’t remember me. She only knew the stories her parents told her about when she was small and had a pretend friend. Princess Sparkle was too old. Her hair was short and straight and a bright purple. Her favorite color was purple now.

           I think this is it. I think this is the last time. When she thought of me now, I didn’t come back like I used to. I was more like a ghost from the scary stories Princess Sparkle used to hear whenever her Girl Scout troop went camping.

           I’m less than a ghost though. I’m less than a memory. And if she’s not here, there was no longer a reason for me to stay, to hang around her room on the edges where her childhood was still visible to see.

           I know I can’t go with her. I’ve known that for a while. I think I’m going to move on too. Find a new… friend.

Still, she would always be Princess Sparkles to me. Princess Sparkles who liked glitter, and ice cream, and blue. She really liked blue.

“What in the world,” Sabrina uttered as came across yet another of crazy, rainbow mess, of a drawing. It was clearly a dragon, she realized. With gold horns and the bluest, blue eyes she could ever imagine. There was a scribbled name next to it, and she could just barely make out what it read. “Sir… Bonkers?”

           I smiled, bright and big, and puffed my chest out. “Princess Sparkle Ranger Moon.” I saluted her like I did whenever she was about to lead us on another adventure. Only this time, we would be going on two separate ones. It was be fun. We’d both have the best time ever.

“We never did go dancing on Jupiter,” I thought as I faded away for what I knew would be the last time. “I hope you gets there one day.” She would, I knew.

           Princess Sparkles could do anything.

           I knew that because she was my best friend. Even if I was just her imaginary one.

           I hoped she’d be happy. I hoped she lived happily ever after. I hope she always remembered that she was brave and liked to dance and color. I hoped she’d remember her favorite color used to be blue…

           …His name was Eric, and he turned four a few days ago. He was the greatest ever, like of all time.

[today-only-happens-once]

the only exception

Title: the only exception

Word Count: 4,549

Summary: College!AU, Musician!AU. Patton shows up to a music festival that Virgil—along with his twin brother, Roman—is headlining, hoping to surprise him. Turns out, it’s Virgil that surprises him first. Romantic Moxiety, brief background Logince. Song-fic.

Warnings: lots of fluff and softness and sappiness, mutual pining elements, declarations of love, description of crowds, cursing, discussion of anxiety, mention of anxiety attacks, kissing, Virgil “writes” a song that’s actually written irl by Paramore but ssshhh Paramore doesn’t exist in this AU, please let me know if I forgot anything.

A/N: Someone on tumblr once made a textpost that said “The Only Exception” was a Moxiety song, and weeks later I listened to it and realized they were right. And then I had this image in my head that wouldn’t go away for like. Months. And then eventually I decided to write this. It’s basically a song-fic. Crazy self-indulgent, heh. Also, I’ve never written Romantic Moxiety before, nor have I written a Patton-POV focused fic. So writing this was a whole boatload of new. I hope it turned out okay! Edited by yours truly, so all mistakes are mine.

You can listen to the song Virgil sings at the end here! 

Tags: @creativenostalgiastuff, @helloisthisusernametaken, @ren-allen, @quoth-the-sparrow, @princelogical, @random-pianist, @ravenclawicecream, @erlenmeyertrash, @milomeepit, @at-least-seven-pretty-potatoes, @rileyfirstname, @pinkeasteregg, @sassy-in-glasses, @vigilantvirgil, @generalfandomfabulousness, @lacrimosathedark, @thepoolofthedead, @monikastec, @heir-of-the-founders, @yourworstnightmare999, @artistictaurean, @kanejandkruge, @cdragontogacotar, @damienswifeolicitydallysgirl, @angst-patton, @savingshae, @noneed4thistbh, @awesomelissawho, @unikornavenger, @bopthesnoz, @spiralofsilencetheory, @finger-gunsss, @crownswriter123, @swlotakulady34, @gaylotusthatexists, @analogical-mess, @dolphidragon, @flix-net, @narniasfinestavengingsociopath, @friedlieb-ferdinand-runge, @bibbidy-bobbity-booyah, @procrastinations-my-middle-name, and also @randomslasher because moxiety! ^u^

…

Present. March. Junior Year.

Patton shoulders his way through the crowd as rock music blares loudly over the speakers. The late March air is cool, and the breeze tugs at the COLLEGE-PALOOZA MUSIC FEST banner hanging from the amphitheater’s stage. A few people he recognizes from his classes wave to him as they nod their head to the music. Patton slows as he finds a small gap in the crowd, not particularly keen on getting into the tightly packed mosh pit that had formed right in front of the stage.

The sun is beginning to set, casting the sky in a light purple hue. Perhaps ironically, it reminds Patton of the guy he’s actually here to see perform. Patton glances at the stage, but there’s no sign of him. He checks his phone for the time. The group was supposed to be on now, but perhaps he’d missed them already.

He looks at the guy beside him—leather jacket and sunglasses, holding a Starbucks cup—and asks over the music, “Which group is this?”

The guy takes a long swallow and then jerks his head towards the stage. “Planets Align. They had trouble getting the sound system working, so they’re running behind.”

Patton nods his understanding, smiles, and thanks him. Planets Align was scheduled to go on right before them, if the pamphlet he’d found on Virgil’s desk was anything to go by. He’d felt terrible at the time when he realized that the band Virgil had formed with his twin brother, Roman, would be headlining a music festival the same day Patton had already promised to help with a group project.

But the other members of his group canceled the meeting earlier today and rescheduled it for next week. So Patton really didn’t see any reason why he couldn’t come support Virgil. And if he maybe didn’t tell Virge in the hopes of being able to surprise him… well.

Besides, he had a feeling Virgil could use a nice surprise. He’d seemed really nervous about the festival when Patton was talking to him about it when he found the pamphlet. Virgil often seemed nervous, but… more nervous than even Virgil’s normal.

Patton smiles a bit to himself when he remembers when they first met.

…

September. Sophomore year.

“For the purposes of this research presentation, I will allow you to choose partners. We will need one group of three, but that certainly seems manageable.”

Patton glances around the stuffy lecture hall. It was only the third time the class had met, so Patton hadn’t had the opportunity to talk to many of his classmates yet. On top of that, it was a pretty big class. Patton had a feeling that he wouldn’t know everybody even by the end of the year. The professor waves her hand to indicate that they should select a partner and begin discussing the project.

Chatter rose up—most people leaning over towards people they were sitting next to, a few calling to friends across the room—and there was shuffling movement and the scraping of chairs as students milled about to find a research partner. Then Patton caught sight of a black and purple hoodie in the back row.

What was his name? Patton couldn’t remember, despite the ice breaker during their first class. He does remember the snort the guy had released when Patton had made a pun about his name when introducing himself. He also remembers the way he’d immediately ducked his head a second later when Patton grinned at him.

Patton gathers his things and squeezes through his classmates. “Hey,” he says. The guy in the hoodie looks up, seeming startled. “Wanna be partners?”

The guy blinks at him, then shifts in his seat and motions to the empty chair on the other side of his desk. “Uh, yeah. Sure.”

“I’m Patton, by the way.”

“Virgil. What, uh, what are you studying?”

Patton pulls his laptop out of his bag. “Oh! I’m an early education major. What about you?” As he asks, Patton casts a quick glance at the laptop in front of Virgil and notices the stickers on it: SANDERS in messy black scrawl, a thundercloud with a bolt of lightning, a small circle with a paint-smear style gay pride flag, and a few music notes.

“Graphic design with a minor in music,” he replies. Patton notices him glancing at the buttons on Patton’s backpack that he threw in the empty chair beside him—some about cats, some about dogs, a heart with glasses that he thought was cute, and a pride pin from last year’s Pride week.

“That’s pretty cool. You play music?”

Virgil lifts a shoulder. “With my brother, mostly.”

“Wow. That’s… really awesome,” Patton says, sincerely impressed. He’d always loved music, but really only dabbled in the ukulele. He’d always thought musicians were cool: having skills like that took a lot of work, and a lot of dedication. That seemed pretty admirable to Patton.

Virgil smirks. “If you say so.”

“I do. I mean it.” For a fleeting moment, Virgil looks taken aback by the insistence in Patton’s voice. “What do you play?”

…

Present.

“Roman is totally the hot one,” Patton hears a girl behind him say to her friends.

“Elliot thinks he has a crush on Logan Berry, you know.”

“He’s gay?” The girl sounds surprised, but not hostile.

“Ace, I think. Panromantic, if the stickers on his laptop are anything to go by.” Patton recognizes that voice as one of the girls in the LGBTQ+ club that Patton was secretary for.

“You have class with him?”

“We had English 100 together freshman year. Elliot’s in class with him and Logan, though, and says they want to gag literally any time the two so much as talk to each other.”

Patton grins to himself. Subtlety when he had a crush had never really been Roman’s strong suit. That was another place where Virgil was markedly different from his twin brother. Both Roman and Virgil had ways of keeping their distance from others, but where Roman put up a front of fearlessness and confidence and friendliness… Virgil seemed more likely to withdraw into himself.

Patton had learned that, and many other things about Virgil, slowly as meetings for the research project gradually developed into hanging out regularly and casually. Patton picked up on things about Virgil relatively quickly. He gets quiet and irritable when he’s actually anxious about something. He tends to catastrophize, especially when it comes to academics. He hasn’t yet learned how to accept compliments—something Patton didn’t let deter him from giving them. He hopes that the more he’s able to expose Virgil to them, the easier it will eventually get for him to accept them.

Patton learned that Virgil is fiercely protective, too. The fastest way for Virgil to overcome his anxiety about a situation is usually when it’s related to someone he cares about. He still remembers the fire that had alighted in his eyes when someone had started harassing Roman when he, Patton, Roman, and Logan had been heading back from a party on a Friday night a couple of months ago. Logan had been the one to diffuse that particular situation, but Patton hadn’t missed the way Virgil hovered closer to his brother and looked ready to fight when he’d seen the shaken look in Roman’s eyes.

But then there were the softer moments from Virgil, too. The fleeting moments when Patton saw something gentle and relaxed from him that a secret part of Patton liked to believe were just for him. They were a sign of trust from Virgil, and Patton had always cherished that trust precisely because it was so rare.

   …

April. Sophomore year.

“What time is it?” Virgil asks with a yawn. He’s sitting on the floor of his dorm, his guitar in his hands. His back is leaned up against the drawers of his desk. Patton sits on the floor across from him with his back against the cinderblock wall and his legs stretched out in front of him.

Patton digs his phone out of his pocket and checks. “Almost 1 in the morning.”

Virgil nods and strums a few chords softly. “You’re welcome to stick around, Patton, but… y’know. It’s chill if you’d rather go home.”

Patton shakes his head “I like it here,” he says. For reasons he is still figuring out, there’s nowhere else he’d rather be.

Patton watches him; he watches the way Virgil’s bangs fall in a soft sweep across his face, the dark eyeshadow smudged under his eyes, the slight parting of his lips as he mouths unheard lyrics. He always loves watching Virgil play guitar. There’s something about watching him hold the light brown acoustic instrument—like it steadies him, like it’s a shield that protects him—that Patton can’t help but love. Virgil seems to… breathe easier when he has a guitar in his hands.

“Virgil? Can I ask you something?” Patton says suddenly.

Virgil glances quickly at him, then back down at the guitar in his hands. Avoiding his eyes. “Yeah. Sure.” His voice sounds oddly tight to Patton.

“Why do you play music?”

The question seems to catch him off guard. Virgil stops short for a moment, glancing back up at Patton. His hands still against the instrument, his eyes flit away in thought.

Then—to Patton’s surprise—he sets the guitar aside.

“It… gives me a space where I can… connect, I guess?” He rubs the back of his head, glancing at Patton as if unsure whether or not his own words made sense.

“Connect?”

“Well,” Virgil pulls his knees up to his chest and rests his chin on top of them, “Yeah. I’ve never been good at… at the whole…” He waves a hand and sighs. “At the whole ‘words’ thing that’s required for making friends or helping someone or… whatever. I’m always afraid I’m gonna say the wrong thing, or make them feel awkward, or… shit, I don’t know. But music is different. It…” He huffs a frustrated sigh as the words escape him. Then he tosses Patton a wry smile. “See what I mean? Words aren’t really my thing. Music is different, though.”

Patton nods. He glances around at the MCR and Dear Evan Hansen poster on walls of Virgil’s side of the room. “I think I get it. Music lets you speak from where you are emotionally at a given moment, and people can come to you—or your music—to find that connection and community. It… lets you express yourself, and by doing that, lets you connect to other people.”

When Patton looks back at Virgil, he’s looking at him with something like disbelief. But there’s a softness and light in his eyes that makes Patton’s stomach flutter. “Yeah,” Virgil says eventually. “Exactly.” Patton meets his gaze with a small smile, even as he feels suddenly like Virgil can see all the parts of himself that he wants to hide.

The corner of Virgil’s mouth quirks slightly and he digs a small purple leather notepad out of his back pocket. He grabs a pen from the top of his desk and scribbles something down.

“Whatcha writing?” Patton asks curiously.

Virgil folds it and slips it back into his pocket. “Nothing, Pat.” He still has that soft kind of smile and look in his eyes even as he grabs his guitar and pulls it back into his lap.

…

Present.

“Ladies and gentlemen, give it up for Planets Align!” The emcee shouts into the mic as he runs on stage and the band waves as they exit to the cheers of the crowd. Patton applauds them and briefly considers moving closer to the stage before deciding against it. He’d never done well with tight crowds.

The sun has dipped below the horizon now, the sky darkening quickly. The lights from the stage bleed out onto the grass clearing, providing some lighting of the crowd itself as well. The air is a bit colder now, but Patton doesn’t mind. Besides, all the people around him moving and dancing have helped keep it from getting too cold anyway.

“Next up, the ones you’ve all been waiting for. Let’s hear it for… SANDERS!”

Patton lets out a cheer as the crowd screams. He sees Virgil’s twin brother—though you’d never know it from how differently they do make up and their hair—run on stage with his arms up to encourage the crowd’s response. The cheers get louder, and Roman grins and strikes a hero pose. He’s energized. Patton smiles at his evident excitement.

Virgil follows behind him, an electric guitar strapped to his back. Even from his distance from the stage, Patton can see him shaking his head at his brother’s antics. He gives a small, appreciative wave to the crowd. His eyes scan it, and a part of Patton can’t help but wonder if he’s looking for him someone.

Reasoning, though, reminds him that Virgil said he always tries to get a feel for the size of a crowd when he goes out on stage at a venue for the first time. It had started as a nervous thing—how many people might see me fail?—but as Virgil’s confidence in performing grew, it had mostly just become a habit.

“What is UP, everybody?” Roman says into the mic. He’s wearing a bright red leather jacket with a white shirt underneath, shiny gold skinny jeans, and red high top converse. “We’re so glad you could come out tonight. How about this awesome weather, yeah?”

More cheers. Patton watches as Virgil pulls the guitar from around his back with a smile. He’s in his familiar hoodie, purple shirt, black ripped skinny jeans, and his black sneakers with purple laces. At first glance, he doesn’t seem too nervous—Patton had long ago gotten in the habit of glancing at him to check if he’s okay when he knows Virgil might be getting anxious—but it’s hard to tell from this distance.

“My brother, Virgil, and I thought we’d kick things off with an original song. How’s that sound, guys, gals, and nonbinary pals?”  There’s louder cheering, and the two of them waste no time starting a song that Patton remembers from previous concerts of theirs he’d attended.

…

November. Junior Year.

Patton’s phone dings while he’s eating lunch in the student union and flipping through an education textbook to study for his quiz tomorrow on Vygotsky’s Zone of Proximal Development. Exams are quickly approaching, and Patton had always struggled to remember theorists’ names for some reason.

It’s a text from Roman. Is V with you?

Patton frowns and types back quickly. No. It’s Tuesday. Then he sends a second text. Why?

The student union is bustling with students breezing through to grab lunch before rushing off to the library or their class. Groups are clustered around tables to hash out the details of final projects as their deadlines approach in the next week or two. Exhausted English majors slump over their stale coffee cups and computers as they edit their final paper for the eighth time. Engineering students running on caffeine and spite chug another energy drink before hurrying off to the lab building. A couple others that Patton can see are watching Netflix in a desperate attempt to give themselves a break before plunging back into the grind of end-of-the-semester assignments.

Roman’s reply comes almost immediately. He sent me a single letter text which usually means he’s freaking out but idek where he is

Patton stands up and forgets his half-eaten sandwich, dropping it in the compost bin as he slings his backpack over his shoulder and hurries out of the building. Have you tried calling him?  He texts quickly.

R: Yeah. No response… just lemme know if you see him or if he texts you or something ok

Patton rolls his eyes. As if he’s just going to go about his day and not try to help. Especially if V might be freaking out. We’ll find him, Roman. You check the science center and I’ll check the music floor of Stokes Hall.

R: ok.

R: Thanks

Patton turns his ringer on at full volume and braces against the cold air as he hurries to the building beside the Student Union. The November air is biting. Students bustle with their noses tucked into their scarves and red fingers curled around coffee cups. There was no snow on the ground, but the grass still crunches under Patton’s shoes as he hurries across the quad towards Stokes Hall. His light blue beanie is pulled low over his light brown hair.

He’s wishing he had a scarf to hide his nose in—instead opting to try to tuck it into the sleeves of the sweatshirt tied around his shoulders—when he walks straight into someone.

“Shit! I’m so sorry—”

“Virgil?” Patton asks, immediately recognizing the voice. He looks up, and Virgil seems frozen for a moment. It only takes Patton a second to realize that his eyes are red and sunken slightly. His usual sweep of hair is a disheveled mess under the hood of his sweatshirt that engulfs his frame.

If Patton’s being honest, he looks… rough. Concern twists in Patton’s chest.

“I’m so sorry, Patton. I’m an idiot, I just wasn’t watching where—”

“Hey, it’s all good, Virge,” Patton says, quickly but sincerely. He places his hands on Virgil’s shoulder to anchor him. “Breathe.”

Virgil laughs but it’s humorless and shrugs out from under his grip. Patton frowns. “I’m fine. I know I look like a mess, but really. It’s fine now. I was just. Um. Coming outside for some air.”

Patton considers the deflection and decides to meet Virgil half-way. “I could use some too.”

“You don’t have to do that—”

“Honest, V. The cold air is kind of nice.” Patton slips his phone out of his pocket and sends a quick text to Roman. Got him. He offers a small, reassuring smile to Virgil.“ You wanna take a seat?”

Virgil meets his gaze, then glances away. He seems to think about it for a moment, then relents with a slight sag to his shoulders. “Sure. Fine.”

Patton wanders over to a bench across the pathway and takes a seat. He looks around as students rush quickly towards their classes, smiling brightly as a service dog trots dutifully beside his owner and pushes the button to open the door as the student hurries inside. He intentionally keeps his gaze from lingering on Virgil, even as he hesitates before sitting beside him.

Virgil waits until most of the students have rushed off before breaking the silence between them. “You aren’t going to ask?”

Patton glances over at him. “I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable, and you seemed reluctant to talk about it…. Should I ask?”

“No. Yes?” Virgil groans, zipping up his hoodie against the chilly air. “It wasn’t anything like. That bad. Y’know? I just get… anxiety attacks sometimes, and sometimes they get…” He trails off. Patton senses more than sees the way Virgil glances quickly at him. “Anyway. I’m fine now.”

Patton isn’t sure what to say. He’d known for a long time now that Virgil struggled with anxiety. That Virgil had anxiety attacks doesn’t exactly surprise him, and it definitely isn’t off-putting or anything of the sort. But Patton hates the way Virgil keeps trying to deflect… something. Judgement. Concern. Patton suddenly and fiercely wishes Virgil would just let someone care about him. Let someone love him.

Patton thinks maybe he already does.

“Virgil….” Patton says softly, looking at his hands folded between his knees, “It’s okay. You know that, right? You can talk to me about it. And I’m not gonna judge you or think you’re weird or that there’s anything wrong with you.”

“I… I’m fine.”

Patton lifts a shoulder. “Okay. But… it’s okay if you aren’t, too. And either way… you’re definitely not alone. You know? You know Roman’s there for you, but… but I am too. I care about you.”

In his peripheral, he sees Virgil look at him. “Patton—”

“There you guys are!” Roman exclaims as he jogs up to the two of them. Patton smiles at Virgil—who looks, for all the world, like the ground has shifted underneath him.

Patton wants to ask him why. He never does.

…

Present.

SANDERS has played through five songs, which means they’re nearing the end of their set. Patton is beaming. Virgil and Roman play off each other so well, and their music seems to be a blend of both of them in a way. They balance each other on stage. They’re fun to watch. Patton can’t help but think, though he may be biased, that if they really wanted to… they could make a career out of it.

But then they do something that surprises Patton, and apparently everyone else too from the way the crowd starts to murmur.

Virgil trades out his electric guitar for his light brown acoustic one. Roman grabs a wooden stool from one of the wings and sets it in the middle of the stage. Virgil adjusts the strap of the guitar around his shoulders, nodding his thanks to Roman.

“So I hope you all don’t mind if we close out with something a little different than our usual pace,” Virgil is saying into the wireless mic attached to him. “But I lost a bet against Roman, and that means I gotta do this.”

“If I lost I was gonna have to wear jorts for this concert. You all should be thanking me,” Roman quips back through his own mic. There’s a chuckle from Virgil as well as the crowd.

“Yeah, well. This is a song I wrote over the course of… probably about a year. It’s about someone very… important to me. He couldn’t be here tonight, but… he’s pretty great. Anyway, it’s a little different, so uh.” Even under the stage lights, Patton thinks he can see Virgil flushing slightly. “I hope you all like it.”

Virgil starts strumming and all Patton can do is watch him, transfixed by the sound of an acoustic guitar and the sight of Virgil under a spotlight on stage. It’s a much softer song already than any other song in their entire set. Virgil ducks his head slightly, his black sneaker tapping out the ¾ meter. And then Virgil starts to sing.

“When I was younger I saw my daddy cry, and curse at the wind.

He broke his own heart and I watched as he tried to reassemble it.

And my momma swore that she would never let herself forget.

And that was the day that I promised I’d never sing of love if it does not exist.

But darlin’ you are the only exception. You are the only exception…”

As Virgil sings, Patton can’t help but feel rooted to the spot. Virgil sitting and playing his acoustic guitar reminds Patton suddenly of that moment again back in Virgil’s dorm room. That moment of honesty and openness from him that always felt so rare. Patton feels like he’s experiencing that again, despite the crowd and the spotlights. Because this is not performance-Virgil, this is just…. Virgil. At his most honest. At his mot exposed. And it’s breathtaking.

Patton doesn’t even fully realize that he’s moving closer to the stage until he almost trips over a girl that’s swaying and holding her phone with a flashlight up in the air.

Virgil breaks into the second verse, and Patton feels his stomach fluttering all over again at the sound of his voice.

“Well maybe I know somewhere deep in my soul that love never lasts.

And we’ve got to find other ways to make it alone or keep a straight face.

And I’ve always lived like this. Keeping a comfortable distance.

And up until now I had sworn to myself that I’m content with loneliness,

‘Cuz none of it was ever worth the risk.

Well you are the only exception. You are the only exception…”

And a part of Patton—a part he’s afraid to admit to—suddenly starts to grow insistent with the realization that he might be really, truly, unequivocally in love with the person singing on the stage in this moment. The one with his bangs falling into eyes that had always looked to Patton to be a little bit afraid and a lot brave.

This song, this moment, is no exception to that. Music, for Virgil, had always started from some place deeply personal. It is what allows him to connect to others, after all. And Patton doesn’t know if the song is about him, but he wants it to be. Because that deeply personal space that Virgil is singing from resonates with Patton in a way that leaves only one thought repeating in his head. I love you, I love you, I love you.

Almost as if he hears the thought itself, Virgil looks up and starts scanning the crowd again as he reaches the bridge.

“I’ve got a tight grip on reality  

But I can’t let go of what’s in front of me here.” He’s scanning, scanning, scanning…

“I know you’re leaving in the morning. When you wake up,

Leave me with some kind of proof it’s not a dream. Oh…”

And then his eyes settle squarely on Patton, and Patton swears he hears the very faint catch of Virgil’s breath through the mic.

Patton gives him a small, faint smile. There’s a brief moment where uncertainty flickers through Virgil’s dark eyes, and then something sets firmly in them. As if he’s made some kind of split-second decision. Virgil stands up from the stool and starts making his way towards the stage stairs, continuing to play and sing as he does so.

“You are the only exception. You are the only exception….”

Patton loses sight of him as he steps down to ground level, the crowd blocking his view. But Virgil keeps singing that line over and over, you are the only exception, as if imploring Patton to hear it and understand it and know it is meant for him. As if perhaps Virgil has to repeat it himself to fully believe in its truth, but each time he sings it, Patton can hear the conviction growing. Far ahead of him, Patton can see people shifting around in the mosh pit in front of him.

Patton doesn’t move. He doesn’t think he knows how to.

And then through the crowd of people in front of him steps Virgil, still playing. Still singing. And Patton can’t help but notice his eyes look wide and scared and vulnerable—but unwavering—as he sings the final line.

“But I’m on my way to believing…”

He plays the final chord and stands there, looking up at Patton. He’s so close. The guitar and a few inches is all that separates them. Patton swallows past the lump in his throat and brings a hand up to cup Virgil’s jaw before leaning his forehead against Virgil’s and whispering.

“Can I kiss you?”

His eyes are closed, so he doesn’t see Virgil’s relieved, crooked grin. But he feels it when Virgil presses his lips to his own.

[blackfemmecharacterdependency]

13. A Shot in the Dark Part 1

Part One of the "Prologue" chapter.

This could have all been prevented. Had they just not brought it here. This could have gone smoothly. This could have succeeded, but instead of being on one accord and being on the same page, they had all taken various pages out of Simon Laurent’s book. 

“Do you think she’s dead?” Jalicia asked. “I heard at least 6 shots… you think he put them all into her?”

“Shut up, 227,” Sunny said.

“Oh, I’m 227 right now? We’re still on Date Night? Grace just got shot…” Sunny grabbed Jalicia by the collar and the younger one laughed a little bit. “You still tryin’ to be Grace when Grace isn’t here? Because, that’ll be a long ride, considering that she’s dead now.”

“I said shut up. Xan. Pull over.”

“That’s not protocol,” he said. 

“No, it isn’t. But, we were outside, and it wasn’t his home, so one of two things have happened, either he left her there to die, or someone has called for help. Either way, this is a different circumstance.”

“She wouldn’t want us to risk the operation for her.”

“NOW, you care about that? You didn’t care about that when you tried to make Simon an X, BEHIND her back!”

“That was the ONLY thing I cared about!” He hissed at Sunny. “And did I work alone? Was it ME that made her stop trusting her fucking team?”

Now, she grabbed his collar and he swerved the van. “Pull the motherfucking van over!” She growled. He obeyed. They switched seats and she circled back to where Grace had been shot. As suspected, there were police lights, an ambulance, the firetruck. The usual. She tried to pass by slowly and try to see. She couldn’t see Grace, but she did see a covering over an obviously dead body. Xander and Jalicia must have seen it when she did, because he yelped and Jalicia burst into tears. The workers were waving the van along, so she sped up only slightly, to not draw too much attention. Then, she saw him, standing with the police, talking… Simon.

Her breath hitched and she blinked away tears as she continued driving. Neither Xander nor Jalicia mentioned him, so she presumed that they hadn’t seen him. But she had. Now, it was time to regroup.

.

“Yoga and Meditation for Seasonal Depression with Sunny!” the community center board read when Simon stepped into the building with his mat and bag. She had been there for a while. He knew that, because he had too, only from the outside. She had a head full of faux locs that he hadn’t seen her sporting prior to whenever she made him think that she was Grace a few nights before. She saw him the moment he walked into the gym, but her expression was unreadable. He enjoyed that, to a certain degree. He did like that he didn’t have to feel as tense around her as Jalicia or Xander, but he had a feeling that he couldn’t be as relaxed around her as he was around Alexandria, and her little warning that night made him even more weary about the casual smile that she had on now. She was maybe like him… and he knew that he was nothing to toy around with, and would pay her the same reverence, until he understood her better. 

“Hi. I’ve never seen you in the community center before,” She said. She extended her hand, “Sunny.”

“Yeah, the sign says so,” he said, taking her hand and shaking it. They both held tight and shook firm, staring each other down, either trying to outshake or outsmile the other. And in a moment, they made the simultaneous decision to end both. “Is it okay that I’m not a regular? The post and fliers didn’t mention that it was a closed class.”

“It’s open. But, if it gets full and I see regulars…”

“I know my place,” he said. They both smiled again. 

“Well then, find yourself a spot on the floor. Looks like you’ve come prepared. Have you done this before?”

“No. But, I once tried capoeira at a country club.” She frowned. “I’m going to presume that look is because it’s an art form created by enslaved Africans. Trust me, I’ve gotten that speech already.” 

She rolled her eyes and pointed towards the door. “I’ve got other guests to greet. See you later, Monison?”

“What? Simon.”

“Right. If I forget again, I can always go with Surveillance Soccer Mom.”

“I’d prefer if you didn’t?”

“Your preference is… noted.” She cheerily went to greet the people coming in, who she seemed to know, because she hugged them and talked animatedly with them. It was different than how she’d handled him and reminded him again of Grace, and the way that she had a certain obligatory politeness that seemed to be taught and structured and perfected… Sunny had that too, only she was using what he’d called Grace’s “customer service manners” with  him, and the more natural pleasantries with the other people there. He wondered if she had made that choice on purpose, or if it was just a side effect of her not trusting him? At any rate, he noted that she didn’t immediately reach for her phone to alert Xander, the way that Jalicia had whenever she’d seen him enter her space. In fact, she hadn’t done so, even by the end of the class.

She wished several of them well, gave some info on upcoming things, and other warm and gentle dealings, until it was only she and Simon left in the room. Still, he noted, she didn’t get onto her phone. In fact, she seemed to be waiting for him after she packed up all of her things. He knew that she didn’t have to lock up, so he wondered why. She offered no insight. Just stared at him, with all of her things packed away and her bags on her shoulders. Still, no phone. 

Simon collected his things and went up to her, hoping that he could gain something from whatever their exchange was about to be. “I… you know who I am, right?” he asked. She threw her head back and cackled to the skies, echoing off of the gym walls until they were out in the cold of the air and her lungs felt the repercussions. “I now regret asking that.”

“I know who you are. That lackluster writer that has risen to popularity only because you’re in a package that can be rewarded for mediocrity. Timonthy Something.”

“Did you say Timonthy? TiMONthy?”

“I’d call you “Tim,” for short, but that’s one of my favorite characters from The Magnus Archives, and I don’t wanna blend that world with the one you’re a part of. Maybe I’ll say “Mon.”

He chuckled and put on ear muffs. “You seem really chill about me being here, is all. I thought that maybe you didn’t realize. The others are a little bit different about me.”

“Meh. Maybe if I was there, I’d feel differently. It isn’t like I’m not empathetic. I really am, and if the others feel threatened or anxious, I would never discount that for them, but I also have no firsthand experience with you that has given me any reason to personally hate or fear you and I don’t like to say it out loud too much, as it makes space for my loved ones to get really offended and upset, but the people who were there for whatever it is you supposedly did - I’m hesitant to take what they say at face value, because they can be very close minded. Grace isn’t trippin,’ so maybe they are.”

“Then, why did you threaten me?”

“If you read it as a threat, I can’t change that, but it does help to mold my opinion of you and what you’ve been doing to my good sis…”

He frowned and looked at the ground. “Well… when you put it that way, I guess it wasn’t threatening. I’m not a harm to her. I never have been. I don’t think that I could hurt her if I tried. She grew up on the streets. I was in one fist fight when I was 13, and it was mostly me just getting the shit kicked out of me and trying to shield myself.”

She laughed again, “I’ve been told you have that effect on people. What’d you do to get your ass kicked?” 

“I told people that I had a crush on a boy.” She immediately stopped laughing and felt bad. He shrugged his shoulders, “It got me sympathy points and my first boyfriend, so I can’t be too mad.”

“You can, if you choose to, but if you choose not to, I support that. It’s up to you.”

He looked at her and she seemed genuine. She seemed nice, despite him knowing that she was definitely on a murder team. “Okay, so if you’re not threatened or whatever the others are, why’d you come after me?”

“I didn’t come after you. If I had come after you, you’d be in the Field of Nulls. I gave you a chance to be free from that kind of destiny. It is never pretty. Never painless. Never without every bit of suffering that can be provided, and the death is slow and potentially terrifying. It’s death sentences that only the worst kind of scum gets to endure… You seem like high level scum. Just because you have poor impulse control, bad judgment in romance and a passionate death wish doesn’t mean you deserve what we do to people. And Grace shouldn’t have to worry about you, either.”

“The Field of Nulls,” Simon repeated.

“I think you know what that is.” She wasn’t smiling. In fact, she was staring at him with a threatening expression. “Personally, I’d have called it the Wormfood Wonderland. So far, only the Apex and the nulls know what it is. And you know what we do with the nulls.”

“Is that another name for your Xs?” This man’s curiosity blew her mind. She couldn’t tell whether he really was so curious about learning more secrets or if it was a defense mechanism to avoid fear of danger.

“Yes,” She said.  

He started to ask something else, but she waved a finger and said, “Aht aht aht. Have a good day, Salmonella.” 

“I refuse to answer to that one!” He said and huffed a little bit as she got into her car, which looked like a ladybug… like it was one of those red bugs, and she’d added spots, headlight eyelashes, a sunflower on the head, and various bumper stickers of witchy stuff and pro vagina sentiments… He furrowed his eyebrows at the I Heart My Vagina one and really wondered who the hell this woman was. Maybe he didn’t understand her at all… and if he couldn’t understand her, that would certainly make it harder for him to win her over or overthrow her. Either way… when her car started, some loud female rap music began, she tossed something out, and she took a few moments getting settled before she actually drove away. Simon watched her pull away and then looked down at her litter… It wasn’t litter. That was why she left it. He picked it up. It was a flier from his mom’s bistro and in curly q handwriting a message: “I SAID stop,” with a smiley face sticker.

He glared at the direction the car had gone in. She wouldn’t. They couldn’t. What would she do to his mom? Nothing. He didn’t believe her. His mom was an upstanding citizen in two countries, a local feminist icon, in a way - single mother and business owner who frequently allowed gatherings for rallies and stuff in her place of business, and a good, wholesome person. They didn’t even hurt that killer’s wife. There was no way that they would hurt his mother… But… He couldn’t risk it. He backed down. He wasn’t going to press Sunny. She was too mysterious… He… was afraid of her. Unlike the others, even Xander, whose weaknesses he saw, understood and could exploit in the face of danger.. He just couldn’t figure that out with Sunny.

From everything he took note of, she had… he didn’t know how to word it… nothing of value to her. Of course, she seemed like she loved her family and her friends, and the kids, but… she just read like an empty vessel, mimicking a loving daughter, friend, mentor. Even when she was around the yoga students that she seemed to genuinely like, he just felt like her energy wasn’t decipherable enough to throw caution to the wind. THIS. Was definitely a threat. 

He was frustrated after that. He went to the gun range. He spent a few days on a “detox” of sorts. He stayed away from Grace’s friends. He went to practice shooting, visited his mother, got chewed out by his literary agent, and went back to the bookstore coffee shop to try to focus on his book again. All he had at this point was a title: Beauty, Like the Knight… and the tentative synopsis that he bullshitted to Chloe, “She’s an avenging angel who slays child predators and stuff.”

“HOW is that urban?” She had demanded.

“They’re in a fucking city, Chloe,” he’d said, with a low coldness in his voice that she wasn’t used to and he certainly had never used that type of language with her before. The silence between them tipped him off that she was shocked and potentially upset, so he chuckled awkwardly and said, “I haven’t had coffee today, but I’m in the coffee shop. She’s on a quest to end a trafficking ring in an urban setting and… I don’t know, Chloe… I’ve got a lot of notes. I’ll produce an outline today.”

“Yeah. Yeah, okay… Simon, are you okay?”

“I went through a recent breakup… Should fuel my soul for creativity.”

“Oh. Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t even realize that you were involved with anyone. Well… I look forward to seeing what type of urban magic you create.”

He nodded and hung up. Urban Magic… He tilted his head at the screen. Maybe he  should add magic to the story. He shook his head. They didn’t WANT magic from him. Magic wasn’t selling recently. Maybe if he lollygagged long enough, he’d miss this wave of everybody trying to pretend to care about diversity by lazily including POC here and there or telling a tone deaf story, but dipping the language and/or characters in a little bit of color/culture that the writers didn’t understand or know… He sighed… And why did he even care to stay relevant in writing if he was going to be writing crap that he didn’t even care about?

But… he did care about her. He cared about her life. He cared about her story. He missed her and he missed the rush of having her there. But, he knew that he had to make the choice and currently, that choice was that he loved his mom and Grace refused to be around him. Her friends were keeping them apart, but if even one of them would hurt his mother in the process, he had to let go of this remarkable fantasy where this beautiful deadly knight falls in love with a sensible prince, no matter how much he was willing to give to her in the process. Besides, he’d never done this before - let himself be so taken up with someone that he shirked all reason and rationale to know them and to love them… So, Simon decided to move on.

It “worked” for a little while. For a few weeks, he stopped following them, stopped watching, and even got back into the habit of focusing on work and stuff. He was sending Tulip massive therapy checks and whenever his 26th birthday rolled around, he tried to enjoy himself. He and his mom went to Minnesota to visit Tulip and her mom for both his birthday, Christmas and New Year, since those were all three so close and the Olsens were like their family. He opened his social media back up and was regarded with a lot more online love than he had for the weeks he had been set to private, hoping to weed her out. She was gone. He had to just accept it.

Except… he couldn’t deny himself one indulgent little search. It was his birthday, and he had resisted for weeks! That was very big of him, considering that most of his year had been spent focused on her and her alone and this was ONE day where he should have been able to just try to peek and see if anybody saw what she was doing on today… And… she was back…

He saw an account come up in her name on one of the social media platforms “Grace St. Catherine Artwork” and… he was now scrolling through her photos while everyone was having cake… She had artwork she was posting. The Saint and The Shadow… They seemed to be foils, but no… no, no… He understood it better than most of the people giving the works likes. That static figure in the background of the heroine in these images wasn’t an enemy, lurking around her… it was an extension of who she was in the light… and some of them even had a face… His face. She was really good, even though she “dabbled,” according to her. But, she “dabbled” in a lot of things that she wound up being pretty good at. He wanted to go through and like them all, but he was so afraid she might vanish again… and even though he was supposed to just be checking, a small indulgence for his birthday… he knew the moment that he saw a video of her drawing vigorously while Hazel walked around on the desk and read the caption, “Thinking about my ex on his birthday and making what I would have given him. Not gonna show you all, but that’s what I’m doing. 😝” and he noticed that it had been posted today… he felt like he was falling down a dark chute that led him directly back into his deepest feelings. 

“Oh, he’s on Grace’s page,” he heard his mother say and it snapped him back into the room. He looked up and Tulip was staring at him in concern, Mikayla, in confusion and Aunt Meg gave him a sympathetic look. His mother kissed him on his hair and squeezed his shoulder, “We can do gifts later.”

“No. No… I’m good.” He smiled and Tulip noted that it was a different one than the one that he had earlier. She couldn’t tell which one was more painful to look at, that empty one from when they arrived, or this one laced in emotion that she just… worried about.

Whenever she found him later, she reminded him, “You said that you two were over.”

He nodded, “We are,” he said and Tulip knew that he never lied on purpose, but he sometimes… lied to himself and fully believed it. It was fine before Grace, but all she could do now was be afraid for him and his… delusions of grandeur.

“I thought she gave up social media.”

“I guess she felt comfortable enough to return. It’s just a business page, though. Well.. An art page. But, it looks like she sells her work. That’s cool. Good for… good for her.”

“Simon, please promise me that you won’t get yourself entangled in this woman again…”

He frowned and turned to look at her, “No.”

“Simon.”

“I’m not going to promise you anything about her. I can’t. I don’t like to lie, and… I just don’t know. I don’t know what I’m going to do when it comes to her. I never meant to become obsessed. I’ve never stalked anybody. I never… was the person that my emotions for her turns me into. I can’t make any promises anymore, Tools. Not about her.” She sighed and wanted to cry, but also didn’t want to in front of him. He patted her on the back, absentmindedly and went back inside. 

After the holidays, whenever he got back into town, he’d successfully been ONLY watching Grace’s one art social media page (not officially following it, either) and had been “off” of watching her friends or engaging in their business for almost two months! He was proud of himself. He wondered if that was why when he got home, there was a jumbo envelope outside of his door with no postmark and HAPPY BIRTHDAY in big letters and familiar script. He picked it up and opened it before even unlocking his door, neglecting his luggage bag now to see this artwork, drawn onto cloth, of him curiously reaching out for a rose, meanwhile its thorns were wrapping around him and even cutting into his flesh. His face is enamored and the rose is wilting. He looks like if he can just touch it, he believes that at least one of them, or perhaps both might be saved… Or… maybe he looked like if he could just touch it that one of them or both might perish… So, he didn’t really know what message she wanted him to comprehend from it. He guessed that would depend on perspective, and in either… he still needed to touch her. 

.

Simon messaged the art account, “I don’t understand. Why are you doing this to me? I stopped. I left you alone. I let you go… Why are you torturing me? Is this what it felt like to you? Are you punishing me for wanting you too much? For giving up on you and moving on? Please… just… tell me what you need me to do…”

Sunny sighed and held her forehead, then looked at Xander, “What is it that you need him to do?”

Xander rubbed his hands together, thinking to himself, then said, “Arrange a meeting for him, in the Field, since he fucking knows about it now. Make him come alone and… I’ll handle it from there.” Sunny bit her lip and stared at the screen. “Come on, Sunny. You’re the only one that might be able to fool him. He’s too skilled in Grace for any way that I might type it up to actually sound like her. You capture her perfectly. He obviously believes that this is her page.”

“That’s mostly on the strength of Xandria copping her art style. This just… This is going further than what you initially said we were doing, which was figuring out if he really had moved on or if he was just waiting for an opening to come for her again… It feels like we CREATED an opening that he wasn’t waiting for. If you would have told me about the birthday present, I never would have agreed to this.”

“Sunny…” Xander kneeled in front of her and cupped her face, “I would never ask you to do anything that you don’t believe in and I won’t ask you to do anything else for me, ever. But, I  have to protect her and I have to protect all of us. He’s dangerous.”

“I don’t think that he is, Xan…”

“He IS!” He rolled the chair aside and began to type, hoping that maybe Simon was too shaken up to note any differences. “I think we need to face each other and finally settle things, good or bad… I’m not going to live in fear. I’ve done that already.”

Simon wiped away tears, “There’s nothing to fear. I just… Okay. Let’s meet, then. Remember our last date night?”

Xander blinked and looked at Sunny, “Do you know what that means? Is this code? Did she have CODE with him???”

Sunny shrugged her shoulders and shook her head, “He was her official alibi for a few months, just in case, so maybe it’s something to do with that. She’d definitely remember though, and he’ll definitely know that she wouldn’t have forgotten a detail like that.” She folded her arms and watched Xander type.

“I do. But, that’s not what I want. I want it on MY terms. You’ve controlled enough without my permission. Meet me in the place that you weren’t supposed to be.”

Simon suspiciously looked at the message. That could mean anything and while Grace was very vague at times, he usually knew exactly what she was vaguing about... “Your apartment?” he asked. “The storage unit? Where is this place that you’re talking about?”

Xander frowned, “I think he’s made me. Sunny… You have to help.”

“I literally don’t.”

“If he figures out that this is a set up, he’ll react and it’ll be bad.”

“Then just say “Sorry, I can’t do this. I’ve gotta go,” and leave him the fuck alone.”

“NO! I can’t do THAT.”

Sunny rolled the chair back in front of the computer and typed out, “Huh. I was told that you and my Left Hand discussed this place whenever you last saw each other. She was… compelled to give you some advice on the subject.”

“Oh…” He frowned. If she wanted him to come to the Field of Nulls, maybe he understood this drawing, after all… She didn’t think that she could come home unless he was gone. She intended to kill him. He let tears fall down his face. She betrayed him. He knew that she was upset and that she wanted distance, but he never would have thought she would take it this far. He responded, “I don’t like this Grace. It feels like I’ll be harmed. I’m going to have to set up some insurance. If something happens to me, I’ll have to have someone… release things. Are you okay with agreeing to this?”

Xander hissed, “Shit!” Sunny stared at him. At any moment, he could just admit defeat, confess to Grace and work on fixing her anger about it. “Reply something, please?”

She sighed and typed, “Do whatever makes you feel safe. You should know that I wouldn’t hurt you, but I understand why you’re leery.”

This was… oddly trusting, but suspiciously selfish. Grace would begrudgingly agree to do their last Date Night alibi and take upon the potential danger to her group all on herself. As much as it hurt him to know it, she would NEVER allow even the idea of putting them in danger, not for anything, not even him. And… to just contact him and then do so, out of nowhere, when he hadn’t been bothering any of them or her in months? He looked at the artwork again. He began to look through artwork that he had salvaged of hers and he found one that he remembered, of him. He checked it against this one and wow, this was elaborate as hell of a plan and ALMOST got him, but… that wasn’t Grace’s work. It was beautiful, and he loved the whatever the message was or the warning… but, somebody else had made this. He wondered if they had forged the “Happy Birthday,” or if Grace had actually written it, and if she had, had it been for this? That didn’t seem likely. “If you don’t meet me at our last Date Night in 30 minutes, I’m going to set the wheels in motion.”

Sunny tossed her hands in the air. “He made us. You’d better come clean to him and to Grace.”

“It’ll take me less than 30 minutes to get to his house and kill his ass,” Xander said, grabbing a bat with nails hammered into it.

“You can’t be serious. Grace is gonna…”

“Forgive me! Grace is gonna forgive me for fucking up and fixing my mistake!” Xander fussed. Sunny tried to stop him and he snapped at her, “You’re wasting my time! He’s gonna rat on us to the police!” She moved aside, hurt and scared, but when he pulled off, she called Grace. This was going too far and even if he DID successfully kill Simon, he was going to definitely be fucking arrested and thrown into prison for the rest of his life. 

“Grace, this is an emergency. Xander is going after Simon.”

Grace KNEW it was true, because even though Sunny was playful, she wouldn’t play like this and this was the first time that she had ever said his name right. “Warn him,” Grace said first. Sunny typed it into the messages, as Grace added, “And explain it to me.”

After the 15 minutes it took Sunny to explain everything, from the warning Simon to stop, Xander being paranoid that he was still out there, watching and waiting, the fake art page, the gift, the ruse and tonight’s messaging, Grace was already heading for the airport. Xander was going to lose his shit, but Grace was losing hers and Sunny could tell that there was gonna be hell to pay whenever she got back. 

It was hours later that Xander came back home, and Sunny wasn’t there. Jalicia was asleep, but he woke her up and went over it with her. He had gotten a call from Grace. She found out about him spearheading his first executive decision to take Simon out while she was in Canada and she was on her way… She pulled rank on him, and she was probably going to kill him… to… to actually choose this null over him… “She’s unfit to lead, right? She’s… she’s fucking lost it, right? RIGHT?”

Jalicia pulled him into a hug and let him cry on her, “Grace would never hurt you, Xander. Your paranoia is just messing with your mind. Grace would never, ever hurt you.”

“She’s choosing him over us. He threatened us. He said he would turn us over and she’s going to give him what he wants? She’s going to just LET him use her like a puppet? She’s let him void out every part of her that has made her the champion we put all of our trust into!”

Jalicia knew Sunny’s routine enough to remember which tea to make, which grass to smoke, which songs to play and Xander eventually fell to sleep in her bed, crying over it all.

.

Grace called Simon and he picked up, while at her old apartment. “It's me,” she said.

“Hey… Was it you? Before?”

“No, but I’ve been caught up to speed. Where are you now?” He said the address and she froze, “My old apartment?”

“Yeah. I figured that 808 would be less likely to set my headquarters on fire if they were here. The damage that might be done to uninsured neighboring apartments and all that. The thing is that I was trying so hard to get over you and to give you space and they just… didn’t let me. This shouldn’t be allowed. They shouldn’t be allowed to do this to me…”

“Well… Let’s call it even for your previous violations.” They were silent. “Please, Simon. If you ever cared about me, don’t hurt them…”

“Why does..?” he groaned so loudly it scared her. “Why does EVERYONE act like I’M the dangerous person? I’m THE ONLY person in this entire situation who ISN’T fucking dangerous!” He took a deep breath and shook his head, “Sorry, that was unfair, and I’m sorry.”

“You said that you were going to turn them in if I didn’t come to see you.”

“I knew that wasn’t you. They… still don’t know you as well as they think that they do and if they do know, they certainly can’t translate it properly. I wouldn’t hurt them or you, I was just testing to see if they would tell me the truth.” He heard a knock on the door and he froze. 

“Are you gonna let me in?” she wondered. He thought about grabbing his gun, just in case she didn’t believe him and in case that wasn’t her and she had actually sent Xander, after all… but… why go through all of this for that? He looked through the peephole and she was there. He wanted to open it and throw his arms around her, but what if she wasn’t alone? What if she had a syringe and the van was right around the corner? Oh God… He was doubting her. He was afraid now. Xander had won, in a way. He didn’t want to open the door. “Simon, are you in the apartment, or not?”

“How do I know that you aren’t coming here just to finally get rid of your stalker problem?”

“I guess you don’t know that anymore than I know if tomorrow morning, I’ll have a bigger stalker problem than I had yesterday. It's up to you whether you trust that I’m here to try to fix things or whether you break my trust and hurt my friends.” He opened the door and glanced up both hallways before stepping out, but she pushed passed him and went inside of the apartment. It was similar to the storage, but somehow more haunting in a home setting. Her face everywhere and all of the information and surveillance reorganized. She sat on the couch with the Grace mannequin/doll.. Which was now more detailed than before and also now wearing clothes she’d left behind. She raised an eyebrow and shook her head.

“I was never going to hurt you.”

“I know,” she said. 

“I… don’t know what’s wrong with me. I don’t know why I did this. Why I took it so far.”

“I do.” 

He sat down between her and the mannequin, “Because I let you and I encouraged you. I wasn’t sure, but I surely had my thoughts and I liked them. I liked my thoughts of you being so into me that you would follow me around or watch me for a long time, even obsess over my photos and hang on my every word. I don’t know what the fuck love is supposed to look like, in a normal setting. I thought maybe that was one of those things… that this was how it was supposed to be if he was really into you and then, I indulged in the thought of somebody loving me and wanting to serve me, not because we had endured shit together, or because I pledged revenge in their name or I saved them, but just because I’m me. I wanted to be special. I’ve always wanted to be the love of somebody’s life. Even when I was little, before I… before the Apex…. The FIRST Apex, I never had the love that I craved and thirsted for. I suppose those years didn’t teach me much. Because I still managed to get inside of a pretty carriage with a nice man and head directly into disaster.”

“It's not your fault. You didn't ask for anything, and even if you wanted me to... I made a choice and you never knew for sure how far I took it all. But... Please tell me you don’t think that I’m so bad? As that man? That this disaster is like that one...” He looked like he might cry and she reflexively took his hand. They smiled at each other. He exhaled and squeezed her hand, “I found him,” he said.

“What?” she asked, laughing a little and confused about the random turn in the conversation. 

His face turned serious, and hers followed, matching the expression. “I  found  him.” She was still confused, but suddenly apprehended by stress as Simon moved to grab an envelope much like the ones that she got from the flower shop, like the one that he gave Jalicia. He was saying words that didn’t make sense. Stuff like, “Outside of their territories, city limits, neighboring towns news,” and so on and as she pulled out a mugshot of a man who obviously had seen better days, a flood of emotions came rushing over her. This man in the photo, years older, and a lot of stress later, but it was undeniable. She had forgotten certain details, but her body had definitely remembered them in the trauma it stored. If she took off some years, added some money, and a big bright pinky ring, it was him. This was the man that took her. 

This was the man that stole her life and gave her this awful destiny that made it so hard for her to love… She looked at Simon, and he helped her flip through the pages, because she couldn’t. 

This man was arrested not too long after she disappeared, and whenever he got out, he went to a half way house and reentered society… all in a span of time before she ever got back home… He had moved on and lived past it while she had still been in it. The sound that erupted from her was terrifying, but Simon refused to react to it.  Instead, he set the information aside and took her hands into his. 

“I was going to give it to them and try to lure you back to me, but whenever they threatened my mom, I,” he sounded ashamed to even admit it. “I chose her…” 

“They threatened your mom?” Grace asked. “God, Xander spiraled…”

“No, not him, the girlfriend.”

“Alexandria? She’s been out of the…” She stopped, seeing something regretful in his face. Her heart broke. “Sunny?”

“I didn’t know if she meant it, but I couldn’t take the chance. It wasn’t like she knew that I had this, but I wanted to avoid something happening to Mom. I love my mom.”

Grace shook her head, “She wouldn’t have, but, she might have let Xander, if he went for it. She’s… she wouldn’t have, but she didn’t tell me… She told me everything, I thought, but she left that part out. Would she have?”

“Xander making murder attempts, Sunny making immoral threats, do they even… still acknowledge you as their leader, or has the mission changed?” He asked. He wasn’t being manipulative, this time. He was actually very concerned. Because, if the Apex thought that Grace was turning on them… If they thought she was a threat to everything they’d built, or unfit to lead… if they thought that she was a danger to them all…

“I have to go…” She said, collecting the information and leaving the apartment. “Don’t follow me,” she said. “I mean it.”

“I’ve learned my lesson,” he said, choking down the anger of rejection and the disgust of her rushing into potentially dangerous arms with what he thought might be the most important thing she had ever been given in her life! 

Her eyes were soft upon him as she hugged the information to her chest. “Thank you, Simon.”

His anger was gone. He came over and gave her a hug. “You… remember our last Date Night, don’t you?”

She scoffed and laughed, “Duh. That romantic ass shit. Why?” 

“I just… hoped you had.” He smiled at his feet, “You didn’t tell them.”

“I mean, I didn’t tell them any of them. It would be easier to just tell them if the need arose, than to give them several to potentially stumble over. To be honest, it was a shame it was fake. That’s the kind of thing…” She bit her lip and now she looked at their shoes. “That was around the time that I knew how I felt about you.” She turned and left quickly, not offering how she felt. She… knew that he probably knew. He knew everything else about her.

.

Grace felt like an outsider here. Maybe it was the time she spent in the safe house, maybe it was the fact that two of these three people had kept secrets from her and tried to lie to her, whether in her personal interest, or theirs… she hated it, but she also would forgive them. They were held together by interweaving threads. Even if she didn’t fully trust them right now, what could she do? Do this shit without them? Unlikely. And there was the whole matter of Simon. She hadn’t seen him since she had been back. Sometimes, she thought that she felt him watching, but she was always too afraid to turn around to check. More afraid that he might not be there than the thought that he might. 

The X was taking the trash out in the alley, the way he tended to do around this time at the place that he worked as a custodian. Sunny felt conflicted about it, since he hadn’t been a criminal in years. Jalicia felt like the group needed to heal before trying to do a job like this. Xander was willing to do anything to get into Grace’s… well… her good graces. Grace was out for blood and feeling betrayed that only Xander seemed as bloodthirsty about this as she did, and that even this seemed fabricated for her pleasure! 

They had gone over Jalicia’s tactical plan, and it should have been a breeze to pick him up, but whenever Grace got out of the van and to wait and the van was still, in the darkness, the man was cautious. There were no businesses doing anything in the alley at this time of night and he knew that a van meant criminal activity. He didn’t want to get involved and tried to rush back in. Grace knew that the door would lock, so she rushed upon him and when she did, he was prepared and shot her right in the abdomen. 

Should she have known to not rush him like that? Of course. Could she rationalize in the moment that she did? Not really. And whenever Xander started the van, Sunny opened the door to try to grab Grace, but the X was pointing the gun at the van now and Xander swerved out of panic and Sunny couldn’t catch hold of her. The other shots fired and Sunny screamed, unable to see behind the van, but presuming of course, that he finished Grace off, unless he had been firing at the van and simply missed every shot. She didn’t know what the hell had just happened, but Xander was still driving and crying, and not seeming to turn around and mow that motherfucker with this thing. 

.

Simon was out of his car by the time she was shot, his own gun drawn and his heart racing as everything happened much too fast for him to save her from what happened. The first gunshot rang through the night and he watched Grace fall and the van start. They were going to leave her. OF COURSE they were. That’s what they DID. But, he wasn’t going to. He could hardly see the shadow moving and shot him first in the back of the neck, but once the body fell he advanced on him, continuing to fire into him until he emptied the gun and reached Grace. She was unresponsive. It was too dark. He could see a little bit, but the security lights on the outside of most of these buildings hadn’t been changed in a while and the nearest one only gave him a little, so he made sure that she knew it was him. He turned on the flashlight of his phone and found the wound to try to stop the bleeding. He was on the phone and writing something on her hand, and trying to hold it together, but he couldn’t. He was crying and confessing on the phone to having shot someone. They were thinking he meant that he shot the woman he was calling about, but he managed, “No. No… Not her… I love her. I shot him. I’m sure I killed him.” 

He wasn’t crying because he killed someone, though maybe later, that would hit him harder. He was crying because all he had ever wanted to do was help her, save her, protect her, and it was his fault that she was dying in his arms. It was his fault… and she had just gone unconscious...

14. A Shot in the Dark Pt.2

[sandersbayhq]

[Santana Lopez] ✖ [25] ✖ [bisexual/homoromantic] ✖ [the hellcat] 

dob: july 29 occupation: gym owner/fitness instructor face claim: adria arjona pronouns: she/her

She hasn’t made it this far by trusting and relying on people. Santana comes from a huge family. She’s got more siblings and cousins than she knows what to do with. Being around them is chaotic, and not in a good way, so she’s learned to support herself. Santana doesn’t open up easily, but once you’re in her inner circle there’s no going back. That doesn’t mean she’s going to be nice all the time. She’s going to say how she feels and what she’s thinking. It just means that in the end she’ll always have your back, even if she does so begrudgingly.

Santana grew up a couple hours from the coast, but she always visited Sander’s Bay whenever she got the chance for spring break, summer vacations, or even long weekends. It’s always felt like home to her. The second she was finished with high school she started planning her move there.

She’s known she liked ladies since she was twelve and kissed another girl at cheerleading camp as a dare. That part of her sexuality was easy. With guys it’s more confusing. She’s still sexually attracted to some guys, (to be fair, she’s even had sex dreams about inanimate objects and plants) but she’s never had feelings for a guy. It’s always been for girls. She’s sure there’s a word for that, because at this point there’s a word for everything, but she doesn’t have much interest in using it. She’s past trying to fit herself in a box. Her ego is too big for that.

She could spend the entire day on the beach, especially if the waves are good. She learned to surf soon after moving to Sander’s Bay. Riding a wave is her third favorite feeling in the world, behind riding a pretty girl and watching bad things happen to people she hates. Santana only lets herself go to the beach once or twice a week, because once she’s there she isn’t leaving.

If she could speak in bitmoji stickers, it would be the only way she ever communicated.

Upon graduating high school, Santana knew college wasn’t for her. She didn’t mind the hard work. It was the rules and attendance requirements that were the problem. She also didn’t want a normal 9-5 job where she worked in a stuffy building with a boss she hated. She realized quickly that there weren’t a lot of options for her. After six months of soul-searching and couch-surfing, she started working at a strip club a couple hours away. She was awesome at it, and there was something empowering about taking disgusting people’s money.

The best part about stripping was the outfits. They were glittery and lacy and revealing, everything Santana could dream of. She would’ve worn them to the grocery if she thought she wouldn’t get arrested.

She wormed her way into opening a gym at one of the classier strip clubs she worked at. Santana talked business with anyone who would listen (which wasn’t likely since it was usually this was during a lap dance) and eventually someone did actually listen. She overheard plans to open a new gym. It took her three weeks and several dances until they kind of took her seriously enough to let her in on it. Maybe it was a little shady, but she was tough. And possibly a little desperate to move on to the next big thing, even if it meant emptying out her savings account.

The natural next step for Santana was to teach classes once the gym opened. She teaches pole dancing, barre class, yoga, and a few others. Basically she gets to show off and yell at strangers for a few hours. Her classes are tough and she tolerates absolutely no bullshit. You’re allowed to complain twice. On the third complaint, she kicks your ass out of class.

She doesn’t cry easily, but when she cries, she ugly cries. It only happens when something really bad happens, like when her Abuela yells at her or the barista at Starbucks screws up her order or the random shit she bought from Amazon doesn’t get Prime shipping. It’s not cute.

Being a fitness instructor is fun and totally what Santana is into right now. Owning a part of a business (even just 21%) at twenty-five is hella awesome, but it’s not what she wants forever. She figures she’ll see it through until she’s bored, and then move on to whatever sounds good that day. Santana isn’t a “five year plan” kind of person. She’s more of the “I’ll go to the grocery store tomorrow if I feel like it” type. But she is fairly sure there’s a surf shop in her future.

She learned to stop giving a fuck about what people think of her a long time ago. Santana spent the first chapter of her life in fear. She was scared that her family would judge her sexuality. She was scared that her desire to learn how to surf would make her seem “butch.” Eventually she realized that was exhausting and pointless.

She says and does what she wants. Anyone who doesn’t understand that can pack their shit and exit stage left.

There’s about a hundred reasons why Santana isn’t actively in a relationship, the first being that she just sucks at it. If she has the time to date, she’d rather be making money. If she feels like sending a stranger a naked selfie on Instagram, she doesn’t want to fight about it. If she wants to get her rocks off, she can pick someone up at a bar or on Tinder. It’s easier that way, and she doesn’t have to worry about anyone else’s feelings. Or her own feelings, which is worse. Also monogamy is just boring.

Even if she doesn’t look it when she’s sweaty or in a bad mood, Santana is a total girly girl. She’ll trade her Nike’s for a pair of red bottoms any day.

[icactustime]

Ask meme for WLW

general: 1. music you’d recommend? Anything by Frank Sinatra 2. what’s a movie that makes you cry? Avengers: Endgame 3. do you like tea? Yes 4. do you like coffee? Yes 5. milk or cream? No 6. green or blue? Blue 7. red or orange? Red 8. disney world or universal? Disney Worlds 9. dolls, plushies or toy cars? No 10. stickers or stamps? Stamps 11. vacuuming or washing the dishes? Washing the dishes 12. house plants or no plants? House plants 13. aquarium or terrarium? terrarium 14. horseback or by car? Car 15. decade you’d like to experience?  1960s 16. harry potter or nah? Harry Potter relationships: 17. would you rather have one long term or many short term relationships? I am not sure 18. short-haired or long-haired women? Long or medium length hair. 19. have you ever been cheated on? No 20. would you ever cheat? No 21. when was your first relationship? 7th grade 22. when was your most recent relationship? 8th grade (I don’t date much) 23. do you want to get married? Maybe 24. kids or cats (or dogs, or cows, or horses, maybe a lion)? Birds or cats. 25. how many (kids/cats/dogs/cows/horses/lions)? 3 or 4 26. sleep cuddling or on your own sides? On your own sides. 27. would you rather date a gamer or a beauty guru? Gamer or beauty guru. 28. are you a princess or a knight? Knight. 29. or maybe a dragon or a witch? Dragon. 30. public hand-holding or public kissing? Public kissing. 31. hugs or kisses? Kisses. 32. pillow fights or pillow forts? Pillow fights. 33. movie night out or in? Movie night in. 34. ideal date at: feminist rally or the pride parade? Pride Parade 35. are you single? Yes 36. describe your (ideal or current) girlfriend. A girl with the bisexual hair cut and circle glasses. Loves space or plants. Truly I want someone who is soft, but not the bratty kind of soft. She may be a little chunky or skinny I don’t really mind. If she loves books then I might die. I don’t want someone who is overly touchy because it makes me uncomfortable. Though once I get comfortable with you I would love to cuddle. I like girls with long hair too. I need someone who needs to know I love them even if I don’t say it or if I am busy. Since I tend to get busy easily and I never mean to seem neglecting. Plus she better love getting compliments because those are going to be coming from me non stop.  location: 37. paris or london? Paris 38. cottage or condo? Condo 39. mountains or clear horizon? Mountains 40. fields or meadows? Meadows 41. rivers or lakes? Rivers 42. city or small town? City 43. boat or treehouse? Boat  44. theatre or football field? Both 45. club or café? Cafe personal appearance: 46. long nails or short nails?  Short nails. 47. leather jacket or shawl? leather jacket 48. jeans or sweatpants? jeans 49. leggings or skirts? leggings 50. long hair or short hair? Short hair 51. undercut or fully shaved? Undercut 52. body hair or body shave? body shave 53. purse or backpack? back pack 54. messenger bags, y/n? none 55. badges or keychains? Some pins and keychains 56. jewelry? no 57. matching socks? normally 58. no socks? no 59. pyjamas or something else to bed? something else 60. make-up or nah? nah bonus. can eyeliner kill a man? Yes

This was written by sapphos-darlings

[gotatext]

claws my way out of the dirt like the goblin i am ..... hello thots, its nora, once again bringing you a revamped version of a muse i played yonks ago n some of u may have even written against... here is her pinterest.....

this is margaret greta, she’s a whole can of trauma spaghetti plastered over with a toothy grin and a lot of dad jokes. the only reason she’s in gifford really is bcos shes been put there as part of a witness protection program cos lots of police r monitoring livingstone so its deemed relatively safe.... haha... anyway she changes major all the time. she started off doing fine art but since then she’s done modules in architecture, film, bio-chemistry and is now dabbling in medicine. 

CIS-FEMALE — ever hear people say GRETA O’DRISCOLL looks a lot like DIANA SILVERS? I think SHE is about 21, so it doesn’t really work. The MEDICINE major is a SOPHOMORE that is from DEADWOOD, SOUTH DAKOTA. They can be +CHARMING, but they can also be -EVASIVE. I think GEE might be SHEEP. They are living in YATES. ( nora. 23. gmt. she/her )

this bitch is the most restless creature u ever seen. before she came to livingstone, she’d lived in 8 different cities in 3 years. 

was adopted as an infant. had two foster moms and two older sisters so always surrounded by women. lived in a boarding house, very much like the one in 20th century women, with lodgers coming in and out all the time, mostly artsy young women because her gay moms were both high school teachers trying to set up their own arts collective. one of her moms left when she was 4, n she doesn’t really remember her.

while living with entirely women made her super into catlin moran and the guilty feminist, as a teenager she often let boys walk all over her bc she just craved male attention jst bcos she’d never really experienced it. saw it as something aspirational, like sitting in the back of chad’s second-hand truck while he drove you to macdonalds and offered you and his five friends with identical haircuts weed was the height of being cool to greta, she wanted to be their dream girl, even if it meant compromising her beliefs

bubbly bitch but also massive snake. metaphorically and literally, always shedding her skin. loyal to few, ruled by none, out for herself, babey!! every place she goes, she becomes a new character, someone who’s a figment of her imagination, as if each city is repertory theatre and she’s a character actress, so as a result som ppl think she’s called rita, some ppl know her as margot, she just flicks through identities like nobodies business.

goes through phases of being intensely feminist and tweeting “men are trash i don’t need them” before flipping into being lonely and needy n wanting male attention again. tends to gravitate towards men who are just pieces of shit tbh like her friends are always like hun.... pick a nice boy..... but no.... she’ll go for the boxer with several arrest records for gbh or the small-town drug dealer just trying to hook her onto pills for a little extra cash, or the reformed sinner who thinks he’s being protective by reading all her texts and always knowing where she is..... n she always finds a way to spin it so that they Just Care About Her and aren’t a p.o.s 

left school at 18 n didn’t go to uni, moved in w her boyfriend of the time instead, but soon got bored, n then went backpacking around the states making money in the casinos by being a shot girl (yeehaw) and trying to make it as a mysterious 1920s widow with a smoky voice, a dark secret n a heart of gold, looking for love in the big city. all she found was producers and acting agents who’d promise her stardom n actually just fuck her in a motel n then ignore her calls.

TW domestic violence, TW gun, her watershed moment came when she met luke in sioux falls while she was playing bass for a country n blues band. he was a few years older and had a car, and they kind of went from seeing each other to being that super intense couple who are just necking all the time. 

they got engaged like 3 months after they met n rented a flat together, much to her family’s annoyance but she was 19 so there wasn’t much they could do. their relationship was super super intense though, often really heightened and when they fought it could become quite violent, but she’d pass it off as just him being really passionate. 

one of their fights got really heated and greta threatened him with the gun he kept in the glove box of his vauxhall corsa, but the safety was off and she accidentally shot him. she pleaded self defence in the trial n cos of the amount of times she’d been hospitalised for various concussions n things like ‘fallling down the stairs’ the police were like yea... pretty watertight evidence that he was a bastard who [chicago voice] had it coming..... also this happened in 2017, he was mixed race and greta is white so naturally the police totally took her side. she’s now under witness protection, rehoused in livingstone as a sports-scholarship student, due to the amount of police involvement in the area, it would mean should one of luke’s family members try to track her down, she’d be relatively safe

 massive sports fanatic. plays tennis. on the cheer team. was a track superstar in her high school. honestly just that sporty bitch, you’ll see her doing lines at a party at half four and then on your way to your 9am lecture you see her running across the park like a fresh fucking daisy who is this bitch

pretty easy to get along with (provided you don’t anger, provoke or question her too much) because she WANTS your character to be enthralled by her and will do whatever it takes to win them over. she wants everyone to love her

is That Girl who always knows where the parties are, and is always there, on the sofa, talking about institutionalised racism and trying to coerce you into a game of beer pong that she’ll definitely win. doesn’t really have one solid group of friends, just kind of on good terms with everyone and social butterflies about

has changed her major so many times. decision? who is she. currently studying medicine, but doesn’t rlly enjoy it. she’s very unmotivated and lazy and probably wouldn’t ahve bothered going to uni if she hadn’t been placed in one by a witness protection program. will probably change on to history or gender studies soon n just make up the extra credits by volunteering

 massive feminist. low key quite scared of powerful men bcos of her ex. wants to start a female only lesbian commune bc she misses her childhood in a south dakota boarding house and has endless support for women. honestly annoyed that she is attracted to men, would so be 100% gay if it was a choice. cuffs her jeans and can’t drive. is That bisexual. skateboards. wears backwards caps.�� i hate her

plays bass guitar, has a teal green fender and it is her BABY. it’s covered in stickers about saving the planet and ending fracking and going vegan. she’s in an all-female punk band w agnes (n mayb jade i think) n they play gigs every now n then in grotty club basements full of druggy sweaty college kids

PERSONALITY: easy-going, sociable, observant, blunt, amiable, nihilistic, self-serving, laid back, independent, unmotivated, charming, lazy, impulsive, alluring. ESTP and a leo

LIKES: art, music, john wayne movies, black mirror, philosophy,  cowboy chic culture, DC comics, arcade games, candyfloss, deep red lipstick, marijuana, dogs, karaoke, Kate Moss, late-night strolls, zip-lining, chemistry, suspenders, cigarettes, herbal tea, gallows humour, cold coffee, long showers, brown eyes, tchaikovsky, dr. seuss, boiler house DJ sets, magnolias, decorative lamps, worn-out furniture, twangy electric guitars.

DISLIKES: bananas, coffee, Woody Allen, mental mathematics, children, Trump, institutionalised misogyny, the imaginary future, french literature, Wes Anderson films, spoken word poetry, the general mentality of cheerleading squads (despite being on one)

aesthetics:

a bubble of pink gum on chapped lips, mom jeans, a beaten up pair of adidas, denim jackets, strawberry laces, knee-highs, chapped lips, peeling sticky plasters, split knuckles, bruises you try to cover with concealer, stick and poke tattoos, hot coffee, sleep caught in your eyes on a lazy afternoon, kissing girls, cigarette smoke shrouding you like a veil, alien conspiracy theories and sci-fi paperbacks, doc martens with fraying laces, the red string of a thong peaking out purposely from jeans, leonine arch of your back and that stellar smile that says ‘you have no idea who you’re dealing with’, a rucksack permanently packed for the move, a streak of red across your lips, roller blades, cut knees, not eating your greens, smiling with a mouthful of blood, and piercing your own ears with a safety pin when your mom wouldn’t take you, kate moss posters lining the walls of a teenage bedroom, his name scrawled in rage across the pages of a diary, thumb holes poked through the cuffs of your sleeves, a tennis racket you punched through in a fit of temper, feet pounding the earth until your soles bleed crimson, sleeping in a cherry lip balm and scrunchies to keep the wild locks from your eyes. 

wanted plots: since greta literally can’t differentiate between romantic and platonic love, she’s got off with so many of her mates, so i want awkward friendships where they nearly dated, or exes that have now just turned into weird friendships, and girls from the cheer team who she’s like, weirdly intimate with like the shower together but its not a Thing cos the other girls straight, and I want like, fellow medicine students who are like?? how is this bitch still passing?? i swear she goes out every night?? she works part time at a fast food restaurant, i want a mate that just goes and sits in there talking to her until her manager gets angry. ppl she did a few modules with before changing course and somehow sort of remaining in touch with, like she did a few art modules, a bit of film, n some architecture before switching to medicine, though she’ll probs switch course again soon. ppl who she runs track with. someone she’s trying to make a zine with. here’s a list of plots on her old blog if u want any of them w her.

would love plots of any type, throw them all at me please, i cnt wait to interact w all of u. like this if u want me to message you about connections / plots! xo

full biography if u can be bothered

trigger warnings: drugs, domestic abuse, gun.

you never meant for it to happen. you’d heard the stories, of girls who let their man walk all over them, and thought to yourself “i’ll never be one of those girls…” the kind that eat low-fat yoghurt and drink slim fast to shred a few extra pounds because he said she was getting round in the tummy, or the ones who spent their evenings tied to a kitchen sink drinking wine while him and the boys played poker, wishing god, if only I could get out of here. not you, not you raised by strong women, four bright shining beacons. single mother with her hard-as-nails attitude and her stony glares, elder sisters (twins) one ginger, one blonde, one doctor, one lawyer, both determined to take a bullet to the brain and a hammer to the patriarchy before they let a man touch them without asking. you were always so inferior, so insecure and small, like a bird (like a sparrow) with blonde plaits down your back sucking tropicana whilst your busom buds sucked dick, their lips permanently ripe with stories of their sexual exploits, fake tan and glittered nails whilst you sat in the unbroken egg of virginity wondering what it was like to be loved. one day you found out.

lily milligan’s parents gone and a free house for the night, bottles of ouzo and tequila swiped from your mother’s liquor cabinet thinking she wouldn’t know (she always knew) your legs, hardened from pep squad, slut dropping on a kitchen table because the boys thought it would be fun to get the quiet girl drunk. you’d never had a sip before that night. band t-shirts, denim shorts and the split soles of rotten converse that you refuse to let go of, you still clutched with both hands to your youth, but in a tube top now (borrowed from alice carmichael who had a sister in college) and a short tennis skirt, your feet not in trainers but in thigh-high boots. uncomfy as hell but lily said you needed to look sexy. you didn’t know if you wanted to be sexy. you didn’t know what kind of girl you were, if you were even a girl at all. but robbie looked at you like he knew exactly who you were, like he knew you better than you knew yourself, and his lips had the pink cupid’s bow of a movie star, and his hair was dark locks, curling like a mane. his hands were soft, and suddenly on your waist, and after three more shots his lips were on yours and his name was the only sound in your head and on your lips as you lost it in lily’s college sister’s bedroom beneath the glare of a T-Pain poster. you bled for what seemed like hours, his hand still in yours, kissing on the sofa as truth tellers and dare devils continued to spin a bottle of unprecedented youth. you thought it was love. robbie was the one. he loved you, you knew it, how else could someone be so soft? but soon he grew bored, scrunched up your paper heart and set it alight. then came the tears, the hatred, the ‘fuck robbie, in fact, fuck all boys.’ and that you did.

you were known for being easy. any boy could be yours for a night, as long as he promised to love you for those few short breaths and pants before you cried yourself to sleep. you felt poisoned, but poisonous as well, as if by ensnaring these young boys you were gaining power over them, and not the other way around. soon it started to work. they’d want more, but you’d deny them it, sick of sucking off silly schoolboys, they’d call you a tease, a vixen. maybe you were, but you couldn’t help but want older men. you got the history teacher first time, him bending you over his desk to sneak a hand up your tennis skirt as the after-school clubs carried on next door, unawares. love didn’t exist, not for you. it was nothing but a game for pretty young girls to play, bubble gum in their canines and a hand tugging at the hem of their cheer skirt.

there was so much anger inside of your small body, ‘beware of boys and their hook-like words’. hockey helped. there was something formidable about the feeling of a stick like a weapon in your hands and the thwack it made against thighs in the heat of a scrum - “slipped, sorry!” - you’d utter with a snakeskin smile, millicent quinn knowing that you’d hit her on purpose because she shagged robbie at that party last week. she couldn’t prove it, cobbled acne on her forehead turning green with disgust. ben came into your life like a car crash. two years your senior, with a baseball jacket and shoulders like a god. he became your personal hero. on the pitch, he was lethal. together, you could bring anyone to their ruin. each day after last period he’d be waiting in his car. you’d leap into his arms like a girl-half starved, love me, love me, love me, your heated kisses the envy of every junior girl. he was yours for three blissful years, utterly yours, and you were his, his star-spangled girl, and he was your knight - you were both the same, playing games, always difficult to predict. it was a shock to all when he proposed, high-school sweethearts find love in south dakota.

the engagement was a bittersweet affair; three months – you barely out of your gingham print skirts and into a graduation gown, him, a surly quarterback towering above your sisters, cigarette at his lips and a scowl like a fart in a lift. they hated him. so did you. but you were eighteen and in love, and he fitted the cookie cutter mould. everyone wanted him, and you had him. you had him and you were happy, happy, happy, and he loved you. he said he’d give you the world, anything you wanted hand-picked and given to you. instead, he gave you a jack russell terrier and a flat you couldn’t swing a cat in, wallpaper peeling like the rotten bits inside of you, the bits that only he knew. and you got tireder and tireder of the sad excuse of a life he’d picked out for you, him out doing god knows what to pay the bills, and you dancing on tables to pave your way to stardom, and this was love, this was real, until the shine wore off and your fresh-faced, dimple-cheeked cheerleader facade faded and the ugliness started to reveal itself, the whining, the petulance, the sharp-tempered cruelty, the mind games, the need to always win, win, win. he was dull, he was boring, he was nothing like the boy the girls had said he was and no chiselled six pack could hide his lack of anything remotely interesting, your patience wearing thin until it snapped like rubber, a rucksack on your back, running shoes on your feet and the joint bank account emptied into your eighth grade birthday wallet.

you built your small fortunes working the casinos of sioux falls, a crimson dress and an attitude to match. bookish archie with his little dipper freckles was fun for a month, before he became just as dull and dreary as the rest. a three hour bus and you were in minneapolis, bright eyed and bushy tailed, fresh meat ready for the pickings. a hostel here, a friendly co-worker’s sofa there as you made what you could by taking off your clothes and shaking your ass like you were back in pep squad, doing what you did best. you met your fair share of creeps, and soon it was back on the road to escape a wide-eyed stalker and a restless itch for more. milwaukee, chicago, you made the roads your own. log cabins and lodgings, and the occasional motel, a beaten up pick up truck purchased at a scrap merchants – you got a few miles out of it before it bit the dust, and when you finally set it alight after nights spent lounging across the driver’s seat, a parka tucked over you as a duvet, you were sad to see it go. you’re nomadic by fault, never attaching to place, people or things, creating a new personality in every place you go like a character actress; each town is a different repertory theatre, and you’re the star. a compulsive liar, you even fib about your own name, to some you’re ellen, nineteen, bookish, a law student who likes smoking and cosmos. to someone else you’re rita, you’re twenty five and look young for your age, like smoking, comics and fucking in public places.

in the bright lights of michigan, you found charlie, sweet charlie, too good for you, though you let him spoil you while he thought you were the small town girl of his dreams. next came abigail, who was fun until the jealously kicked in, and then luke, gorgeous luke, dangerous, exciting, who despite his temper, despite the fights, despite bruises down your spine and your teeth marks on his arms, loved you with the strength of a wild fire. there was destruction in your wishbones, a savageness from the field, from the pitch and now somehow in his arms, you were godly. he was cruel, he was careless, and he refused to fall at your feet like so many other boys had, which only you made you want him all the more. you were rage incarnate. you hated him so fiercely you thought you might kill him, so he played the only card you wouldn’t predict; proposed.

the house you shared was a backstreet flat in detroit, you making your name as a downtown singer while he footed the bill with pills. they had a drug for anything these days, to dull the senses, to pick them up, to drive you to insanity or pull you out of the madness hole. the two of you lived like criminals on the run (you never told him that you were, living out your days as the enigma he wanted you to be), you with your voice like caramel and fishnet legs. you were his and his alone until his hand was at your throat and the gun was in your hands screaming at him to stop, stop, stop, until a bullet stoppered his brain, crimson staining linoleum as you cast yourself out like lucifer. self defence was decreed the moment they saw your violet neck, black tears and headlight eyes and mind screaming red, red, red like the pom-poms you shook so willingly in school and the insides of his skull. you were gone, and “you” was born, renamed “greta”, boxed, shipped-out, and next-day delivered to livingstone where under witness protection you were a student, blank slate, fresh-faced in a place where no one knew your name, doing what you always did and starting again.

[pinkbubbles-and-bigtroubles]

Like A River (Girls Talk Boys part 17)

Shut your mouth, baby stand and deliver Holy hands, oh they make me a sinner Like a river, like a river Shut your mouth and run me like a river

Choke this love till the veins start to shiver One last breath till the tears start to wither Like a river, like a river Shut your mouth and run me like a river

(A/N this is a longer chapter than usual. I seriously considered splitting it into two but I couldn’t do it)

18+ label on this one for sexual language and situations

Previous Chapter

Chapter One

The pounding on his front door jolted Calum awake. Why was he on his couch?

“I'M COMING” he yelled and the knocking ceased.

He blinked still confused until it all came back in a rush.

The Halloween party, Cher, Camille, the alarm, finding Duke asleep next to a purse.

Calum got up and headed towards the door.

Michael's text, Ameena's anger then the tears, Camille's hurt, going back to the party, finding out Camille had ended up in bed with -

He opened his front door. Ashton was waiting. “Last night was shit, and tonight is gonna be shit if we don't clear the air” Ashton hugged him.

“Calum?” A voice called out from upstairs.

Ashton looked at him incredulous “Ameena's still here?”

Calum nodded “she cried herself to sleep on the couch.”

“Of course she did” Ashton snapped.

“Calum who the fuck was at the door? Oh Ashton it's just you. Got your chubby little girlfriend with you?” Ameena let out a sharp bitter laugh as she narrowed her eyes at him.

“Just so you know I don't want you in my house ever again. Last night was uncalled for, you embarrassed and insulted my friends.” Ashton glared at her while Ameena smirked.

“Whatever works right?” She asked

“Not this time Ameena” Calum spoke up, his voice weary and harsh from a restless night and too many cigarettes. “I can't do this anymore. Last night was just pointless. It didn't accomplish anything except embarrass me and make me realize how tired of all of this I really am. I have tried to be nice about this because I really loved you once. Right now I just need you to get anything that's yours out of my condo, give me back your key and leave.” Ameena and Ashton both stood there stunned and speechless. “You have 15 minutes I suggest you hurry” Calum snapped, cooly turning his back to Ameena as he headed into the kitchen to make some coffee.

Ameena stormed back up to the bedroom and slammed the door. Calum could hear her cursing and banging of drawers. Duke came barreling down the stairs to hide under the couch. Calum poured a cup of coffee with a splash of milk . He nodded towards the machine but Ashton shook his head.

“Look Cal about last night” Ashton started.

“Not right now” Calum shook his head. “Wait until she leaves.”

Ashton shot him a look “you ok man?”

“I will be” Calum sighed looking at his watch. Grabbing his coffee mug he walked back into the living room. They could still hear Ameena upstairs. Calum walked over to the closet grabbed two jackets one grey leather, one red suede. Reaching down he grabbed a small pair of rain boots and a large duffel bag. He laid the jackets on the bottom and put the boots in a plastic bag on top.  He went into the downstairs bathroom and snagged her emergency makeup bag.

As Ameena was coming down the stairs with two full travel bags. Calum was gathering up framed photos, things she'd bought him, and anything in sight he knew belonged to her and putting it in the bag.

“You're really fucking serious” Ameena started to sniffle.

“You can cry if you want but just go. We're going out for breakfast. We'll follow you out so I can make sure you give back your parking pass.” Calum's voice was flat and emotionless.

Ameena let a tear fall but when Calum met her eyes with no reaction she switched tactics

“Ashton must be disappointed you're going through with this. Now he has to give up your whore.” Ameena's voice was pure venom.

“Don't call her that” Ashton spoke up pushing himself off the wall.

“Of course you'd come to her defense. I saw the pics on Lucy's IG you two were all over each other last night” Ameena lashed out only finding the tiniest hint of satisfaction watching Calum's jaw twitch slightly.

“Your key” Calum held his hand out. Ameena pulled it off her key ring and threw it against the wall. Calum calmly took her key ring out of her hand removed the actual key, handed her the bag he'd packed and pointed towards the door.They watched as Ameena walked to her car and peeled away. They caught up to her at the security gate. Ameena pulled the parking sticker off her window and handed it to the attendant. She flipped Calum and Ashton off behind her and sped away.

Calum and Ashton sat down across from each other in the booth. Both ordered near identical breakfasts of eggs, bacon, toast and hash browns. Ashton added on a side of pancakes while Calum got a fruit cup.

Waiting for their food Ashton took his phone out and handed it to Cal. He already had Lucy's Instagram page up and Calum scrolled through the pictures. Sure enough there were Ashton and Camille wrapped around each other. Camille hanging on his arm while they played beer pong. Ashton behind Camille with his arms wrapped around her waist while they danced. Then a video of the pass the ice cube game with Camille in between Harry and Ashton. Calum handed his phone back to him.

“So what happened?” Calum asked him.

“After you left Camille was trying to hold it together but then she started to cry.” Ashton's voice wavered slightly. “I chose to stay by her the whole time and try and salvage her night. Yeah we got flirty and yeah we had a cheeky little kiss and a few cuddles. The whole time she's looking around for you.”

Calum closed his eyes and dropped his head into his hands. “Don't you dare feel bad. Ameena went psycho and I'm so proud of the way you handled her today.” Ashton told him placing a hand on Cal's shoulder. He pulled back when the server brought their food.

“Cal look at me. What is it? Talk to me please.” Ashton was worried about his best friend.

“This has been so hard. The fighting with Ameena, this shit with Camille fucking hell maybe I should walk away from both of them and just start over.” Calum shrugged and looked away.

“Are you fucking serious? Is that really what you want?” Ashton couldn't believe what he was hearing.

“I don't know ok I don't fucking know ok” Calum's voice went up and people began to look their way.

“Cal it's ok I'm here for you. We'll get you through this.” Now Ashton was really worried.

“I'm just exhausted. I don't know anything anymore.” Calum looked away and began eating. Ashton followed his lead shoveling food into his mouth while keeping an eye on Calum.

“So why did Camille sleep in your bed?” Calum asked.

“Camille was absolutely shitfaced and I was afraid she would turn into a  crying mess. I don't know if you heard everything Ameena said to her but it had Camille rattled. Cody split and Cher left to shag Spongebob. I was literally the only guy who didn't bring a date left to see to her. I gave her a pair of pajamas and we slept in the same bed. Nothing happened, all we did was talk about you.” Ashton told him.

“Do you like her?” Another question from Calum.

“Listen to me” Ashton leaned in and looked Calum in the eye. “I adore Camille, but not in the way you do and you of all people know I'm interested in someone else.  Camille and I are very good friends who bonded over wanting something we couldn't have. Why are you so worried about it anyways? You know I would never go behind your back.”

“That's the craziest thing about all of this. You know I've never been the jealous or possessive type. I mean that fight I got into with Brandon was because he put hands on Ameena and wouldn't stop. With Camille it's this violent rush of emotion. The second day she was here I got jealous over her and my brain has been fucked ever since.” Calum rubbed his eyes.

“Go home get some rest. Tonight we're all going out to Harry's club. You and Camille can kiss and make up. We can all relax and have a good night.” Ashton smiled at him picking up the check.

Calum kicked off his shoes and headed upstairs to shower. He let the water pour over his skin and soothe his nerves when out of nowhere all the pent up stress and emotion he'd bottled up came crashing down on him in waves. Unable to hold back Calum broke down and cried.

First came sadness tinged with regret. Even though it all went wrong Ameena had been his first love and they'd had some wonderful times together. His mother would call tomorrow after word got back to her from one of her best friends aka Ameena's mom. He felt guilty about the disruption it would cause in other people's lives. He gave himself up to the tears, no longer trying to hold them back. There was the relief  being done with a relationship that had long since turned toxic. Sobs racked his shoulders as the frustration and anger hit him. He'd hurt everyone by not having the strength to end it with Ameena months ago or at the very least in Europe. He was furious Ameena had lashed out at Camille and hurt her and panicked that Camille might not think he was worth the trouble after being publicly insulted twice.

Camille. Camille. Camille. Fucking hell. He sniffled regaining control again. He washed his face and hair, gave himself a quick tug and finished up his shower routine. He padded to his room naked using the towel to dry his hair. His room was a mess. Ameena had dumped clothes everywhere. Nothing was broken but she'd taken a few things that weren't hers.

The cologne she'd bought him last Christmas. His green hoodie was swiped and she took the damn candle. For some reason that cracked him up. There he was fully nude, laughing his ass off in the middle of his wrecked bedroom. Duke who'd been sleeping on his bed was staring at Calum as if he'd lost his mind. Maybe he had. He realized he needed to get some sleep if he were going out tonight. It was 1pm there was plenty of time. He crawled into bed and Duke snuggled in for a nap. He could leave the mess for tomorrow. Calum wondered if Camille would even want to be around him never mind actually have sex with him now.

It was Retro Rewind at The Chelsea which meant the music was all 80's, 90's and early 2000's. Britney Spears’ Toxic was playing as Camille and Cher showed up with Harry and his date Kaye along with Lucy and Tom.

Harry was rocking one of his trademark suits.  This one was purple paisley over a white shirt unbuttoned halfway down his chest. Kaye coordinated in a cute lilac mini dress. Tom went with a more casual look burgundy button up and black jeans. Lucy was a stunner in a bright blue swinging halter dress alongside him.

Cher wore black denim shorts a white tank top and a blue and green tie dye duster with black combat boots. Her hair was up in two twisty buns like mouse ears.

Camille had a root touch up that morning but they hadn't put the color back in so instead of pink hair it was platinum blonde worn loose and wavy. She was wearing a red leather mini skirt and a black corset top that gave her cleavage up to her chin. Black knee high lace up boots and bright red lipstick completed the look.

Camille had never been in the VIP lounge before. The Chelsea went all out. Overlooking the club there was a separate bar just for them, bottle service, plush couches, a dancing pole in case anyone felt daring enough and even a private bathroom so one didn't have to mingle with the peasants just to pee. Even a separate entrance/exit for celebrity guests.

“If you'd told me 4 months ago we'd end up in the VIP of The Chelsea as personal guests of Harry Styles I would've slapped you and called you a liar.” Cher leaned into Camille handing her a margarita.

“I know right?” Camille laughed and shook her head. They heard a commotion behind them. Camille whipped her head around but it was just Lucy's brother and a couple Tom's friends.

“Waiting for someone?” Cher raised her eyebrows.

“Shut up” Camille poked her.Just then as if on cue the music changed and the boys appeared.

What a man, what a man, what a man,

What a mighty good man

Gotta say it again now

What a man, what a man, what a man

Camille smacked Cher in the arm as both of them tried not to be too obvious. Holy fucking hell they all looked incredibly sexy.

Michael was in his usual look. Black skinnies, high necked black and white shirt, black coat and boots, rings and glasses.

Luke was killing it with his red shirt showing off plenty of his chest, matching nails, skin tight black trousers and silver glitter boots. Both dates dressed to match with Crystal in black and silver shorts and a crop top and Summer in a black catsuit trimmed in bright red.

Ashton was cheeky in a pink silk short sleeved top and black pants and boots. His gold necklaces glinted against his exposed skin.

Camille’s eyes landed on Calum and she couldn't breathe. His hair was curly and in his eyes which in itself was enough to make her melt. He had on the black long sleeve button up with white pinstripes, black skinny jeans that made his ass look extra cute and boots. Camille licked her lips and tried to calm her racing pulse. Blushing furiously she had to look away certain the entire room could read her thoughts.

Lucy came over to grab them so they could dance and Camille snapped out of her trance. A much as she wanted Calum after last night he had to make a move.

Calum and Ashton took a shot and then grabbed a beer before looking around the room. Lucy and Tom had their usual crew. Cher looked adorable with her hair up. Calum didn't know the curvy blonde girl Cher was talking to as he glanced away searching for Camille before it clicked in his brain.

His throat went dry and he couldn't swallow. Camille usually dressed modestly rarely trying for overly sexy, so to see her dressed so blatantly provocative caught him by surprise. Calum wasn't the only one appreciating her new look as what appeared to be Lucy's brother hovered nearby.

Calum scowled at him and sat down on one of the couches to gather up the courage liquid or otherwise to approach Camille. Camille saw Calum frown at her and decided against trying to talk to him if he was in a bad mood. Besides Drew, Lucy's brother, was pleasant enough for the time being. Although he was drinking at an alarming rate and Camille sensed he wasn't a pretty drunk. For right now she was gonna drink and dance with Tom and Lucy.

Cher didn't hesitate to make her way over to the guys. As the couples had separated from Ashton and Cal, Cher headed that way.

“What's up Cool Guy Cal and Mr Bravo” Cher giggled.

“Hey pretty lady why don't you sit next to me” Ashton was quick with a joke.  Cher settled in between them for a chat and a drink.

Calum chugged his beer and ordered another. Cher raised her eyebrows. “A little liquid courage never hurt” he told her sheepishly.

“For fucks sake Calum just go talk to her” Cher was exasperated.

“She looks busy” Calum pouted watching Camille dance with Dan? Dave? Drew? Drew, that's it. He looked like a fucking Drew.

Camille was absolutely sick of Drew and had finally screwed up her courage to go talk to Calum bad mood or not. She leaned in to whisper in Lucy's ear telling her she'd be back when she felt strong arms wrap around her waist. She squirmed to get away but Drew wasn't letting go.

“C'mon Camille let's dance” he slurred in her ear thrusting against her.

“Drew knock it off you're drunk” Lucy smacked her brother's arm to no avail.

Camille tried to get away but he was locked on to her. Until he wasn't. Suddenly she was free and Drew was on the floor. She turned around confused to find Calum enraged and standing over Drew.

“That's my girl. If you touch her again it'll be the last thing your ever do.” Calum's voice was tight and controlled and no one doubted he meant what he said.

Camille's jaw dropped as Calum stalked past her into the bathroom trailed by Ashton and Lucy's friend.Seconds later Camille pushed into the bathroom.Calum was leaned up against the wall with Ashton on one side and Lucy's friend Jessica hovering trying to touch him but he shrugged her off.

“Can you give us some privacy” Camille asked.Ashton moved towards the door Jessica continued to hover.

“Get out” Camille snapped at her and she scurried off behind Ashton.

“What the shit Hood?” Camille was standing inches from him. “Last night you leave with your girlfriend and never come back and now you wanna act like I belong to you. You can't have it both ways.”

“I packed Ameena's shit this morning. Took her key and her parking pass. Its over and done. I don't want it both ways. I only want to have you.” Calum's face was just inches from Camille's.

“So take me” Camille raised up on her toes and snaked her hand to the back of his neck pulling him in for a kiss.Calum's hands dug into her waist as his mouth met hers. Camille's melted under the soft yet demanding feel of Calum's lips against hers. His tongue finding its way to battle with hers as they clung to each other battling for dominance while submitting to desire all at once.Camille reached down to rub his hard cock through his pants while passionately kissing him with so much hunger that Calum falls back against the bathroom stall door.

He pulls back “Are you sure this is what you want? You really want to do this here in a bathroom?” Calum searches her face for any sign of hesitation.

Camille stares back at him. “Every time I hesitate something gets in my way. I don't care where it happens. I just want you.”

Calum smirked before yanking her hair back and attacking her neck. Kissing, biting and licking his way across her throat sending shivers down her spine. His hand slid into her shirt twisting her nipple between his fingers causing Camille to cry out.  Camille grabbed his cheeks kissing him fiercely as her hands clawed at his belt.

“You don't have to” Calum told her.

“Oh but I want to” Camille gave him a wicked grin causing his heartbeat to quicken before she ducked onto her knees and her mouth was on his cock. Swirling her tongue around the tip while gazing up at him Camille savored the moment before taking his length down her throat. Calum grunted and tried to grab her hair but she swatted his hands away. Camille set her own pace using her hands to pump and twist while she sucked him off. She used her fingers and tongue in ways Calum  hadn't experienced before making it impossible for him to speak. The strained moans coming from his throat sent shivers to her core. “Oh shit” Calum threw his head back against the stall his fingers unable to resist tangling in her hair as Camille made him cum down her throat. Calum's knees went weak and he looked up at Camille who stood up and  wiped her mouth with a very satisfied smirk.

“You're in so much trouble now” Calum told her grabbing her wrist. He used one hand to hold her wrists behind her back while the other slid up her thigh and under her skirt. Camille gasped as she felt him move her panties to the side and one of his long fingers slide into her slowly. She hissed as he moved excruciatingly slow pulling out then adding another finger and sliding back in. “Please don't tease” Camille whimpered.

“As you wish” Calum shot her a devilish look before releasing her wrists and pushing her skirt up her hips. Continuing to pump his fingers inside her Calum's lips found her clit wrapping around it and sucking gently.“Fuck Calum” Camille tried and failed to be quiet.Calum had her on the tip of his tongue and between the way she tasted and the sounds she was making he could feel his dick getting hard again. He was relentless his mouth and his fingers driving her to orgasm as she quivered against his face her fingers desperately tangled in his dark curls. Camille felt herself shatter against him. Her legs quaking and turning to jelly she thought she might collapse.

Instead she found herself wrapped in Calum's strong arms as he picked her up and carried her over to sit on the edge of the sink. He held her face in his hands. “You're sure you want this” Calum asked.

Camille smiled blissfully never taking her eyes from his she took his hand and raised it to her mouth. She kissed the palm of his hand lightly which brought a soft smile to Calum's now swollen lips. Then while maintaining eye contact placed his fingers that had been inside her to lips and began to suck her own juices off of them. “Oh fuck me” Calum swore reaching for his wallet as Camille giggled.

“You won't be laughing in a second darling” Calum muttered putting on the condom. His mouth met hers again as he found her entrance wet and waiting for him. Snapping his hips he buried himself fully inside her making her hiss and throw her head back.

“Does that hurt” he asked.

“Yes but don't you dare stop” Camille panted in his ear.

Calum tried to set an easy pace as he took his time enjoying the feel of her around him.Camille squirmed impatiently making him grin.Until she clenched around him and grabbed the back of his neck.

“Fuck me hard Calum. Do it.” She whispered before kissing under his jaw right on the sensitive spot she'd found. Raking her teeth along it she knew she was leaving marks. Calum responded immediately. He leaned her back partly against  the mirror.  Grabbing her hip with one hand and her throat with the other he set a punishing rhythm.  Camille couldn't help but squeeze around him every time he'd slam into her g spot causing them both to moan. Camille reached one hand down between her legs to rub circles on her clit the other caressing her own breasts. He'd never seen anything hotter. Calum could feel his orgasm building as he fucked Camille into oblivion.

“Are you close” he asked her.Camille just whimpered and nodded sending Calum into a frenzy.He watched her climax hit her. Her eyes screwed shut and his name tumbled from her lips again and again. Right as she hit her high her hips began to buck. Wrapping her legs tightly around his waist and he could feel her tremble around him. “Oh God what the fuck” it was too much and Calum's orgasm hit him harder and sooner than he expected. “Camille” he cried out her name as both a curse and a prayer.

Next Chapter All On My Mind

@biba3434 @vfdsstuff @babygirlcashton @toofadedtofight

[tinycartridge]

Tiny Cartridge's Holiday 2017 Gift Guide ⊟ 

We picked out gifts we’d give to people we love (like you)! 

Gifts we’d give to Switch owners

Puyo Puyo Tetris - It’s a great Tetris game, a great Puyo Puyo trainer, and a weirdly enjoyable story.

Waterfield CitySlicker Case - An elegantly designed, perfectly protective case. It’s a top-shelf pouch with a top-shelf price, offering a cowhide leather flap and microsuede lining.

Palisade’s Waxed Canvas Carrying Case - Available in green and blue, this case isn’t quite as nice as the CitySlicker, but it’s a quarter of the price and will keep consoles warm during these winter months with its flannel interior.

Switch Arcade Cabinet - This DIY project turns Switches into a tiny arcade machine! And it can be extended with DIY joystick controls, or not.

Gifts we’d give to Nintendo 3DS and 2DS owners

SNES Edition New Nintendo 3DS XL - While it’s not a Super NES Classic Edition, it looks just as slick, and you can actually buy this one from a store. It also comes with a digital code for Super Mario Kart for the SNES.

Poke Ball Edition New Nintendo 2DS XL - It looks just like a Poke Ball, and the lid has a button you can press – two good excuses for why someone would want yet another 3DS/2DS system.

amCase Soft Sleeve 3DS XL Carrying Case - This low-key gray case is  a great and cheap solution for adults wanting to carry this child-proof system around with them.

River City Rival Showdown - Two years in a row, we have a new Kunio game to recommend. Hell yeah. This River City Ransom remake even comes with a limited edition Kunio keychain.

Gifts we’d give to PS Vita owners

Axiom Verge Multiverse Edition - The deluxe edition of the one-man Metroidvania (includes the game, a double-sided poster, an art booklet, and a making-of documentary).

Danganronpa V3: Killing Harmony - Give the gift of once again being trapped with other high schoolers and forced to kill each other to escape.

Ys VIII Lacrimosa of DANA - If you don’t play this, Dana will cry.

PlayStation TV Display Stand Dock - Maybe all people need to start using their PlayStation TVs again is a dock to help it stand tall and imitate higher-end consoles. Give PS TV owners a reason to prop the micro console up next to their other systems.

Toys and amiibo we’d give to fellow men and women of culture

Breath of the Wild Link deluxe Nendoroid - It comes with a little horsey for Link and other Nendoroids to ride! There’s also a cheaper, non-horsey version with enough accessories to take down the toughest Test of Strength shrines.

Dragon Quest Slime pocket watch - L M A O

Max Factory Goro Majima figma action figure - Maybe you could sew a little shirt for him.

Amiibo diorama kits - Imported Smash Bros., Monster Hunter Stories, Kirby, Splatoon, playgrounds for amiibos.

Clothes we’d give to improve people’s wardrobes

Sonic the Hedgehog sneakers - I’m sure these would look great even on a fully clothed human.

Breath of the Wild scarf - A sick scarf inspired by The Legend of Zelda: Breath of the Wild’s blue Hyrule Champion tunic. Check out Tony’s Splatoon Gear Brand stickers too!

Bowser Revolution - Another unlicensed piece, but we have no choice but to endorse a t-shirt featuring a Mario Party Bowser silhouette demanding equality.

Neo Geo Bigger Badder Better Long-Sleeve Tee - A must-cop for hypebeasts wanting to wear a hype beast, designed by Nina Matsumoto and Tony Kuchar. Comes with a matching pin!

Books we’d give to bring joy to people’s lives

I’m Stuck in a Video Game - A lovely story about a young girl being zapped into her favorite game, written by Game Center CX producer/narrator Tsuyoshi Kan and illustrated/translated by Nina Matsumoto.

The Life-Changing Manga of Tidying Up: A Magical Story - Help someone clean up a messy home and life with Marie Kondo. For those who had trouble with her original book, this manga edition makes Ms. Kondo’s tidying lessons more accessible with a cute story about a young professional trying to get her life together.

Delicious in Dungeon - For people who have always wanted the cooking segments of dungeon crawlers turned into a manga entirely about a party of adventurerers cooking recipes out of monsters.

Peow Comics - Everything this publisher puts out is flames, whether it’s detective stories, chronicles of a war between wizards, or a crossover between Yuri on Ice and Evangelion.

Music we’d give to people who haven’t asked us to stop giving them music as gifts

Django - The first original album release by Chip Tanaka, the incredible chiptune alter ego of Nintendo’s best game composer/Creatures Inc. president Hirokazu “Hip” Tanaka. His CD includes a thank-you letter from Chip Tanaka (and secret track download code).

Three Movements (releases December 17) - Mega Man composer Manami Matsumae is also releasing her first-ever solo album, promising songs that cross “chiptunes with everything from classical piano and SNES-inspired beats to melodically vague soundscapes and orchestral numbers.”

Prescription for Sleep: Fight for Your Dreams - Iconic game music turned into jazzy lullabies to sleep, relax, and study to. The arrangements are put together and performed by Gentle Love – Norihiko Hibino (composer of Metal Gear Solid and Bayonetta) on saxophone and AYAKI (performer on Etrian Odyssey and PersonaQ) on piano.

Everybody Works - Dream-pop tracks from Oakland-based artist Jay Som / Melissa Duterte. Just a tender, warm album Eric has been getting into lately.

Gifts we’d give to people who would listen to a podcast about grocery shopping

Club Tiny membership: What could be a better gift than entry in an exclusive, positive community of handheld game enthusiasts? Don’t think too much on that question. You’ll not only get our exclusive Grocery/Slice-of-Life podcast, but access to our Discord, a free Tiny enamel pin, and more!

Kiriko Tote Bags - We’re in love with this Portland shop’s patterns, but their simple, chic denim totes are perfect for carrying a basket’s worth of groceries home (we’re using their large chambray bag with Kiriko’s logo).

Click & Grow aerogardens - Grow herbs and/or vegetables at home with these indoor gardening kits. They’re self-watering and use plant cartridges!

Seapoint Farms Dry-Roasted Edamame - An unexpected perfect protein-packed snack. It’s nutty but safe for people with nut allergies!

Charities we’d donate to in someone’s name like that Seinfeld episode except they’re real organizations that will put your money to good use

ACLU donation - The gift of continued protection for our rights.

Animal Welfare Institute - Help reduce animal suffering caused by people.

Flint water donation - I can’t believe this is still necessary, but it is.

The Trevor Project - Help LGBTQ kids when they need it.

If we’ve missed any must-have gifts, let us know!

THE NEW CLUB TINY IS HERE  Support Tiny Cartridge!

[scoutshonor56]

The Uninvited Guest

Have you ever had an uninvited guest?  You know, the one who promises to help around the house, get along with the wife and kids, stay in the background, kick in some money for food and bills, just until he finds a job and moves out in a timely fashion…

 …and then does none of the above?  Now, 8 months later, the wife is one more “incident” away from filing for divorce, your kids are hardly ever home, and the funds are getting so lean you’re pulling extra hours at work to compensate (and avoid homelife) and even brown-bagging it for lunch.  I know some countries that probably feel that way - it certainly reminds me of our relationship with the Middle East.

 As I watched American troops withdrawing from Syria last week, being pelted with rocks and potatoes, angry mobs of Kurds shaking their fists and holding up signs, I had nothing but shame for my country; shame and anger.  Yup, shocking even those in his own party and members of his cabinet advisors, our reality-challenged Moron in Chief announced that he was bailing on strategic ally, the Ukraine, in his fairy tale effort to spin his own story and “Bring our troops home!”  

 Oh BOY, that phrase has such a positive ring to it! It smells of mission accomplished, implying some sort of victory! Tears and hugs, excited dogs, welcome home parties, and a return to mom’s Sunday beef stew and apple pie with the family!

 Whooo-WEE did that one push the bullshit meter needle into the red; all we’re doing is moving the tokens around the board, and not very far at that.  They are already being re-deployed two steps over, primarily back to Iraq.  This occupation - let’s call it what it is - has become a marathon game of insanity and blood, where there is no end and everybody loses.  It’s an open scrum played on a dangerous field of rock and sand with no rules, no boundaries, and goal posts that were torn down long ago - just make shit up as you go along.

 I know it’s been a long time, so it’s understandably easy to forget, but the invasion of Afghanistan began on October 7, 2001, and soon expanded into Iraq on March 19, 2003.  Meaning in two short years, we will have reached the twenty-year mark, the longest war by far in America’s relatively short history. There are teenagers today who have known nothing but this occupational war.  It has literally become part of our national fabric, background static in our everyday lives; and like an ever-present mild tinnitus ring in your ear, you soon learn to live with it, tune it out.  Put a WE SUPPORT OUR TROOPS bumper sticker on your car and carry on with your day, feeling secure that you’ve done your part.  

 It’s filler for the media when they run short of something more “interesting” to prattle on about, something more eye-grabbing!  This war is sooo old news – it has no cute, fuzzy animals doing funny things, not even any chesty cleavage for God’s sake!  And where are the celebrities, the Hollywood scandals!?  Oh never mind, switch the channel to “America’s Got Talent”, or “Dancing With the Stars”, or “The Voice”…

 Again I ask myself, why is it that America, in all it’s nationalistic hubris and arrogance, simply can’t imagine the horror and hatred generated by military occupation of one’s own country?  What if it was us that had M2 Bradley fighting vehicles and Humvees patrolling our streets, troops banging down our doors, searching our homes, families rounded up in our streets and being harshly interrogated in a language we don’t even understand.  The ever-present “accidental” shootings and beatings, tempers flaring, hospitals, social events, and schools bombed, all justified with the flippant term “collateral damage” - OOPS!  

 Proud cities laid in ruin, jobs lost, and forced mass migrations pushing you here, there, and then back again as the bloody conflict moves from place to place, country to country.

 And I might add this is something we’ve had a lot of practice at over the last century; this is far from the first time we have flexed our misguided muscle in a world that we continue to see through our myopic American eyes.  “Surely everyone shares and envies our values and culture, right?”  Granted, there may have been a time not long ago when this was true, and the premise still holds some validity today, but no ride lasts forever, and this is a new century with a new game that is already seeing a lot of new players.  It’s time this country and its people came to grips with the reality that as of 2019, we comprise 4.27% of the world’s global population.    

Many might say, “Well yes, but we’re liberators, not aggressors…”

 To which I would say, let’s hold off on the flag waving until such results are achieved – until then, and after almost 20 years, the distinction to me appears rather blurry.  Or more to the point, let that call be made by the hapless bystanders and victims caught in the middle; let’s ask them if all the sorrow and rage is/was worth it.  Then let’s be honest and open with the American people and tally up our cost, and then put it on the scales of justification:

 According to a study at the Watson Institute at Brown University, the combined cost of this war in Afghanistan, Pakistan, and Iraq so far is just shy of, and soon approaching, 6 trillion dollars; that’s trillion.  

 According to this same study, there have been an approximate total of 500,000 people killed, and that’s not even including another half million deaths attributed to Syria, a bloody skirmish we joined in 2014.  How much of that can be directly attributed to our involvement?  Certainly debatable I grant you, but you can cut those numbers in half and they still represent a staggering figure.  

 According to Military.com a record total of 321 active duty members of the American military took their own lives just last year - that’s almost an average of one a day.  I’m no psychologist, and I’m sure there are a myriad of complex reasons, but quite frankly I don’t find it that difficult to understand the feeling of hopelessness and absurdity as you contemplate a life that you used to know fading from your day to day reality.  Home?  Home will never be the same for you, especially if you are one of the maimed and scarred…

 Maybe I’m being idealistic or naïve, or reading too much “fake news”, or simply not clear on how we keep score in such endeavors, but I’m not seeing much of anything on the plus column here yet…  

 Meanwhile, let’s imagine a parallel universe where America embraces a much more effective and sane method to “win the hearts and minds” of countries in turmoil, who are tipping on the brink of political and social chaos. What if we took a tiny chunk of those trillions of dollars, let’s say 5 or 10 billion, and built schools to educate, libraries, and hospitals.  Sent over professional and knowledgeable advisors instead of soldiers to help with a country’s medical needs, sustainable farming techniques, and developing new industries to generate a stable economy.  How do you think the rest of the world would judge us then?  How many nations would not only become willing allies, but maybe even emulate this humanitarian effort that recognizes we are all people sharing the same planet.

 Now for the bonus feature that enhances life here at home – we could utilize a couple of those trillions of dollars to rebuilt and modernize our roads and bridges, our water management systems, airports, and mass transit infrastructure.  I can’t tell you how many documentaries I’ve watched where American engineers grade all of these areas as antiquated and sorely in need of repair or replacement.  Did you know nearly 85% of our bridges were built before 1970?  Major airports around the world put ours to shame.  As our climate rapidly changes, flood management has now become a major concern here in America.  We could greatly expand and improve renewable energy, making it more cost efficient and readily available.  

 Improve our schools and pay our teachers a competitive wage.  Why would any country not treat the education of its citizenry as a top priority? Schools are the very soil in which we carefully nurture the human seeds of a globally successful and competitive society, critical today more than ever.  According to an international study done by the Pew Research Center in 2015, our educational system rates middle of the pack, or worse – how do you think that bodes for our future in a rapidly changing and developing world? 

And we would still have plenty left over to maintain a robust Defense Dept. 

 Instead, we continue to feed an insatiable Defense budget.  A gluttonous monster that holds sway over our politicians and lobbyists. Last year alone we spent more than the next seven countries combined, and yes, that includes China and Russia. Our military budget for 2020?  $738 billion, and it goes up every year.  

 While we now have a record breaking deficit of over 1 trillion dollars, military spending eats over half of our discretionary budget annually.  Why do we continue this madness of “might makes right”?  Pursuing peace through aggression and intimidation, carrying the biggest club?  According to The Wall St. Journal, America has more than 400 military bases around the world, located on every continent but Antarctica. As of this year we have an inventory of over 6,000 nuclear warheads – now that’s what a call a redundant backup…

 This is exactly the madness that retired five-star general and former president Dwight Eisenhower warned about in his farewell speech at the White House on Jan. 17, 1961. He called it “the military-industrial complex”, referring to the growing and dangerous union of our defense contractors and the armed forces.

 His successor to the highest office in the land, John F. Kennedy, once said:

"And we must face the fact that the United States is neither omnipotent or omniscient - that we are only six percent of the world's population - that we cannot impose our will upon the other ninety-four percent of mankind - that we cannot right every wrong or reverse each adversity - and that therefore there cannot be an American solution to every world problem."  

 Just maybe it’s time to try a little harder at getting along; to lead by example, instead of might.  America first?  Great, I’m all for it - let’s start in our own backyard, because it’s a mess.