#gettin more active whoa

[aerodaltonimperial]

(Junglecorpse, 1.4k ish. In my defense, and I know I say this a lot but it's actually true this time, I am very legitimately going through a lot right now, and I don't know if my therapist would approve of this method of self-soothing or no, BUT whatever, Junglecorpse is one of the few pairings that activates my "MUST HAVE FLUFF NOW" toggles when normally I avoid fluff like the plague. I wrote this snippet a few months back or so for Vamp via chat and expanded it today for Myself™️ so I'm posting it here so I can save it on the masterlist. You do not have to read this.)

“Do you think Tony’s gonna lose his mind and create a new pay-per-view every week?” Jack asks, while thumbing up through his Twitter feed somewhat absently. He’s only got his right hand, as Darby has stolen his left. Darby’s got one of his ink pens, the felt-tipped kind he uses to doodle sometimes, and the brush of the tip against the skin on the back of Jack’s hand is calming. Sometimes Jack ends up with skulls littering his knuckles, other times with swoops and flourishes; mostly, he just lets Darby do his thing. It’s familiar.

“Seems like a bad business model,” Darby replies. His head is bowed, chin turned down as he works. Last week, Jack went out to lunch with his sister with a stylized skateboard heading up against the bump in his wrist bone, and she’d laughed for about three minutes straight.

Jack snorts a little, still scrolling. Doom-scrolling, really, though he’ll never admit that to his therapist. “Yeah, people are gonna stop paying if all they ever see is Hanger and Swerve stapling each other’s chests every single month, over and over again.”

“You may be greatly underestimating the public interest in that.” Darby laughs.

“Oh.” Jack frowns at the back glow, squinting a little. “Shit, yeah, you’re right. Man. Should I start up a homoerotic feud with somebody with the sole goal of getting some really violent death matches?”

“Please don’t let anyone else staple your chest,” Darby says, a bit muffled. The brush pen curls along Jack’s skin.

“Anyone else? Whoa, buddy, stapling me was not on the to-do list for this week.”

Darby snorts. “I like you in one piece, thanks. And I’m not a big fan of watching you bleed all over the mats.”

“Oh, sure, but I have to watch you toss yourself spine first off the posts every Wednesday,” Jack says. He taps the screen again with his thumb, pulling down. Something something official AEW twitter, five clips from the last show, and Stokely buying another celebrity Cameo to woo Kris Statlander. Actually, that one’s pretty funny. He got Barack Obama to do it. Jack didn’t even know Obama had a Cameo.

The brush tip swirls, then taps a few times. “Aw. You gettin’ anxious over me?”

“Well, if you die, who’s going to keep my feet warm at night?”

“Yeah, I’ve been meaning to tell you: wear socks. Your feet are fucking freezing.”

Jack huffs out another laugh. The Obama cameo was hilarious. Stokely deserves managing her at this point. “I don’t need socks, I have your legs.”

“Dick,” Darby grumbles.

“But back to this pay-per-view thing. This is a lot of matches. Having even more on Sunday, every month, feels kind of overwhelming. Like, I need to have the roofing guy come look at my place? And I can’t schedule it because Tony keeps creating new shows.”

“Mm.” Another swoop of the brush, then some lines. Jack glides through an update from Prince Nana that reads truly bizarre, a reblog from Bowens that reads genuinely excited, and a post from Danhausen that’s mostly nonsense ending with ‘you’re cursed.’ “Maybe next week. Your shingles? Or the gutters? I don’t think I remember you talking about any other issues.”

“Just the shingles. After that last wind storm, I think a few came off, and now I’m worried the whole damn thing will come down around me one night.”

Darby huffs out a laugh, but the doodling ministrations on the back of Jack’s hand don’t pause. “I think you’d get a bit of a heads up before that happens.”

“Only if someone is physically there to yell ‘heads up’ at all times,” Jack jokes. Another tweet from the official AEW account, and then a reblog. Sammy posted. Ricky posted. Sammy tweeted at Ricky with a bunch of capslock, Ricky quote-retweeted with a gif of a dancing middle finger, and Jack skips all of that. Let them argue on main if they want to. Sammy’s just gonna try to fall on Ricky from the scaffolding again.

“I’ll do it.”

The drawing on the back of his hand stops. “Oh, yeah?” Jack smiles. “Are you volunteering to always…” He looks down at the doodles on his skin, and freezes.

Adorning his knuckles are a series of curves, vine-like, that curl up towards his ring finger where they create a solid horizontal line, and in the middle of his hand, somewhat shaky, given they were written upside down to be read from Jack’s direction, blocky letters spell WILL YOU MARRY ME.

Jack’s chest constricts. He can’t breathe. With his heart roaring against his ears, he whips his gaze up to stare at Darby, whose expression is maddeningly neutral. “Darby. What the fuck?”

“Okay, that’s… a response,” Darby says, with the tiniest of shrugs and a pinch to his lips. “Think it’s pretty clear.”

“Are you… are you serious?”

“Yeah,” Darby replies, mouth quirking up at the corners. “Yeah, I am.”

“You…” Jack’s tongue is ungainly, swollen. “Oh my god.”

“I’m not hearing an answer.”

“But… why would you…”

Darby drops his eyes, dragging his thumb over the topmost part of his impromptu design in a caress, and his smile never really diminishes. “Jack, what did you think this was? What did you think this was going to be? I don’t do things in halves, I told you that from the get-go. You know me. It’s you and me, and that’s what I want. Forever.”

“Are… are you sure?” Jack’s gonna choke on everything bubbling up from his chest.

Darby’s eyes slide back up. They reflect the lamplight, bright shiny starbursts. “Yeah, Jack, I’m really fucking sure. And if you don’t—”

“Yes.”

Darby pauses, tongue slipping out to press into the corner of his mouth. “Yes?”

“Yes.” Jack laughs, the sound bubbling up through his throat. “Yes, I’ll marry you.”

“Holy shit.” Darby’s smile widens, impossibly stretched. “Holy shit. Really?”

Jack grabs for Darby’s face, clutching the sides of his head. He mashes their mouths together with way too much force, but he can’t stop it, because the rattling in his veins has started to sing. Then he pulls away. “You asked, you absolute loon, how did you not expect an answer? Yes, really. Really.”

And then he’s not really sure of much other than the fact that they’re both laughing, euphoric, and Jack doesn’t care about the roof anymore, or the idea of someone stapling his chest, because all that really pales in comparison to everything else, and he thinks ah, that’s exactly how it should be.

His brain starts to catch up with reality, sluggish. “Where are we gonna live? My place, or your place? This is opposite sides of the country, you know. Oh, wow. We’re gonna have to file taxes together.”

Darby laughs, features pulled incredulous. “What?”

“Should we hyphenate our last names?” Jack’s eyes track over Darby’s face: blue, blue, blue, his eyes are so blue. Should they have blue in their wedding? Should they have a wedding? “Should we hyphenate them in the ring? Wait, I have to go to the grocery store today, and I don’t want to wash this off my hand. Should I take a photo? Or wear a glove? Am I gonna look like Michael Jackson?”

“Jack,” Darby laughs again, high and bright. “Darling. Light of my life. You’re such a fucking idiot.”

“I’m seventeen steps ahead again, aren’t I.”

Darby grabs his face between his palms. “Yes. Yes, you are. Honestly, I don’t know where we’re gonna live. We’ll probably just keep both places. Yes, we’re gonna have to file taxes together. No, I don’t know if we’ll hyphenate our names; I really don’t give a shit. Yes, you can take a photo. No, you will never look like Michael Jackson.”

“You don’t have an opinion about our names?” Jack asks.

Darby hauls him closer, until their noses touch. He’s smiling, smiling, and Jack’s smiling, the expression too wide and aching on his face. “Jack, I don’t fucking care. I just want to be with you and your stupidly cold feet.”

“Does this proposal come with the condition that I have to buy some socks?”

“Don’t you even dare,” Darby replies, his thumb gliding along Jack’s cheek a little. “You’re gonna shove your feet between my legs in the middle of the night and jolt me awake like you always do, and I’m gonna fuckin’ love it, every damn time.”

“Oh my god, you’re such a sap,” Jack says.

“Get to used to that, ‘cause you’re gonna be legally stuck with me after this.”

“Awesome,” Jack breathes, and kisses him again.

[tomsmusictaste]

recent twitter refugee here, I'm kinda still gettin the hang of this place and still looking for people to talk to about any kinda rock music. you seem to have good taste so if you could give me some pointers that'd be ideal 🤘 tysm

Hello! Well first of all welcome, happy to have you here!! 😸🤘

Pointers eh? 🧐 Well, as well as following blogs you can follow specific tags (you should get the option to do that whenever you use the search function)

So then you’ll get the occasional post related to that popping up on your dashboard, regardless of whether you follow the op

Also when you’re on the homepage there’s a tab called ‘your tags’ which you can filter with as many or as few of your followed tags as you like

• Tag Tips: It can also be useful to use more specific tags if you’re searching for a particular artist, especially lesser known ones. Quite often you’ll see a post for a band, but it’s tags will include several similar bands, which is an algorithm thing I suppose, but it can make it quite hard to find content about specific artists — I personally make a point not to do this, I always only tag with the band or bands that are related to the post, but it does seem to be a fairly common practice :/ BUT! Here’s how to get around that problem:

Let’s say you want to see some posts about Seaway, instead of typing Seaway into the search bar (and being met with several Neck Deep posts that happen to have the Seaway tag on them) it’s better to search ‘Ryan Locke,’ (or any other member of the band) or ‘Seaway Lyrics,’ or in this particular case where the band has their own cute nickname then ‘Seaboiz’ — then you’re more likely to see posts that are actually about the bands you’re searching for

Oh and if you’re on the search page, swapping between the ‘Top’ and ‘Latest’ tabs can be a good way to find new stuff 👍

• Follow Freely. That said, in my experience, following blogs is better than following tags — if you keep seeing certain usernames around the content you like, if you see me or any other blogs you follow rb-ing from the same person a lot, then check out that blog! Maybe reblog some of their stuff, give them a follow — and hey, if it turns out they don’t post quite what you thought they might, it’s okay to unfollow later. Or if they post a mix of stuff you like and stuff you really don’t like, the Tumblr settings allow you to block certain tags - then you can follow whoever and just get the good stuff (assuming it’s tagged properly, which it sometimes isn’t, but alas, ‘tis a risk we must take)

• Reblogs Rule! Speaking of reblogging, reblog. The reblog feature is what this site is built around, a scrapbook in which we all just share stuff we like for our followers to see. If you see stuff you like reblog it, that’s what helps the community thrive. You may also find yourself on a blog that has been inactive for many years but has some older content that you like. You absolutely can and should reblog that content. Timestamps don’t matter over here, if you like it then share it, regardless of when it was originally posted or if the op is still active 🤘

And speaking of reblogging, when you do you’ll have the option to add tags – now you can simply add tags for search purposes; reblogging a post about Fall Out Boy? Tag it with #Fall Out Boy and then when you search that tag on your blog, you’ll be able to see that post again — but you also have free reign to put whatever you want in the tags, almost like a ‘soft comment’ a little bit of commentary regarding your instant reaction to the post, such as #omg I forgot about this song or #hell yes this bands rules or #whoa this edit looks super cool for example, but you can really write anything, and that can give the person you reblogged from a bit more insight into your thoughts and feelings regarding the artist or the post in question

• ‘Laundry Listing.’ Oh, and I just thought- it’s not as common nowadays, but a little while ago you’d fairly often see people post something along the lines of ‘Hey I’m looking for other people that are also into [insert laundry list of bands] like/reblog if any apply’ — so it could be worthwhile making a post like that, or if you find a post like that then reblogging and tagging it with the ones that do apply

• And last but not least, in fact perhaps the most important tip of all I can give you is this:

“Build It And They Will Come”

Basically, if you yourself post* about certain bands or artists, more often that not you’ll tend to find fans will gravitate towards you and follow you/reblog your stuff. In my experience, this is always felt like the best way to find like-minded fans of certain artists

*and I say post, but this can include reblogged posts from other people as well as your own posts

I mean, part of the whole reason I made this blog in the first place was I could barely find any content about some of my favourite bands (Every Avenue, The Downtown Fiction, The Academy Is…) so I thought ‘fuck it, I’ll make it myself’ — and that’s what I did. People started following me, I followed some of them back, and now here we are

So there you go! This is all just based off of my own experience here, and sorry if this was a bit of an info overload or if you already knew some of it, but still, those are the main tips I can think of, I hope any or all of this helps, and I hope your twitter refugee journey goes smoothly! Thanks for the ask!🤘🖤😸

Tl;dr - frequent reblogs and follows are good, post about what you like and you’ll tend to find people who post what you like as well 🖤

[dennisboobs]

not to hijack tags here but. @androfemmealien

as glenn has said, it's not that dennis doesn't have feelings, or even that he "lacks empathy/strong emotions", it's that he struggles to express them. despite being diagnosed with BPD in canon, glenn said the diagnosis was incorrect, as there's no way a doctor would be able to (technically and professionally) diagnose him that quickly (and there are also no pills specifically for BPD, they were probably anti-psychotics because he was threatening to mutilate dee). i don't think he has a personality disorder; though he has traits, he doesn't meet enough of them to be properly diagnosed. what he does have is emotional dysregulation, C-PTSD, and autism.

he has difficulty expressing himself and being understood, which leads to people perceiving him in a certain way that he leans into, because it happens to prevent him from getting hurt.

his outbursts are a result of the emotional dysregulation, almost always caused by a crack in his mask where someone has seen through it, which causes him to lash out in defense. i don't think they're particularly extreme highs and lows, and they aren't sustained. there is a clear cause and effect and it builds up to a full blown meltdown because whoever he's talking to doesn't understand what he's trying to express, but the gang knows to get him to calm down by telling him they get him.

5x12:

Dennis: "They disrespect– I am a legend over there."

Mac: "I know you're a legend, Charlie knows you're a legend."

8x10 (Deleted Scene):

Dennis: "I am not paying for the damages to my car, Dee!"

Dee: "I understand, I underst– whoa, whoa, whoa. I understand. I understand. Hey, listen, let me be your voice on this. Let me take the lead, huh? Cause you're gettin' too hot on this issue and you're coming off as a little bit of a psychopath. Let me speak for you on this, I got it, I got ya."

personally i think that the issue stems from his inability to get OTHERS to understand him, rather than him not understanding himself. he's clearly more than capable of self reflection, competent at understanding others through an objective, analytical lens (but not through an empathetic one). we know he was outwardly sensitive as a child, but his trauma caused him to shut himself off, and being told that he was emotionless, priding himself on being rational, he convinced himself that he truly was cold and unfeeling, but he is not, and he never has been. and he does eventually recognize this and works with it rather than against it.

and i don't think he has low empathy. i think he has such intense empathy that he has to actively suppress it because it leads to him being taken advantage of and hurt.

i don't actually woobify dennis he's just like that and half the fandom has to unwoobify him because they're convinced they're unintentionally woobifying him but your inner voice is wrong listen to your heart

[micromei]

Small Cat, Big City, 11:32 PM (Part 1)

(Content Warning: Brief trans**obia, injury, demise of the main character, but it's an isekai)

The sky was greyish-blue and rain was falling in sheets, which meant the makeup Cass had spent an hour practicing in the mirror was now running down her cheeks, directly into her heavy hoodie. Every now and then, there’d be a rumble of a car or truck pass by the alleyway she was in, but none so much as slowed to give her a glance. And right now, she was in the position where she needed SOMEONE to see her. “C’mon, gurl,” one of three seemingly wasted white, suburban male 20-somethings murmured, his alcohol-tinged breath spilling over Cass’ face, “all we wanna do is show you a good time. Don’t y’wanna have a good time?” He was leaned in close, one hand splayed against the wall next to her head in full kabedon, though even Cass could tell there was probably more than a little effort to support himself with that move. Every bit of his bravado was at least 90% cheap-beer swagger. “N-no. No thanks. Please, just let me go, I’m not…interested,” she murmured. …The man raised his eyebrow slowly, his face twisting from confusion, to a momentary look of disgust, to one of drunken amusement. Internally, Cass winced. She was STILL working on her voice, damnit. “Whoa whoa whoa. Got a pretty deep voice there, don’t ya? You got something hiding somewhere in there?” the man slurred and laughed, making a drunken grope for her dress, though Cass smacked it away with her purse. In response, he grabbed at one of the straps, and yanked hard at it.

“Hey, you’re gettin’ pretty rough there. Not very girly after all,” he snorted, spitting at Cass’ feet. She winced and recoiled, tugging her sneakers away, and yet the man didn’t seem to flinch. “Hey guys, looks like we’ve got ourselves a ████ here!” No, We don’t like this. We don’t like this at all.

…Cass blinked. That singular, hateful word in the man’s voice had just…vanished. And that voice…she could hear it, but everywhere? It seemed to echo down the alleyway, but also…didn’t seem to exist in the slightest.

And unfortunately it didn’t give any pause to the sneering man, who with a single powerful motion, drunkenly shoved Cass to the ground. There was a sharp pop, and she yelped in pain; she’d fallen on something wrong, and now it was just…radiating through her left side. She could feel the dirty puddle she’d fallen into soak into her dress, staining the pretty blue.

“S-stop! Please…y-you broke…I broke something…p-please just let me go home-” Cass pleaded, her eyes filled with tears. “I-I didn’t do anything but look at you, just-...just let me…” The other two men had joined the first, and all three crowded around her. …They were laughing, sneering, one was actively chugging from another glass bottle. As they flung it, Cass curled up and it luckily just struck her back before shattering elsewhere on the street. And that first man spat again. Another terrible laugh. He crouched down, his face contorted in an ugly sneer. One she’d seen before, many times, but…never like this. Never this angry, or violent, or-... His leg reared back, hanging in the air for an almost surreal moment. And all Cass heard as he aimed a heavy kick at her chest was: “There’s no home for someone l i k e y o u █████ █████ █ █ - - -” This is very much not the thing We wish to happen so it will simply not, We think.

The world turned grey for a second, and as Cass stared out into it, she could’ve sworn she saw two vertical white bars just…hovering in the air, transparently, for a second. …She couldn’t move. She couldn’t…breathe? Or talk. But she could think? What was-...

Not the place you belong. There is no future here where you are being your Self! Very tragic. There was an eye in the sky. Somewhere above the heavy rainclouds-...no, it was the moon…no, it was much bigger than the moon and it was visible through the clouds? But it was big, bright, and slitted like a cat. Seeing as she was unable to move her eyes, Cass was completely unaware how this was now the view she saw.

Much too many questions are being asked in the margins! Do not worry, We will take you elsewhere. To a better place! A place where you are being your Self!

Given infinite time and a bunch of thesauruses, Cass was still pretty unsure she would’ve been able to describe the exact way the world seemed to come apart at the seams…or rather, no, she was coming apart, drifting into the world. Drifting into the rainy night sky. Her vision, her senses, all twisted and turned until everything winked out- —-------------------- -...and then winked back in. _______  wasn’t sure where she was anymore. Or when, or how, or any of those big important questions. She couldn’t see, but somehow, she could sense her surroundings, and they were, mildly, confusing. Given that suddenly, she was in a rustic sort of wooden home with a roaring fireplace seated in front of a heavily quilted and pillow-laden couch, held by its occupant. Oh, and that her body was gone.

More specifically, she…was little more than a glowing orb, its round shape giving and shifting as it was idly rolled between two padded, fuzzy fingertips. Once more, those eyes were bearing down on her. …Just two, though suddenly _______ felt incredibly uncertain how many pairs of ‘just two’ eyes were on her.

“Interesting! This little one is being very interesting. Many turns! At an integral point of life! Fun, fun! But Shapeless. Mmm, what to do…”

The little orb wanted to say, intensely, ‘Take me home!’...but alas, she had no mouth. Even so, that ‘thought’, though calling it that without a functioning brain, felt strange. …What…was she, exactly? As if to respond, the vast feline figure snickered, and tossed the little mote of light into the air…and suddenly she was the size of a medicine ball, being bounced back and forth between Their paws as They idly thought.

“Shapeless! You are a Shapeless. Consciousness and thoughtness with no form to call your own. Round! Very round and fun, but you would like a Self, yes?” How could she feel that ‘Self’ was capitalized, the way this thing spoke? But…yes, she very much did want a shape. …But, wait, what was wrong with her old shape?

The feline’s eyes closed, and for a moment, their expression was nothing but sadness. “It is gone. No more. As We said, there was no future in that place, though We have spared from you the worst parts. It was not a nice place, not a good time, but you can be somewhere much better. Your Self! You can be anything. Even Shapeless has a shape it desires! Deep within itself the Shapeless knows what shape it wants into being.”

_______ gave that some thought. …Morose thought, at first. She could only imagine that singular kick would’ve been followed by another, and another and another and another, until something, the mood, the attitude, his foot, or her, broke. She was…gone? W-wait, how was that fair? Who…was this, then? Was this Go-

“Titrit! We are The Multitude, at your happiest acquaintance.”

Titrit. Titrit? Titrit. What an interesting name she could now no longer get out of her head. But…okay. The Multitude. They were…offering her something else, then. A new…Self? So…she could be whatever she wanted? …Ah, wait, what had they said? Every ‘Shapeless’ had a shape it desires? Then…what shape did she…truly want? What shape would be most comfortable? …She couldn’t help but feel a desire, deep down. She…wanted something, specific, something she couldn’t articulate, but this glowing ball of herself seemed to have etched deep within it. …That…that was what she wanted to be. Somehow, that alone seemed to make Their eyes literally sparkle with excitement. They brought the sphere of _______ close, pressing Their snout against it…and suddenly Their face filled the edges of her vision again. And above her, behind her, below her…They were suddenly everywhere.

“Yes, yes! That is what you should be!  Your true Self! And nothing else! Titrit can help with that! Titrit can do this, lickety-splickety!” they exclaimed, and tossed her up into the air. The air? Wait, she hadn’t been thrown…she was floating? That cozy cabin had disappeared. All she felt was darkness. And then pressure. This way and that. Gentle at first, and then stronger, and it never seemed to push at the same spot on her twice. It was strange that she could feel anything, given that she still was nothing more than some sort of ethereal ball of light…but even that slowly started to change.

She was being slowly pulled into some sort of shape, certainly, molded like clay by an invisible force which was simultaneously coming from within and without. She could slowly feel…extremities. Things extending from her center. Arms? Yes! Legs? Oh, definitely. Oh, what was…that? That was new. Oh, and finally, a head. But more was being rubbed along, brushed, kneaded, like she was experiencing a full body massage that was literally pushing her into the ‘right’ shape. “This is a very nice form. We love it for our reasons. Many reasons. And also very strange! Mm, you are an interesting Shape, similar but different. …Yes, We think fitting in will do nicely to you…” Titrit paused. Though she couldn’t see it, she could feel as many, many, MANY eyes fixated on her, and the strange being shouted excitedly. “A Name! The second most important part was almost forgotten! What should We call your Name then?” There was silence, as she thought about it. She could just call herself Cass again, right? But there was something that felt off about that. It…was a name, tied to that old version of her. The one struggling to be seen the way SHE wanted to be seen. Who had been disowned by family that had refused, and had bounced between friends who had struggled with it.

She felt giddy. This…this wasn’t real, right? She was having some sort of crazy kick-related hallucination and any day now she’d wake up in a hospital bed and have to deal with with itchy chin fuzz and outrageous hospital bills and finding out where she’d have to stay next and getting a job because she’d for sure lost hers and- “Don’t worry! Freedom is yours to choose. As is your Name. What Name are you to be called? Tell Us, We are excited!”

Another pause. But only because she was waiting for the finishing touches on a strangely shaped mouth to be finished so she could say it with her own voice. “...Mei. Please call me Mei. She/her,” she said, shivering at how…light, airy, feminine her voice suddenly sounded. “Mei! Mei Mei Mei. A nice name is Mei! She will be herself. Meiiiii~” Titrit’s rumbling, cheery voice echoed gradually into nothingness, and even bodiless, in some etherial way, Ca-...no, Mei, could feel space…twisting. This round glowing orb she’d become twisted in upon itself, molding and shaping and turning in the air like it was being molded, and pushed, and squeezed. She was floating, drifting, somewhere, nowhere, everywhere. And suddenly, Mei WAS.

꩜꩜꩜꩜꩜꩜꩜꩜꩜꩜꩜꩜꩜꩜꩜꩜꩜꩜꩜꩜꩜꩜꩜꩜꩜꩜꩜꩜꩜꩜꩜꩜꩜꩜꩜꩜꩜

[forasecondtherewedwon]

They’re Sayin’ (You’re Gonna Be My Man)

Fandom: The Falcon and the Winter Soldier Pairing: Sam Wilson/Bucky Barnes Rating: T Word Count: 2217

Summary: Sam calls Bucky too soon after he's left Louisiana, looking for advice he doesn’t really need and getting a conversation he didn’t really expect.

Sam’s supposed to wait until news of the Flag-Smashers’ movements comes down the line to get in touch with Bucky. He doesn’t. It’s sooner. It’s almost right away.

He’s sure Bucky’s gotta be out of the state, but he doesn’t know whether he’s made it back to this alleged apartment in Brooklyn (on some level, Sam’s aware that he keeps making jokes about the conspiracy of the apartment’s existence because it’s his way of daring Bucky to invite him over sometime). When he calls Bucky up, he knows he might catch him on a plane, in a cab, with a buzz of voices around him as he scowls at strangers in an airport or stomps down a sidewalk. But, other than Bucky’s voice on the other end, Sam just hears quiet, so he figures the guy made it home.

“You never told me if you had any tips,” Sam accuses straight off.

Shifting his feet, he tamps down more of the grass he’s been practicing on, squinting when sweat rolls into his eye. He just finished a brisk mile with the shield on his arm, getting used to the weight and the bulk of it, and he’s ready to start throwing again.

“Tips for what?” Bucky asks. “Fixing the boat? General life stuff? I know we had a good talk, but I think I take advice better than I give it.”

“Which is not saying much,” Sam points out with a laugh. “You suck at taking advice.”

“Until recently.”

“Until recently,” Sam allows. He takes a deep breath and leans over to the side, stretching from his run and tapping his hand on the Vibranium disc currently propped against his leg. “Nah, man, for the shield. How to throw it, how to catch it, how to pull off some of Steve’s fuckin’ boomerang tricks.”

“I thought you were gettin’ the hang of it,” Bucky says in his ear.

“I am. I just realized that, when I had you here, you did a lot of standing around and catching the shield on that cyborg arm of yours. Not a lot of active advice-giving.”

“You really want me telling you how to do your job?”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, nobody said that. I am simply aware of the fact that you’re one of very few people alive who’ve handled this thing, and maybe the only one who did it with any actual competence.”

“The level of flattery is astounding,” Bucky says dryly.

“You want more, you gotta help me out,” Sam jokes back.

“Well, show me what you’re doin’.”

Sam glances around himself. Flat lawn. Waning daylight. Tall trees wrapped in the pads he’s been ricocheting the shield off of. No place good to prop his phone.

“I gotta get somebody to film me,” he realizes. “Lemme call you back.”

“Everybody’s gonna be filming you with the shield pretty soon. Only question is whether you’re doing something impressive in news footage or looking like a jackass in some kind of Avengers’ Greatest Fuckups reel.”

“Shut the hell up. I thought we were gettin’ along now.”

“Just trying to be motivational. Am I not doing it right?”

“I think you better look up the word ‘motivational’ in the dictionary while you wait for my call,” Sam suggests.

He disconnects and hangs his head, shaking it even as he smiles.

His legs are screaming for a thorough, post-workout stretch and maybe some ice on his shins—they’ve been taking the brunt every time he digs his feet into the ground and braces to snatch the returning shield from the air—but what’s another quarter mile? Sam runs to Sarah’s, arms pumping, stride a little different now that he has to accommodate the shape of the shield.

When he gets there, the boys are playing soccer on the lawn and he calls through the screen window to the kitchen to get his sister’s ok to borrow them as his training assistants. They get even more excited by the bestowing of this title and its implied responsibility than by the sight of the shield. That’s pretty incredible. Sarah caves to a temporary borrowing (supper’s almost ready) and they’re off.

On the way back, Sam lets AJ carry the shield. Seems like a nice break for himself until Cass requests a piggyback.

“Alright,” Sam agrees with a sigh, crouching in front of his nephew. “Hop on.”

Captain America’s benevolence is limitless. At least, it is this evening. When his back’s killing him tomorrow from absorbing the shock of a hundred shield throws, he will not be so easily persuaded into giving piggybacks.

In the clearing, Sam pulls his phone from the zipped pocket of his shorts and videocalls Bucky, who picks up on the first ring. His face is too close to the camera, but it’s good to see those blue eyes and the crinkles that are either there because he’s smiling in greeting or he’s confused about how a videocall works. In a few seconds, Bucky figures out for himself that he needs to hold the phone farther away. It makes Sam miss him. Also makes him a little worried because he can see the blank, white wall of Bucky’s apartment around his head. No paint, no art. Sam can’t even hear a TV or anything in the background.

“You’re not busy,” he observes.

“Not really, no,” Bucky admits.

“You coulda stayed here longer.”

“Nah, you needed time with everything, not me constantly looking over your shoulder. Shield’s yours now, Sam. I’m gonna be at your side, but you and the shield… I got no say in what that relationship is. I understand that now and I’m trying to respect it.”

“So when you’re actually doing the right thing, let you back off?”

“That’s right,” Bucky agrees.

“I’ll try to remember in case it ever happens again.”

Before Bucky can defend himself against Sam’s teasing jab, Sam passes the phone to AJ, camera turned so Bucky will still be focused on him when he starts throwing the shield again.

“Got you propped up on my human tripod,” he informs Bucky, reaching above the phone to playfully shove the side of AJ’s head. “So watch your mouth.”

“Can I say hi?”

“Don’t be a smartass,” Sam warns.

And, of course, Bucky eggs the kids into a long ooooh, like they’ve caught him breaking his own rule. Which they have. But Bucky was being a smartass and the opportunity to let him know is not something Sam likes to pass up.

He’s stretching now—maybe for himself, maybe for the camera pointed his way—gripping his ankles in turn and holding his heels to his ass until he feels the pull in his thighs. Bucky’s not wrong about having this time to himself. Just him and this legendary object that’s feeling more right on his arm every time he slips it through the straps. Still, he misses what they had going the last two days. Not him and the shield, but him and Bucky. Having him here like that… It was different from every other experience Sam’s had with him. Bucky was still, in turns, a grouch and a showoff and a staring machine and a shithead (flirting with Sarah, come ON), but he was also more convincingly a person than Sam’s had the pleasure of seeing him before. At ease and multi-faceted by nature instead of the necessity of adapting in the face of a threat.

Bucky smiled.

They didn’t always bicker.

He looked damn good in the morning when they leaned against the kitchen counter, not talking, sipping their coffee.

Sam wants those minutes back so bad. Living with Bucky here was incomparable to living with him overseas. Lotta reasons for that, including not having to share the space with Baron Zemo. Mostly because this is home and Sam liked pretending, while Sarah did some well-deserved sleeping in and the boys got the hems of their pajama pants wet in the dew in the backyard, that it was real. That this breath between their fights (no longer with each other) could last and that this is where they’d hold it. It could be their kitchen, their mugs, their tousled sheets Bucky’d climbed out of, looking all rumpled and lovely and shit.

But Bucky doesn’t know what Sam pretends and Sam sure as hell isn’t going to tell him. He’s just going to keep faithful to their usual dynamic, trying for less glaring. Not a word to unsettle things, as much as he’s curious how they might handle things being unsettled. As much as his mind plays back the blinding glint off the water as they rolled up their sleeves and went to work together in a way more meaningful, more personal, than they ever have before. Plays it back all the time.

No. Quiet. Sam needs to figure himself out first and knows Bucky’s working on doing the same. Maybe sometime—but probably never—they can see how those selves overlap. All they need to make fly right now is being Captain America and… what’d that moron call himself? The White Wolf? Son of a biscuit…

“Let me see him!” Cass says excitedly, recapturing Sam’s focus.

It’s his brother he’s talking to and Sam watches fondly as AJ turns the phone to show Bucky a grinning Cass, being careful to keep it steady. Pretty damn sweet. Cass even waves while Sam stands there, watching and doing shoulder rolls.

“Hi, Uncle Bucky!”

Sam feels like he just whipped the shield out and caught the return in his stomach. He strides over to the boys and AJ passes the phone back without being asked. He’s stifling giggles despite or because he senses that his little brother shouldn’t have said that.

“One minute,” Sam tells Bucky, hardly glancing at him because he just can’t. He tilts the camera towards the ground and raises expectant eyebrows at his grinning nephews. “Did somebody tell you to call him that?”

In unison, the boys go, “No, Uncle Sam,” which is suspiciously adorable. But they aren’t liars.

“Did you hear somebody call him that?”

AJ and Cass glance at each other and that’s enough for Sam. They won’t answer, so he knows it’s Sarah who’s made this joke, put this idea in the kids’ heads. They won’t give her up though, because they’re Wilsons and they’re loyal to their mother.

Sam turns the camera back on himself, unprepared for the upward tick at the corner of Bucky’s lips that make them even harder to look away from than usual.

“My sister must’ve—”

“I know,” Bucky interrupts.

“You know?”

“Yeah. Sarah called me that to my face.”

“She did what?”

Sarah having her joke is one thing, but saying it to Bucky takes things a little far, in Sam’s opinion. Bucky could think Sarah’s serious. He could think she’s saying that because Sam’s said something to her. Something about coffee and bedsheets and the sweet ache he felt in his chest when he saw Bucky’s smile in the golden light of dawn.

“Last night, before she put the boys to bed. You were in the shower, I think.” Bucky reaches up absentmindedly to run a hand over the top of his head; the flex of his bicep in the long-sleeved shirt he’s wearing and waiting for the end of this recollection are both torture for Sam. “They wanted to hang out with me, but Sarah said, ‘Uncle Bucky’s gotta get some sleep. You’ll see him tomorrow.’ Something like that.”

Now, when Sam’s truly learning the meaning of flabbergasted, Bucky’s mouth cracks into a wide, self-satisfied smile.

“You made that up,” Sam guesses helplessly.

“Nope.”

Sam knows that, with his nephews’ inability to lie and Sarah’s lifelong history of messing with him as evidence, but it would’ve been a convenient escape from the reality of his sister (and possibly the boys too) addressing Bucky as if he and Sam are together.

“Tell me you told my sister to drop the ‘Uncle.’”

Another thing Sam knows: that Bucky didn’t do that. Bucky seems happy to prove his fears correct; he shrugs.

“Sounded kinda nice,” Bucky defends. That makes Sam soften. He knows Bucky doesn’t have any living family, that he’s been struggling to allow himself to make friends. Maybe he just likes being told he belongs to them and that Sarah’s joke makes it effortless for him. Then, Bucky adds, “Pass me back to my nephews.”

Sam points a warning finger at him.

“Watch it.”

“Yeah, yeah.” The crease between Bucky’s eyebrows deepens as Sam watches the pain in the ass pretend to be stern with him. “Just throw the damn shield. I thought you asked for my help.”

“I did.”

Releasing a cautious sigh, Sam hands the phone to AJ once more. The boy’s got his silliness under control and he accepts the job solemnly.

Sam’s two steps away, hefting the shield onto his arm, when he hears Bucky shout, “And my hand in marriage!”

The boys’ laughter has them rolling on the cool grass, the phone clutched in AJ’s grip, and by the time Sam wrestles it away from his nephew, the camera’s swung all over the place. Showing Bucky the sky, the dirt, some quality footage up AJ’s nose, and probably—almost definitely—the way his words made Sam smile.

[heart-stomper]

The Plantars Discover Sitcoms

It wasn’t going to be easy, especially after everything that happened back in Amphibia, but being back home finally gave Anne some room to breathe. Ease back into what she once thought of as “normal”. And while she totally plans on going for another round of hugs with her parents, right now she has another very important thing she’d like to do:

Show off as much human stuff as she can to the Plantars.

First order of business, channel surfing. It’s a totally relaxing activity where the biggest downside is that it’s basically impossible to pick something to watch. The perfect way to have a chill afternoon, and that’s just what they could use. Nothing could go wrong. Anne gathers up the Plantars and ushers them into the living room, holding out a hand as if she’s showing off a long lost artifact.

“Alright guys, here it is. The main attraction: the television. Or y’know, a TV, for short.” as Anne says this, the Plantars give lil “ooo”s and “aaa”s as if they really are being guided through some sort of museum.

Sprig bounces closer, his eyes lighting up half from excitement but mostly from getting waaay to close to the screen. “Whoa, it’s even bigger than I thought.” his words were hushed in awe.

“Impressive. You can really see all those lil details ya couldn’t with that phone of yours.” Hop Pop quipped as he reached Sprig’s side, also getting way too close to the TV.

“It really is like a giant phone! ... Can I touch it?” Polly asked, half begging. The girl was clearly ready to pounce from the spot on the coffee table she was currently at. There’s no way Anne was gonna tell her no.

“Sure dude, go ahead.”

“YES!” with that approval, Polly sprints off the coffee table and face plants right into the TV, flying between the boys. Anne lets out a low oof along side Polly’s, but once Polly triumphantly gets back up with a semi-evil sounding laugh, Anne refocuses herself to find the remote.

Cue canned laughter. 

“Oh hey, I know that laugh track. It’s from that sitcom my parents would sometimes leave on when we’d prep dinner together.”

“What’sa sitcom?”

“Well Hop Pop, I’m pretty sure it’s short for ‘situational comedy’. They’re usually about wacky stuff happening in a mostly mundane setting, like an office.”

“That sounds... kinda boring.” Polly commented with a tinge of confusion, clearly wondering why someone would want to watch something like that.

“Trust me, when you have someone to make fun of it with, even the worst jokes are funny.”

“She makes a good point. Let’s watch it!” Sprig said from... the couch? Man, that boy is quick. Anne does a spin when she reaches the couch so she can face the TV and flop down next to Sprig, and they’re shortly joined by the others. It looks like the main characters just arrived at some fancy restaurant. A server with a bowtie approaches the table, cloche serving dish in hand.

“And now for one of our finest delicacies,” the server removes the cloche, steam billowing out and concealing whatever may lie underneath, only parting when they introduce the dish, “frog legs.”

Anne and the Plantars let out a gasp. Sprig puts a hand to his mouth, wide-eyed in horror as the people on the TV gnash and tear off flesh from those poor froggy legs. “I think I’m gonna be sick.” 

“I KNEW IT!” Polly hops in front of Anne, pointing at her so hard her arm shakes a little, “You do eat frogs!”

“What?! Ew, no no no no no! Gross! I mean, some people eat them, but I didn’t grow up with that, so it’s always seriously grossed me out! Look, I’ll just grab the remote and-” Anne grabs at the empty space next to her, realization setting in, “oh frog, I never found the remote!” Anne quickly removes Polly from her lap and starts digging.

“I thought you said this was a comedy Anne, not a horror show!” Hop Pop covers Sprig’s eyes. The sitcom’s laugh track plays again as one of the protagonists acts shocked and calls the frog legs ‘delicious’. “Are those people laughin’ at the mutilation of my brethren?!” 

Anne stops shifting her hands in between the cushions and resorts to lifting them off the couch in desperation. “’Scuse me.” She slides Hop Pop and Sprig onto the ground, “Sorry Hop Pop kinda busy.” 

The protagonists finish, or at least toss out, the remaining frog legs. Hop Pop makes a comment complaining that you should at least finish eating something you’ve killed, which catches Anne’s attention. “Finally,” Anne glances back at the TV, and for once is happy to see an empty plate, “glad that’s over.” Hop Pop removes his hands from Sprig’s eyes. Anne closes her own and relaxes a bit. Then, the server returns to the sitcom protagonists’ table. 

“We have one last meal for the evening,” the server places a new serving dish and removes the cloche once more, “escargot.”

“Escar-what now?” Hop Pop asked.

“Oh, that’s French for...” Anne’s eyes widen in knowing horror, “...snail.” She seriously needed to find that remote.

Hop Pop gives Anne a suspicious look. “And how come you knew what they meant?” Hop Pop rapidly gets more livid, “Really Anne, ya eat snails too?! And here I thought Bessie meant somethin’ ta ya!”

“What!?” Anne gasps, scandalized, “How could you Hop Pop?! You know I love Bessie like my own family!” Hop Pop softened hearing that, snapping out of his fear induced paranoia.

“Sorry Anne, you’re right. This sitcom thingy is really gettin’ in my head.” 

“Apology accepted. Wait, how’s Sprig holding-” Anne’s voice peaks as she sees Sprig’s huddled body rocking back and forth, staring at the massacre taking place on screen, “-UP?! SPRIG!” She rushes over to him. “Oh no. Don’t look! Just hold on buddy.” 

“But... I can’t look away. I want to, but I can’t!” This time the sitcom protagonists are totally disgusted with the food, a huge departure from the pleasant surprise they had with the frog legs. However, because the server has such an expectant look on their face, the protagonists keeps forcing down those snails.

“Wow, those people are acting like they got served Hop Pop’s cooking.”

“Polly!!” Anne and Hop Pop reprimand simultaneously.

“What? It’s true!” Polly is given The Look. “Fine fine, I know. ‘Think those thoughts, don’t say ‘em’.” Hop Pop looks proud for a moment, but then notices something on the screen and doubles back in horror.

“I can’t look, that one looks just like Micro-Angelo!” 

“Oh c’mon Hop Pop, they can’t look that similar.” Anne takes her eyes off the Plantars and looks back to the screen. Her eyes lock-on to the fork slowly delivering that innocent baby snail towards that horrifying monster’s mouth. She can practically hear the ‘meep’ of her sweet baby boy.

As if possessed, Anne keeps her body totally straight and speed walks up to the TV. She leans over, and feels for something on the side of it. Presses a button. And the screen goes black. 

She totally forgot you could turn it off that way.

“Yeah! Woo-hoo!!” The Plantars cheer and use their combined strength to lift up Anne, their savior, in glorious victory. Anne proudly lifts her arms up and cries tears of sweet relief.

Once the short celebration ends, and Anne is returned to the floor, she hugs the Plantars. “I’m so sorry you guys, I had no idea it was gonna be like that! I’ll make sure to be more careful next time.” 

“Aw, it wasn’t THAT bad.” Polly said, waving an arm to emphasize it really wasn’t that big a deal, “It was actually kind of fun seeing those two freak out so much.” 

“Yeah, pretty dark, but that’s nature for ya.” Hop Pop added to the reassurance train.

“Pretty sure that one’s gonna traumatize me for life, but I forgive you.” Anne still felt a bit guilty, but hearing Sprig’s words, along with the rest of the Plantars’, made her feel a lot better. “But please never show me anything like that ever again.”

“You got it buddy.” Anne brought Sprig back into a hug, and gave his head a little pat. While she didn’t have to witness most of it, Anne didn’t wanna see anything like that ever again either. So it should be an easy promise to keep.

“Hey Anne?”

“Yes Polly?”

“...Thanks for holding back and not eating us.”

Utterly frustrated, Anne’s voice once again reached a frankly impressive peak, “I NEVER WANTED TO EAT YOU GUYS!”

[switchbrainedholylime]

A little more Renga for @emmettspeakz

Sitting next to Reki in English class was beyond awkward. Any kind of harmless small-talk Langa tried to bring in was shot down like a submarine missile. The worst part was that Langa barely knew any of his other classmates, so there was no one to turn to at school. 

Their teacher, an American woman named Ms. Boyer, was stood in the front of the class, “Kyan Reki!”

Silence. The American woman walked closer. “Read pages 23-27 of The Chronicles of Narnia.” 

“Oh, sure,” And with one mutter, Kyan Reki had just made Narnia out of to be the most boring place ever. He stood up, nearly tripping over the legs of his chair. He mumbled through the reading and then sat back down. 

“Langa Hasegawa, pick up where he left off.” 

“Right,” Langa looked down at the pages. “Edward followed Lucy into the wardrobe. He thought he was better than his siblings.” 

Langa continued to read the portion assigned out to his class and then sat back down. He looked over at Reki, “Hey, you did a great job.” 

“Hm,” Reki looked away. 

----------

After everyone was shuffling to go home, Ms. Boyer halted Langa from skating down the hallway. Her arms crossed. “Be real with me, what’s going on with you and Reki?” 

“Is it really that obvious?” 

“Yes. Now are you gonna tell me or not? Because I might know a person who could help you.” 

“Really,” Langa blinked. “Sure, what’s their name?” 

“They’re a middle school teacher. Follow me,” 

“A middle school teacher?” Langa asked. What could they know about me?  

------

In the staff room, Langa spotted a bound book with his name on the spine sitting on his English teacher’s desk. Curious, the Canadian picked it up and began to flip through casually until he came to a startling conclusion; it was a book about every detail of his life up to that point. 

It started off with his upbringing in Canada as as snowboarder and move back to Okinawa with his mother after his father’s death. It described him meeting Reki, working at the shop. It described his race with Shadow, Miya and ADAM to the T. It was the most in-depth analysis of it he’d seen. 

“Hasegawa, right?” A gruff voice interrupted. “My name’s Mr. Tsuchigomori. I see you’ve found your book.” 

“Y-Yeah, where did you even GET this?” 

“I run the 4pm library. One of the 7 mysteries of the old school building. I’ve only seen the description of those books change once in a hundred years; and it wasn’t pleasant.” 

“They tell the future, too?” Langa flipped through towards the back. He hadn’t seen much left to go after his challenge with ADAM. He turned to the last page that read: “DIES CUTTING HEAD ON ROCK WHILE RACING WITH ADAM”. 

Langa almost dropped the book on the floor. He was going to race with Adam in a week’s time. He was going to die in it? 

“I’d make up with that Reki kid while you still have time.” Mr. Tsuchigomori blew into his cigar. “You can try to prolong your life, but again, this book never really changes that often from what it originally predicts.” 

“But I’m terrible at smalltalk. Is there anyone you think could help me?” 

“Well, there is one person, and he also happens to be the only one who’s ever changed his fate. If anyone can help you, it’s him.” Mr. Tsuchigomori turned back to Langa. “Since you don’t have much time left, you’ll probably be able to see him, too.” 

“’Him’?” Langa asked. 

------

 Langa went into the old building that served as its middle school section. The blue-haired skater looked back and forth to make sure no one was looking. 

“Alright the coast is clear,” Langa bit his tongue and bolted into the girls’ bathroom. He was met with a green-tipped girl who was mopping the floor and a floating boy in an antique uniform. Was that from the 50s? 60s? Why was there a boy in the girls’ bathroom? 

Then again, I’M a boy in a girls’ bathroom. I shouldn’t judge. Langa breathed deeply. “Are you Yugi Amane, the one Mr. Tsugomori spoke of?” 

“Yep! I go by Hanako, now though...,” 

“I have one week left to prevent my death. I’d like your help to, uh...not do that.” Langa stated. 

“Wow, that’s a huge hurdle you’ve just thrown on me! I don’t know your name here, buddy! You didn’t even knock on my door or anything.” Hanako laughed. 

“I’m serious. The man I’m going up against has touched more underaged boys than a Catholic priest.” Langa sighed. “My name’s Langa Hasegawa.” 

“Well, if you say so I’ll have to oblige. Let’s see what I have,” Hanako reached into his pockets. “I mean, I’ve killed before, but right now I’m working on repenting for my sins.”  

Langa’s eyes widened. “Okay...,” 

-----

Hanako began following the blue-haired skater around the school, and it didn’t take Langa too long to piece together that no one else could see him. He chalked it up to him being a ghost.

“So this is your boyfriend?” Hanako poked Reki who was still ignoring Langa. “He’s a cutie!” 

“Hanako, leave him alone. Reki didn’t ask for you to touch his hair like that.” Langa ordered him. Reki then looked over at Langa in confusion.

“What’s going on with you?” Reki asked. “Did you hit your head?” 

“I tried the Hanako ritual all the girls talk about. Y’know, knock three times on the third stall in the bathroom, summon the ghost of Hanako, get three wishes.” 

“You went into the women’s bathroom, you perv,” Reki pouted.  

“He started following me--he’s right behind you!” Langa pointed at Hanako who was making a funny face behind Reki, sticking his tongue out. “No one else seems to see him!” 

“You’re really freaking me out here, bro.” Reki looked at him. “You gettin’ enough sleep here?” 

“I promise I’m not making this up.” Langa insisted. “Look behind you!” 

“I don’t see anyone.” Reki peered over his shoulder. 

“Dude, is that Canadian kid alright?” One of their classmates gossiped. 

“Maybe he bumped his head?” Another classmate whispered.

Langa hid his face as Hanako floated around him and began to play with his hair, pulling it into a ponytail. “There we go!” 

------

Bringing Hanako to S was...surreal. A schoolboy in a 1960s uniform floating around the abandoned factory.

“I think I remember when this place was active. I knew some classmates whose parents worked here!” Hanako looked around at the shell of a factory. “So whadda do ‘ere?” 

“We skate, but I’ve got to come up with a good excuse not to go up against ADAM.” Langa held his skateboard. 

“Hey, SNOW!” Miya and Shadow came up towards Langa as he was talking with Hanako. They were utterly confused. 

“You can’t see him, either?” Langa pointed at Hanako. 

“Ah, no. You’re talking to air.” Miya chuckled.

“Look, I got a ghost from school attached to me.” Langa explained. “He followed me here. His name’s Hanako. Hanako, the 7th of the 7 Wonders of my school.” 

“A ghost?” Joe blinked. 

“How foolish a fantasy.” Cherry scoffed.

“Do yah think SNOW got his head bashed in?” SHADOW asked. 

“Look, I have to come up with a good excuse never to skate against ADAM ever, because I read a book that has my entire life in it, including the future...and I die this Saturday night.” Langa pulled out a copy of his book from the 4pm library. 

“Whoa...this goes way back,” Miya flipped through the pages. His eyes widened as he got to the end with the skate with ADAM that would result in Langa’s death along with the dismantlement of S. “What...?’  

The sound of a familiar skateboard rolled past. Its rider was a hoodie-wearing Reki with a sullen-looking face. 

“Reki!” Langa put his hand on Reki’s shoulder. He looked up. “I’m not going to skate ADAM. I’ll stay home Saturday night to avoid him. Please, I miss you. This ghost is not substitute for your cheerful smile in my life! Please!” 

Reki’s eyes lightened. “So you won’t skate with ADAM?” 

“No, I promise.” Langa embraced his boyfriend in a long, close hug. “I’m sorry for being so selfish. I won’t take your love for granted anymore.” 

“Same. You’re my best bro, SNOW.” 

“You can call me Langa.” 

-------

That Saturday, Langa and Reki sat at home and watched some hilariously bad movies on Netflix. They ate popcorn and Hanako made the duo some plain, good ol’ fashioned homemade donuts. 

“So you wanna watch 50 Shades of Grey next or The Room?” Reki sat in Langa’s lap with a donut in his mouth as his boyfriend flipped through Netflix. 

“I wonder if ADAM’s noticed we stood him up yet.” Langa grabbed another donut. “Oh well,” 

“Man what I wouldn’t give to see that idiot’s face.” Reki laughed.

“Hey I got some candy from the Mokke, want some?” Hanako offered. 

“You mean those pink bunnies that pull pranks?” Langa took one of the candies and popped it in his mouth. “That’s good.” 

“I know I probably shouldn’t mention this, but I have a twin named Tsukasa and he asked if he could be let out of the school just to see what this ‘ADAM’ guy is like.” Hanako mentioned. 

“What’s your twin like?” Langa asked. 

“He’s...um, psychotic.” Hanako replied. 

------

Langa and Hanako slept over at Reki’s house. 

The following morning, they woke up and the newspapers read: Diet Member Ainosuke Shindo found stabbed to death in abandoned factory. Suspect still unnamed and unidentified. If you have any information, please contact the Okinawa Police Department. 

“Yeah, I figured that’d happen with Tsukasa.” Hanako shrugged. 

“So ADAM just got stabbed by a ghost.” Langa asked. 

“Well, I think my job here is done.” Hanako yawned.      

[skatoonyfan1234]

'Micro Hiro One'

[Request for IHeartDreamworks, and set after the events of 'Big Chibi 6'. Hiro ends up shrunk to microscopic size by Ian's Size Ray Glove, when Honey Lemon tests it out. Warning: nudity at the end.]

It all began one day at KreiTech. It was a day or so, following the defeat/arrest of Ian, Krei's meek employee, who was also the gaming supervillain Hardlight, who had attacked Karmi's book signing.

Hiro, Baymax, and their friends, Fred, GoGo Tomago, Honey Lemon, and Wasabi were busy clearing out Ian's empty office - since Ian was now in prison, he was officially fired from KreiTech.

They were sorting through the things in Ian's office - Ian's Olaf coffee cup, the 'Slaughter Race' strategy guide, and the jam jars full of Ian's toenail clippings.

Fred apparently was taking the 'Slaughter Race' strategy guide, and Wasabi was emptying the jam jars which contained Ian's toenail clippings; emptying the contents of said jam jars into a wastepaper basket, almost feeling disgusted by them.

"Is it ok if I take this?" Honey asked Hiro, whilst holding the Olaf coffee cup.

"Yup." Hiro said.

"What about this?" Honey Lemon said, holding out a glove that resembled Hiro's super suit power glove, but in pink.

Hiro eyed the glove. To his eyes, it resembled his super suit power glove.

"The colour DOES look familiar, though." he said as he put it on, reminding him of Hardlight, the villain identity of Ian, the former employee of KreiTech.

He took it off his hand, and Honey put it on hers.

"It's a nice color." Honey said, admiring the glove that seemed to flop about on her hand a bit.

She tapped a few things on it, and the lights on the glove started to light up. "Wow!" she said, "It even lights up too!"

Suddenly, a pink beam shot out from said glove, and struck Hiro, who, almost immediately, seemed to vanish into thin air.

"Wow." Fred said, amazed. "That. Was. Cool!"

"Hang on." GoGo said, staring at a label. "This label says 'Size Ray Glove; a glove with the power of a size ray, to shrink things or people, or make them grow.'"

"Size Ray Glove?" Fred said, shocked. "Whoa."

"You can say that again." Wasabi said. "A glove that can change the size of things and people. Isn't that impressive, Hiro?"

But, Hiro didn't answer, because Hiro wasn't there.

"Hiro?" Fred called.

"Hiro?" Wasabi called.

"Down here!" squeaked a tiny voice, coming from a microscopic version of Hiro Hamada.

For you see, Honey had accidentally zapped Hiro with the Size Ray Glove, shrinking him down to microscopic size.

Thankfully, since the Size Ray Glove had it's clothes option set to 'yes', Hiro's clothes had shrunk with him.

"Guys!" I'm down here!" he called out. But it didn't work; he was too tiny to be heard. From Hiro's new size, his friends, and Baymax, were as big as the city skyscrapers of San Fransokyo.

Of course, Wasabi saw Hiro, but, unfortunately, he mistook him for something else entirely.

"Agh! A bug!" Wasabi screamed, climbing up onto the desk. "That bug is freaking me out! and it's wearing Hiro's clothes!"

"Wait a minute." GoGo said. She opened a desk drawer and picked out a magnifying eyepiece used by jewellers [which, of course, Ian used whilst clipping his toenails.], and looked at the 'bug'.

"That's no bug." she said. "That's Hiro!"

"YES!" Hiro said, his voice high and squeaky, "That Size Ray Glove shrunk me! Use it to grow me back again!"

"Got it, Hiro!" Honey Lemon said. She activated the Size Ray Glove, tweaked the settings, and aimed toward the speck where GoGo was pointing.

A blue beam shot out from said Size Ray Glove, and zapped Hiro, who immediately grew back to his normal size.

Hiro saw that he was now back to his normal size, clothes and all. "Thanks, guys." he said.

"Don't mention it." GoGo said. "That's what teammates do."

Wasabi got down off the desk. "I knew it wasn't a bug after all." he said, which earned him stern looks from GoGo and Hiro. "Well, more or less." he said innocently.

Hiro examined the Size Ray Glove Honey gave him. "It's amazing that Ian built this."

"Well," Wasabi stated, "I guess he got the idea when Officer Cruz used your super suit glove on him when he was Hardlight."

"Yeah," Hiro said, placing the Size Ray Glove gently down on the desk. "Still," he said, "in the wrong hands, a glove like this can be very dangerous."

"Hiro, take a look at this." Honey said, showing Hiro a book - a book called 'Swedish for Idiots'.

"Ian musta been studying Swedish." Hiro said. "Someone would think the Size Ray Glove could be Ian's Nobel Prize." Wasabi added.

"Well," Hiro said, "We'll make sure to have this Size Ray Glove under control in our possession. Ian won't even notice that his Size Ray Glove is-" he turned round and saw the Size Ray Glove has gone! "-Gone?!"

He was right; the Size Ray Glove WASN'T on Ian's desk anymore - it was gone!

"Honey Lemon, please tell me 'gone' is Swedish for 'it's right there'." GoGo said to Honey.

"And where's Fred?" Honey asked.

"Fred went outside with the shrink ray glove." Baymax said, pointing to the door.

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

They found the Size Ray Glove was outside, on Fred's hand.

"Fred, what are you doing?!" Wasabi asked, horrified.

"I wonder what happens if we use the Size Ray Glove's 'grow' function on someone?" he said, aiming the Size Ray Glove toward Alistair Krei, who was just standing around, minding his own business.

"No, Fred!" GoGo, Wasabi, Honey, and Hiro all said at once.

Too late; Fred used the Size Ray Glove's 'grow' setting on Alistair Krei. Immediately, Krei grew and grew and grew. As that happened, the team heard a loud ripping noise.

"Oh no." Baymax said. "You said it." Hiro said to the robot.

You see, since the clothes option on the Size Ray Glove was set to 'no', Krei's clothes hadn't grown with him, not even his underwear, so Krei grew and grew and grew til he was now a huge naked giant, about as high as the top of the KreiTech building.

"Oh boy." Krei said to himself. "It's very breezy up here today."

Honey gasped, and quickly hid her eyes. Hiro's jaw dropped.

"I am never gonna unsee that." Wasabi said. GoGo just gave Fred a cold glare.

"Don't worry, Krei," Hiro sighed, taking the Size Ray Glove from Fred, putting it on his hand, and tweaking the settings, "should have you back to normal in no time."

He aimed the Size Ray Glove toward Krei, set the glove to 'shrink', and shrunk him down to normal size.

He took the Size Ray Glove off his hand. "I think it's best we get this to Officer Cruz, so he can deal with it." Wasabi said. "We'll take it over to the police station immediately."

"And we'll make sure to keep Fred's hands OFF it till we get there." GoGo said, giving Fred a glare so cold, it almost made him wet his pants.

His friends headed off. Hiro was about to follow them when...

"Intern," Krei called, gettin' Hiro's attention.

"Yes, Mr. Krei?" Hiro said, as he turned around and saw Krei standing, covering his manhood with the tattered remains of his suit jacket.

"Can you get me a spare set of pants?"

[ladyfogg]

Cold is the Night - 15/20

Cold is the Night - 15/20

Fic Summary: You and Pat have known each other for years but this summer, everything will change. As the two of you start to grow close, your matching tempers threaten the foundation of your rocky friendship and prevent both of you from realizing your true feelings. Cold is the Night Masterpost. 

Fic Song: Cold is the Night by The Oh Hellos. Fic playlist can be found here. 

Pairing: Pat Murray/Female Reader

Rating: NC-17

Warnings: Language, Slow Burn, Eventual Smut, Multiple Chapters 

Things slowly returned to some semblance of normal in the Murray household. While there was still tension between Pat and his dad, it was getting better each day.

Regardless, Pat was on edge but for an entirely different reason. 

Your opposite work schedules were starting to get to him. All he wanted to do was spend time with his girlfriend but one of you was always working. Thankfully, the new person you were training would be on their own soon, giving you more freedom with your schedule.

Pat was also in talks with his manager about switching to the night shift. It would line up with yours, giving you mornings and afternoons together. But it was all up in the air. 

When the Saturday of the game rolled around, Pat received some shitty news.

"What do you mean you have to work?" he asked after you let him know. "It's too early for your shift."

"I had cover for someone, they're having minor surgery."

Pat clenched his jaw, trying to force himself to take a deep breath. "I really, really need you there, babe."

You looked incredibly guilty and reached out to take his hand. "I'm so sorry."

He wanted to be angry but he really couldn't. It wasn't your fault and with bills to pay, you couldn't skip a whole shift. Especially when the half one you missed the other night would be on the same check.

Pat squeezed your hand. "I know you are. I just miss you. We haven't had a chance to be alone since I went back home." 

"Ugh I know and it's fucking driving me crazy. I don't know what to do." You looked just as frustrated as he felt. "How much time do we have before you have to go?"

"Not much."

"Wanna make out?"

Pat sighed. "No. Well, yes, but not when we have a time limit. I'm frustrated enough as it is."

"Tell you what, I'll come pick you up after the game. I should be done around the same time. You can sleep over tonight."

That made Pat grin, a myriad of dirty plans coming to mind. "I like the sound of that."

Grinning back, you leaned in close, lips brushing his. "You'll like the sounds I make tonight even more." You kissed him and he leaned into it with a hum before reluctantly pulling away. 

"Well, I should go then," he said, stroking your cheek. "I'll see you later."

"Definitely." You gave him another kiss. "I'm really sorry, babe."

Pat was in an awful mood by the time he got to the field. 

"Hey, Murray," Ty greeted him as he threw his bag down.

"Hey," Pat muttered.

"Uh oh, someone's grumpy," Vinnie cood. "What's wrong, future brother-in-law?"

Pat's head whipped around to stare at Vinnie with shock. He was sure he must be talking to Ty but he clearly was looking at Pat when he spoke. "I'm not...why would you...we're just…"

The thought of marrying you hadn't crossed his mind considering you had just gotten together not too long ago. But now, the image was all he could picture and it scared him half to death. 

He must have looked terrified because Vinnie immediately started backtracking, something he never did. "Whoa, whoa, man, relax," he said, realizing he hit a nerve. "Just a joke."

It wasn't the idea of marriage that scared him, but the fact that he liked the image of you in a white dress. It was bad enough he almost told you he loved you after a few days of dating. Luckily he caught himself. 

Pat's shoulders relaxed and he let out a shaky breath. "Sorry. Of course it was a joke. I'm just on edge right now."

"What's wrong?" Maz asked. "You guys have another fight?"

"No. She can't make it to the game today," Pat explained. "And we haven't had much time to spend together over the last few days. It's making me crazy."

"Murray's pissed cuz he's not getting any," Barone announced as he walked by.

"Shut the fuck up, Barone! You don't know what you're talking about." Pat glared. "I'm getting plenty."

"Nope! Not listening to this!" Vinnie declared, covering his ears. He walked away loudly singing to himself.

"But not sliding into home I bet." Barone smirked. 

Pat's cheeks burned with embarrassment while Maz shook his head at Barone. "My sex life is none of your business."

"Trust me, Murray, if you were gettin' some, you still wouldn't be so tense."

Pat took a step toward Barone, ready to throw down. But Maz stepped between them.

"Barone, walk away," Maz ordered with a glare.

"Whatever, dipshits."

Pat watched Barone leave, still fuming. Maz pulled him to the side, making him sit with him on the bench. "Don't let him get to you," he said. "Your relationship is between you and her. No one else."

"It's not about the sex that's got me worked up," Pat said. "That's whatever. I don't care about sex. We both want to take things slow."

"Then what's wrong?"

Pat hadn't said the words out loud and he was almost afraid to. Because once he did, they were real and his new relationship became infinitely more serious. Not that it wasn't already but love brought things to a new level.

As always, Maz seemed to know what he was thinking because he suddenly grinned. "Dude," he chuckled. "You've got it bad."

Pat gave him a small smirk. "Yeah. I do."

And just like that, the weight he had been carrying lightened slightly. Though a whole new slew of fears came to the surface.

"I take it you haven't told her."

"Fuck no, it's too soon."

"It really isn't though. You guys have known each other for years."

"Yeah but we've only been dating for like, a week. I don't want to scare her off."

Pat was torn. He was treading through a minefield of new territory. You were the first serious relationship he'd had, and his deep feelings scared him. It was all so new and sudden, he wasn't sure how to process the situation. 

Maz nodded with understanding. "Well, you can still show her at least."

"Maz! Can you come here a sec?" Ty called, clipboard in hand. 

"Yeah, Ty," Maz said. He gave Pat a nudge before he stood. "I'm really happy for you guys. You seem happier." He paused. "Well, aside from today."

Pat watched him walk away, thinking over what he had said. Unfortunately, the thoughts consumed him the rest of the day.

The game went about as well as he expected it to. He had no problem catching the ball, but when it was his turn at the plate, anxiety took over. It didn't help that his mind was still miles away, thinking of all the ways he could show you his feelings without saying them out loud yet. 

After his first strike, he forced himself to focus, but it didn't help. 

He didn't hit a goddamn thing.

The pity on his teammates' faces made him feel worse. Pat sat on the bench with a huff, checking his phone. Normally, you text him if you're not busy but he had no messages waiting. He wished you were there. He wished he could look up and see your face in the stands, cheering him on.

He scrolled through the pictures on his phone, smiling at the ones he managed to take of the both of you. Seeing your face made his frustration ease slightly. For the first time ever, he wanted the game to hurry up and be over. He had almost forgotten he'd be staying at your place after.

A night alone with his girlfriend was something he desperately needed.

Someone called his name and he put his phone away before he grabbed his glove and headed to the field.

The D-Backs managed to scrape by and win, but just barely. Still sour over his poor performance, Pat hurried to gather his things before he was roped into a team celebration dinner. 

As he walked to the parking lot, he breathed a sigh of relief when he saw your car pull up. He was sweaty, hot, and beyond frustrated. Not just because of the game but his own traitorous brain.

He climbed into the car and quickly noticed you looked as annoyed as he felt. His heart sank.

"You okay?" he asked.

"Fine," you said, a little too firmly. "How was the game?" 

"Shitty. How was work?"

"The fucking worst."

"If you want to reschedule for tonight, I get it."

Tension left your shoulders and you reached over to take his hand. "Knowing I'd be seeing you was the only thing that got me through my day."

Relieved, Pat smiled and kissed your knuckles. "Me too."

The ride to your place was done mostly in silence, both of you trying to relax. When you got there, Pat went to take a shower, hoping the cold water would help. It did, a little. He stopped thinking about the game and was more focused on you. 

His frustration was transforming into strange sexual energy. Pat was never one to be dominating when it came to sex, but his failure earlier was causing him to want to pin you against the wall and kiss you like his life depended on it.

Being with you was the one thing in his life he knew was right. And though your sexual activities together were fairly limited, getting you off seemed to be something he was really fucking good at. 

He left the shower and pulled on a pair of boxers and nothing else, leaving the bathroom in search of you.

You were furiously wiping down the kitchen counter as you worked through your own feelings.

Pat stood in the doorway, watching your body as you moved. Something deep and primal was building and he knew one look from you would be all it took for him to act.

As if on cue, you glanced over to find him staring. "Can I help you?"

Pat crossed the room in two strides. Without waiting for a reaction, he hooked his arm around your waist and crushed you to his chest. His kiss was rough and demanding, pouring all his feelings out in one simple action. He pushed you until your back hit the wall, rattling the dishes in the cupboard.

You gripped him tight, fingers digging into his arms as you shoved your tongue past his lips. Your mouth was hot and eager and Pat couldn't get enough, hands fumbling with the button of your jeans. Once he got them open, his hand slipped inside, seeking your heat.

His lips found their way to your neck, kissing and sucking the sensitive flesh as his fingers slid between your folds. You groaned, hooking your leg around his to keep him in place. Not that he planned to go anywhere.

With one hand on the wall to steady himself, Pat fingered you roughly, reveling in how soaked he had made you in mere seconds. He drew back slightly to look into your eyes, heart hammering in his chest at the pure lustful gaze you fixated him with.

Pat's chest heaved as he panted, the intensity of the moment putting his nerves on edge. You looked equally worked up and the next thing Pat knew, you lunged in for another kiss.

Mouths collided in more painful kisses as your hands felt him up, your hips moving along with his hand. Weeks of intense emotions and sexual feelings made worse by your equally terrible days had finally come to a head.

"Fuck me," you groaned.

It took him a second to register what you said. When he did, Pat's hand stopped and he pulled back, still panting. He stared at you with excitement. "Are you sure?"

He wanted you more than he wanted anyone before and he needed to confirm you were just as ready as he was. You whimpered and ground your hips against his hand.

"Fuck me, Pat," you ordered. "Now." 

With a groan, Pat pulled you into another kiss. 

[heychangbin]

Billy in Westworld ║ Part Two

Wordcount:  6,979

Warnings: Violence, language

A/N: Again, huge thanks to @something-tofightfor​  @the-blind-assassin-12​ & @lexxierave​ y’all are the bees knees!!

Taglist: @something-tofightfor​ @the-blind-assassin-12​ @songtoyou​ @its-my-little-dumpster-fire​  @ificouldhelpyouforget​ @suchatinyinfinity​ @christinawxxx​ @drinix​ @lysawayne​ @fireeyes-on-teller-dixon-grimes

“Let. Her. Go.” There was a quiet and menacing timber to Billy's voice, eyes were full of murderous rage and trained on the man behind you, making it abundantly clear that he would not feel the slightest bit of remorse in pumping him full of lead.

"Yous dun know whose you's messin' wit stranger." Walter called over your shoulder, his hand tightening around your neck then you felt him duck back behind you. "Jus' turn 'round and be on yer way pretty boy."

Billy's eyes narrowed, his shoulder giving a slight twitch as his finger itched to move from the guard and squeeze the trigger. Instead he took a few measured breaths, exhaling them slowly as he struggled to keep himself where he stood, knowing that any hasty action on his part could mean disastrous consequences for you and despite his talent with a gun and high accuracy when it came to hard to hit targets, he wasn't willing to take a chance on pulling the trigger with you in the line of fire, risking the possibility of...he didn't even want to think about it, that's a thing he could not, would not, allow to happen. He'd had enough taken away from him, he'd be damned if you were too.

You saw the struggle in Billy's face, in the way he held himself poised and ready to strike, but with the way things were going, the way he was hesitating you weren’t so sure he would take it.

So create one. You thought and your mind raced, flooding with all the lessons Billy had embedded in you what felt like ages ago.

 0o0o0o0o0

 "Do you really believe I'll ever need all this defense training you're putting me through?" You asked Billy between heavy breaths as you laid sprawled out on the floor mat, your right arm thrown over your eyes. Your sports bra and shirt were soaked with sweat and clung uncomfortably to your body, there's nothing you wanted more than to strip down and soak in your tub, letting the hot water relax your sore muscles and wash away the grime from everything Billy was putting you through.

"I believe in being prepared." He said from somewhere above you. Moving your arm you saw him standing over you, a smirk curling the ends of his lips as he held a water bottle towards you, looking like he had when you arrived, not a single hair out of place and not even the slightest trace of sweat on his clothes.

It was completely unfair.

"Does being prepared allow for a 15 minute break?" You took the offered bottle, sitting up and twisting the cap and taking a long swing.

"Sure." He said nodding, his New Yorker accent pulling at the single word then lowered himself next to you.

There was a beat of silence as you tried to get your breathing back to normal, giving your tired muscles a break.

When Billy had said that he was gonna teach you some self defense, you thought he was gonna give you one of those pepper spray keychains, maybe show you how to throw an effective punch to disorient your (hypothetical) would be assailant, and run. Maybe install an app on your phone that would activate once opened and send out a distress call, or something that you would open once you left your work building and listened to everything around you and would alert local authorities once it caught a phrase or…something. You certainly weren't expecting him to put you through cardio training, much less him teaching you moves that would let you free yourself from holds and strikes to incapacitate.

You were breathing normally now, your arms and legs still felt like they were on the verge of falling off, when you turned to look at him and asked,

"The story Karen is working...did it really freak you out that much?"

Billy shrugged,

“New York is a dangerous city, all these...guys runnin’ around at night, helping people, they can't be everywhere at the same time. While they're over on 10th and 52nd, preventing some poor schmuck from gettin' mugged, some poor bastard over on 41st could be bleedin’ out, or some clun hoppers could be gettin’ shoved in a container at the docks. It's childish to believe that just because they're out there, that your on a first name basis with a couple of them, that one of them is your Friday trivia buddy, that you're safe. That they'll come rescue you."

You sat quietly, staring at him for a minute

"Frank said you're doing this so you won't have to worry about me when you're not around."

"Yeah, well Frankie has a big mouth." He said, but there was no real heat behind his words, making you let out a bark of laughter.

"I'm not gonna deny that it'll make me rest a little easier, ‘specially when we both have to stay out late," he paused for a minute, his hand clenching and unclenching as the quiet stretched between the two of you, "I jus’...just want you to be and feel safe...with or without me around."

You felt your heart clench in your chest and a smile tugged at the corners of your lips. Leaning over the small space between you and pressing your lips to the top of his cheek, then pushed yourself up and held out a hand for him to take. 

"Breaks over teach, I'm not paying for these classes for you to sit on your ass all day." You said playfully

He huffed out a laugh and took your hand, pulling himself up to his feet.

"You aren't paying for these classes though."

"Yeah, but my boyfriend is, and I'm pretty sure he wouldn't approve of us just sittin' around."

You got back to it then, Billy telling you what he was going to do and how you should react. Going through the motions slow at first so that you could memorize them and they became instinct.

 0o0o0o0o0

 Billy saw the change in you, the way your eyes cleared, the determined set of your brows and lips. And he swore he felt his heart stop for the second time that day.

You closed your eyes and took a deep breath, prayed to god, to every saint you’d heard Matt mutter under his breath... to Tom Cruise, to the god damn universe, to anyone that was listening as you balled up your fist, putting every ounce of strength you had into it and swung it back, making it connect with Walter's crotch. He bent forward crying out in pain and in the same motion you brought up your elbow, adrenaline floods your system when you heard a sicken crunch when it made contact with the underside of his jaw. You ducked out of the way, tripping over your own feet and falling onto your hands and knees as a different crack filled the night air, silencing Walter's cries of pain and followed instantly by the muted thud of a body hitting the floor.

Before you could catch your breath, you felt strong hands grip your arm and pull you up, crashing you onto their chest, arms hugging you so tight you swore your ribs were on the brink of breaking. Relief washed over you, making your knees go weak and sag against his chest and you hugged him back just as tightly.

He pulled away from you after a minute, his hands coming to rest on your shoulders,

"You alrigh’? You're not hurt anywhere are you?"

He asked in quick succession as he his eyes scanned your face, hands running up your neck, moving your head to the side, no doubt to check your temple, where Walter had been pressing the barrel of his gun.

"I'm fine Billy,"

"You sure?" He asked again, his hands and eyes taking the rest of you in.

"Yeah, yeah, I'm sure." You said before he pulled you into another hug, this one gentler than the first, your arms wounding around his wait in the same motion. A sense of peace settled over you as he rocking you softly making you relax further in his arms.

"Whoa!!" Cried a too cheerful voice, breaking through the quiet that had enveloped you, making Billy pull away and step in front of you, pulling the gun out from the waistband of his dress pants and aiming it in the direction of where the voice had come from.

"I've heard of people getting into this place but you guys, you guys were on a completely different level!" The man continued, easing his horse closer and stopping a few feet away from where you were standing and were able to make out his features. He looked tall and wide, a big smile on his lips, crinkling the corner of his dark eyes, above of which sat 2 bushy brows that matched his dark hat sat on his head; the front of which was tipped back as to not obscure his face. He was dressed in dark pants and jacket, but unlike his late companions, he looked like he knew what a shower and washing machine were.

"Off the fuckin’ horse, unless you wanna join your buddies." Billy said, pulling the hammer of his gun and aimed the barrel at the man’s head. You saw his cheerful demeanor drop; hands held up in surrender.

"I-it's alright son, t-there's no need for the gun." he stuttered out as he dismounted, stumbling slightly when his feet touched the ground.

“Toss the gun.” Billy said with a slight nod of his head, “Belt too.”

The man unbuckled his belt and removed it from around his waist and tossed it away from him, landing a few feet away from him with a muted thud, a miniscule dirt cloud puffing around the discarded weapon.

"You and your friends, where were you comin’ from?"

"Sweetwater" the man said quickly, pointing past Billy in the direction that he, Rebus, and Walter had been riding from, "it's a little over an hours way on horseback. There's a stream not too far from here, it's a straight shot northeast from there."

"Take the reins." He murmured to you over his shoulder, never once taking his eyes or the aim of the gun off of the man in front of you.

"There any more like your friends there?" Billy asked, as you walked over and gathered the reins, guiding the horse away from the man.

The man's head tilted to the side, confusion clear on his face as he said, "There's all sorts at Sweetwater, it's where everybody gets off the train and starts."

Billy paused for a minute and glanced behind his shoulder to see you, catching your eye for a beat. He knows that he has to get you out of here, that he has to check your elbow, make sure it isn't broken.

"Take off your pants and boots"

"What?"

"Your pants and boots. Take them off."

He kicked off his boots and made quick work of the button and zipper of his pants, shoving them down his legs and stepping out of them, leaving the pile at his feet.

"Toss them this way."

He bent down and tosses the discarded clothes at Billy's feet.

"Much obliged" Billy says, giving the man a slight nod "turn around" Billy continues and the man does as he's told, turning around away from you, "on your knees." He lowers himself down onto his knees and you think you hear a sob.

Billy takes a few steps forward and gathers the pants and boots, handing them to you with a whispered, "change into these."

You take them wordlessly, handing him the reins and stripping off your damaged skirt as quickly as you can and slip into the pants, tightening the belt so they won't fall off your hips. Then slip your feet into the boots that feel a few sizes too big for your feet.

Billy chances a glance over his shoulder as you're gathering your discarded skirt in your arms, giving you the reins back once your upright, then walks over to stand in front of the man on his knees.

"You got a name?"

"C-craig. Craig J-johnson."

"Alright Craig Johnson, if me and my girl start walkin’ that way," he nods in the direction he had said Sweetwater was, "are you goin’ to follow us?"

The man shakes his head no so quickly you think he might make himself dizzy.

"Y'know, I wanna trust you Craig, I really do, you seem like...a decent enough guy, but your friends...they weren't good people Craig, which turns this into a bit of a percentages game…" Billy paused, looks past the man on his knees to you, his gaze tender but hard around the edges, "and...I care about her too much to take the risk."

He pulls the trigger before you can tell him to let the guy go, that he had done enough. The bullet hits Craig square in the chest, you cup a hand over your mouth to stifle a scream as he falls back with a pained wail. You expect some soft cries, a gurgle or something instead, the man screeches out,

"SONUVABITCH!" sitting up and rubbing his chest, "is it supposed to hurt this much?" The guy asks no one in particular, his voice high and cracking on every other word as he pulls his hand away, clean.

Confused, Billy aims the gun and let's out another shot, hitting him on the shoulder, his confusion growing when Craig holds and rubs at his shoulder and continues cursing. He looks over at the men he had dispatched only a few minutes before; the pool of blood around them steadily growing as the seconds ticked by.

He aims the gun for the third time at Craig's belly, and pulls the trigger, instead of the crack of the hammer hitting the primer there’s an empty click.

"Fuck" he mutters, shifting his grip on the gun and quickly striking the man across the face with the side of the cylinder, there's a loud crunch and Craig goes down, blood trickling from his nose and the corner of his mouth as he lays motionless on the dirt floor.

You looked between Billy and Craig's limp body, your throat clicking a few times as you swallow,

"Is...is he…did--?" your voice came out thin and cracked, unable to ask the question.

"He's not dead, just unconscious." Billy says, crouching down onto the balls of his feet, his arms hanging off his knees and between his legs, his head tilting this way and that, eyes squinting as he looked over the bullet holes. He reached out his hand, the tip of his finger poking through the damaged fabric, his head cocking to the side and eyes widening in shocked confusion. His hands dart to the middle of the shirt and pull at the edges, buttons pop and fly about and Billy mutters a confused "what the fuck".

Instead of bleeding bullet wounds, he sees small circular bruises, similar to the ones he's often come home with after a grueling training exercise with his guys at Anvil.

He looks over at the men that lay a few feet away, motionless and blood still slowly seeping at the lose dirt under them, then back at Craig. Something unrecognizable flashes through his eyes,

"We gotta get outta here." He says going through the pockets of Craig’s jacket, pulling out what looked to be a few pieces of paper, then pushed himself up and made his way over to where Walter lay, crouching beside him, his hands quickly working the buckle of his gun belt and pulling it off of him and throwing it over his shoulder and picking up the gun that he had been holding, tucking it into the waistband of his pants. Then walked over to where Rebus lay and did the same.

When he was done, he walked over to the two horses that had miraculously not gotten startled with all the commotion, one a rich chocolate brown with a dark mane, the other a golden brown with a black mane and dark legs. He took the saddle bags from the golden brown horse, loaded the things he had gathered from Craig, Walter, and Rebus into it; took the canteen that was tied to one of the many straps that hung off the saddle, and tugged the rolled up blanket that sat at the end of the saddle free and attached everything to the darker one. When his hands were free, he gathered the reins, turned to the golden horse and gave it a hard smack on its’ rear, it let out a loud high-pitched squeal that pierced the night air before it galloped away.

Billy walked over to where you stood, the horse trailing behind him letting out soft blows of air that puffed around it’s muzzle every few steps.

“C’mon, get on the horse, we have a long and bumpy ride ahead of us.”

“Bill, we can’t just leave him here, he’ll die of exposure or something!”

“He didn’t seem to mind lettin’ you to those!!--” he cut himself off, closing his eyes and raising his face towards the sky as if asking a higher power for the patience to get through the moment, “Let’s just...get outta here, alright?”

You just nod and on your heel, grabbing the ends of the saddle like you had seen countless times in shows and movies and try to pull yourself up, but you don't get anywhere near high enough to swing your leg over.

"Here," Billy says, stepping up behind you, his hands resting on your hips, "you gotta put your foot through here," he grabs your right leg behind the knee, lifting it up and maneuvering your foot to go through the stirrup, "now, grab on tight to the horn,"

You wrapped your hand tight on the horn of the saddle and waited for him to tell you your next step.

"When I count to three, you're gonna push yourself up on your right foot, when you reach the top, swing your left leg over and come down slow. You ready?" At your nod, he counted to three, his hands still on your hips helped you lift yourself and hold yourself up long enough for you to swing your left leg over and settle down slowly like he had said. 

He gave your leg a quick squeeze and smiled at you, then give you a crash course on horseback riding. Once he was satisfied that you had the basic cues down, he turned and mounted the other horse in one fluid movement, making the action look far more graceful than it had any right to be.

He adjusted his hold on the reins and cued the horse to move forward.

You fided with the reins a bit, Billy getting a few feet ahead of you, then as quickly as you could, you undid the straps that held the canteen and the rolled up blanket, tossing both as close as possible to Craig's unconscious body, hoping that he'd wake soon, then nudged your horse forward to where Billy had stopped to wait for you.

When you ambled up to him his eyes were hard and his jaw was set. He had no doubt seen what you did and wasn't too happy about it.

The ride was long, made even longer by the heavy silence that had settled between you and Billy. You had tried to talk to him, but by the third time he had brushed you off you resigned yourself, he was pissed. It felt like hours had passed when you reached the tree you had seen, Billy dismounted his horse with the same ease and grace he had climbed onto it, guiding the animal to the tree and wrapping the reins onto a low hanging branch.

You try to imitate Billy, standing and swinging your right leg back, you lost your balance before your leg could clear the top of the horse, foot still stuck in the stirrup, you let out a yelp and prepared yourself for impact but it never came, at least not the one you were expecting. Your back hits something warm and solid, familiar arms wrapping around your body, hands gripping you and holding you up and against his chest. 

Billy shifts your weight, freeing one hand, long arm reaching for the stirrup and freeing your foot, then slowly and gently depositing you on the ground, making sure that your left foot is free of the other stirrup before letting you go. 

“Thanks…” your voice comes out so low you doubt Billy even hears you.

He takes the reins of the horse and walks it over near the tree and wraps the reins onto the same branch as he did his horse, pulling off the bags that rested behind the saddles and throwing them over his shoulder. Settling over on a patch of dirt that was illuminated by the moon. He reached into the bags and started taking things out, bringing it close to his face to inspect then setting it on the floor in front of him, separating everything he took out, guns laid out carefully in a neat row, small rectangular boxes stacked on top of eachother next to them. He pulled out a couple more cardboard boxes that he shook, a muted rattling coming from inside, and put them in a separate pile, followed by several knives, unsheathing each and inspecting the blade in the little light of the moon, holding it up and flicking the thumb of his left hand against the edge, testing the sharpness.

“Bill?” you said as he pulled another knife from its sheath, this one larger and wider and repeating what he had done with the first. “Billy, please...stop ignoring me.”

“What?” the word had an edge to it accentuated by the harsh movements of his hands, making you think that maybe you should give him some room, some more time to cool down, but that meant letting him stew in whatever was running through his head. 

You chewed on the corner of your lower lip as you thought about telling him “nevermind” and walking away, instead you steeled yourself and took a deep breath. 

“I’m sorry...I-I couldn’t just walk away…and leave him like that, you know I couldn’t.”

That made him pause, shoulders sagging as he let out a long breath, shaking his head from side to side.

“That good heart of yours is gonna be the death of us some day." he muttered, his voice losing the hostile edge it had had, resignation laced in his words  as he shoved the knife back into its sheath and laying it next to him.

"Billy, it was just a blanket--"

"It's not just a blanket!" He shouted, shooting up to his feet, eyes a little manic as he paced back and forth in a tight circle in front of you. "It's a way for him to survive and come after us! More of his buddies with him, you can't think with that bleedin' heart of yours out here, it's a sure way to get yourself killed!”

You look away, feeling properly scolded. You didn't argue, you couldn't, you knew he was right, knew he was falling back onto eight years of military service, where everything was a mission, and the mission at hand was survive and find a way back home. 

He let out a long sigh followed by a quiet fuck as he ran a hand through his hair, gripping the ends of the longer strands at his crown for a beat before letting his hand drop to his side. Billy came to stand in front of you, placing 2 fingers under your chin and lifting your head so that you were looking at him.

"I'm sorry...didn't mean to…” he let out a frustrated sigh, the words yell, loose my temper, hung in the air unsaid but rang loud and clear nonetheless. “you gotta understand, it all comes down to us or them...and I’m gonna do everythin’ I can to have us come out on top everytime.”

You swallowed the knot that formed in your throat and nodded, "I know Billy, I'm sorry."

He pulled you tight against his chest, kissing the top of your head and saying a “it’s ok, we’re gonna be ok,” against your hairline. You stood wrapped in each others arms until your body began to be wracked by slight tremors as the temperature dropped what felt like a few degrees. 

“C’mon, let’s get you warmed up.”

He placed another quick kiss to your forehead before pulling away and going over to where the saddle bags were, picking up one of the few cardboard boxes and the larger knife he had set apart, gathering everything else and putting them back into the bag for the exception of a pair of guns, tucking them into the waistband of his pants and one of the cardboard boxes, opening it and emptying whatever was inside it into his hand and then shoving that into one of his pockets. 

He made quick work of getting a fire put together, and settling both of you against the tree on the opposite side of where the horses were tied, one of the blankets he had gathered on the floor and the other thrown over both of your bodies. 

You were leaning against the truck of the tree while Billy checked and rechecked the guns, long nimble fingers twisting the firearm this way and that pulling the hammer and releasing it back to rest, spinning the cylinder, pushing it back into the frame, aiming it into the distance and pulling the trigger, the click of the hammer hitting an empty chamber was almost drowned out by the crackling of the fire that was doing wonders in keeping you warm. 

He did the same thing with the other gun, once satisfied, he reached his hand into the pocket of his pants and pulled out a handful of bullets and began loading the gun. 

"Where'd you learn to ride a horse anyway?" You asked as he slid another bullet into an empty chamber.

"County fair, when I was 7, was gonna sneak outta the orphanage, steal a horse and ride out west, just like The Kid."

"Bullshit" you said, disbelief clear as day in your voice, as he pushed the cylinder back into the frame of the gun once it was fully loaded and picked up the second, opening it and loading bullet after bullet into the chambers. 

"God honest truth,” he said, smile clear in his voice as he slid the final bullet in closed it and laid it next to the first and leaning back against the tree, his left arm going around you and bringing you close. “Saved every penny I came across, had a backpack with all my stuff hidden outside the orphanage, kept my gun with me at all times though, it was one of those plastic guns you could get at the corner liquor store, the one with the bulky orange tip, silver with some swirly pattern embossed all over the barrel and frame and a wooden grip cost me like 17 bucks and I remember thinkin' it was worth every penny. Took that thing everywhere, slept with thunder my pillow. I watched every cowboy movie I could find, made a dummy horse outta some pillows and a broken chair, tore up a sheet to make the reins and everythin'. 

"On the first night the fair rolled into the city, I snuck out, took the train and a few busses, got there, paid for my ticket and everythin'. Walked around for a while, ate so much junk food I swore I was gonna be sick. Walked to the pettin' zoo part of the fair and headed over to the horses. There was this beautiful stallion, black with a white streak down the middle of his face, that's the horse I was gonna take, knew it as soon as I saw 'em, he was gonna be the one that was gonna take me across the states. 

"When they announced that the place was closin' for the night, I snuck under one of those trailer cars, hid behind the front wheels and waited until all the lights were off, then waited some more; think I even dozed off for a few. When I thought everyone was asleep, I came out, made my way over to where the horses had been, was expectin' to find stables or somethin' in the tent, but there was only some tables and boxes. Wandered around for what felt like hours 'till I found the trailer they were in; I managed to get the door open but made too much noise and woke everybody up and I knew I had to get the hell outta dodge. Almost got caught when I jumped the fence, made it back to the orphanage with a few cuts and bruises. 

"A couple of nights later, I went back and waited, didn't even get close to the trailers, one of the guys caught me by the scruff when I was crawlin’ out from under the trailer. Handed me over to the cops, then over to the orphanage…"

He paused for a moment

"They...they made sure I didn't...didn’t entertain the idea of tryin’ again.”

You hugged yourself closer to him, your arms squeezing around his middle making his arms around your shoulders hug you closer. 

“I’m sorry that happened to you Billy.”

“It was a long time ago...an...and life has more than made up for the shitty childhood I had.” he murmured against your temple before pressing his lips to it. 

“Yeah,” you murmured with a smile, “Being CEO of your own very successful private security company sounds like the best outcome to everything you went through.”

You felt the rumble of his laugh in his chest. 

“That part is pretty great…but” his hand came up under your chin, lifting your head so that you looked at him, “I meant you...meetin’ you, everythin’ you’ve brought into my life…” his tongue pokes out, wetting his lips and your hold around him tightens, “I’d do it again to have this. To have you.” 

You smile, pushing yourself the few inches needed to press your lips against his. His hand moved to frame your face and what was supposed to be a quick peck soon turns hungry and needy. You felt and heard the deep inhale he took, his chest rising and expanding under your hand as his lips move expertly against yours, hand moving into your hair to cradle the back of your head, adjusting it slightly to have a better angle. His tongue swipes at the seam of your lips and without a second thought you part them, your own coming out to tangle and move against his, your leg climbing over his making a low moan rumble in his chest, his free hand goes to the back of your knee, holding it tight against his side as he flips the both of you over, hooking it over his waist and running it up your thigh, fingers digging into the soft skin, his hips giving an aborted thrust before he pulls away, breaths heavy as he rests his forehead against yours. 

“Billy?”

“We can’t—shouldn’t…” he says, eyes closed and brushing his nose against yours, “gotta...gotta stay alert,” he continues, pressing his lips to yours again, kissing you slowly, nipping your bottom lip before he pulls away from you again. 

“C’mon, you gotta get some rest.” he presses a kiss to the tip of your nose and pushes himself off of you

You both resettle against the tree, the blanket covering pulled up as far as it could go without leaving your feet uncovered, his arm thrown over your shoulder, hugging you to the side of his body. 

You don’t know if its the warmth or the too long and strange day you’ve had, but your eyes start to droop, your breathing evening out, eyes closing and just before unconscious pulls you under you hear Billy whisper a soft “sweet dreams sweetheart” and feel the press of his lips to your temple, sending you off into a peaceful sleep. 

You came to in increments, noticing first the scratchy material of the blanket against your cheek and the uncomfortable heat, followed by the lack of a strong arm holding you tight against an equally strong chest. The sound of the horses filters in next, the muted clopping of their hooves on the packed dirt, and their low grunts, blows, and snorts.

You crack open your eyes and close them almost immediately, the light too bright and harsh for your eyes. You push yourself onto your back and try again, blinking rapidly to help your vision adjust. Pale blue sky filtered through the branches and leaves above, it could have been midmorning or midday, you pushed yourself up, the blanket falling onto your lap as you stretch out your arms and back, relaxing after a beat and feeling more awake. You threw the rest of the blanket off of you and next to your thigh was one of the guns Billy had kept out. In the light of day you noticed that the model was old, the metal was dark and polished as if new or its previous owner went to the extreme to keep it in pristine condition, the barrel was short and the grip a matte black. The second gun you had seen Billy load was nowhere in sight and you knew that he had left it for you to use if necessary.

You hesitated in reaching for it but then Billy”s words played themselves in your mind, the edge his voice had had was one you hadn’t heard in a long time, ever since...you shuddered despite the heat, willing yourself to not let the memory take form, to not feel the phantom weight of a hand closing in on your throat.

The sound of something cracking came from behind you and in a flash, you had the gun in your hand and were aiming it at Billy. His hands were held up

“Whoa there killa, it’s just me.”  he said, a lazy smile curving his lips. 

You let out a breath and lowered the gun, cocking your head to the side as you looked him up and down, “Where’d you go so early?”

“Did some scouting at dawn, found a stream where we can fill the canteens and wash up.”

“Oh thank god.” you sighed, relieved at the thought of being able to wash off the sweat and grime that you could feel clinging to your skin.

“C’mon, lets pack up, we can head over to the stream wash up and then head out.”

Billy held out his hand to you and you took it with your free hand, pulling yourself to your feet, and tucking the gun away into the waistband of your pants. Billy picked up the saddles that you had used as pillows and walking over to the horses, throwing them over their rumos and securing them while you bent down and picked up one of the blankets and folded and rolled it, tying it with the leather straps and tossing it over to Billy for him to put on the horse. You reached for the second blanket and when you pulled it up you froze. There, coiled onto itself where the blanket had been pushed up against the upturned roots of the tree, blending almost completely to its surroundings, was a snake, you only knew it was there thanks to the harsh rattling of its tail.

You took a step back and the snake raised itself up, the rattling only intensifying, you debated on moving further away, you weren’t sure if you were within its striking range but you really didn’t want to risk moving and it lunging at you sinking its fangs into your leg. 

There was a thwip that cut through the air and in the blink of an eye the snake was pinned down to the ground, the large knife, looking even larger in the light, Billy had kept was buried halfway into its neck, keeping it in place as the rest of its long body trashed against it, then slowly stilled. 

Billy walked over to you, taking your face in his hands and lowered his gaze until it meet yours. 

“You okay?” he asked, his dark eyes searching yours

“Yeah,” your voice cracked, clearing your throat you tried again. “Yeah...didn’t…” your voice wavered again and he pulled you to him, hugging you tight, saying, reassuring you that you were ok, his hands going up and down your back in comforting strokes.

“I thought...i thought it was gonna strike if I moved.” you said into his chest, your words shaky

"It wouldn't've...not unless provoked" he reassured you, his large hand gripping your shoulders.

"Billy it...it reared back...it was gonna…" your words trailed off, you didn't know much about wildlife, but you knew that rattlesnakes were trouble, trouble you didn't need while stuck in the middle of nowhere .

Billy was quiet for a long time and you could practically hear the wheels turning in his mind, after a moment he pulled away and looked into your eyes again, 

“We should get going,” you nodded and he pressed his lips to your forehead before he walked over to retrieve the knife, picking up the blanket that you had let fall when you had seen the snake, and cleaning the blade with one of the corners, and shoving it back into the sheath that hung on his belt, then folded and rolled the blanket.

He helped you mount the horse and guided you to the stream he had said, he dismounted first and came over to help you, telling you what you should do, this time when you threw your leg over you didn't have any problems, but Billy still reached out and held your waist as you came off the back of the horse. 

After billy cut off a couple of squares from one of the blankets so that you could scrub your bodies, you stripped out of your clothes, laying them neatly on a nearby rock, Billy taking extra care of setting his shoulder holster, matte black gun tucked away into it, on top of his clothes along with the spring loaded blade mechanism that he had strapped to his wrist more often than not, the revolver and knife next to them. You both made quick work of getting clean, trying to wash away the sweat and dirt clinging to your bodies. You’re scrubbing at a particularly tough stain on the crook of your elbow, leaving the skin red and tender thinking you’d give almost anything to have your favorite body wash and shampoo with you. After you both got as clean as you were gonna get you got dressed; while Billy filled the canteens you led the horses to the edge of the stream and held their reins while they drank, patting and stroking their necks and mane. 

You're ready to go when you notice Billy, crouched down a little ways away from the edge of the stream, his knife buried in the ground, a smooth rust colored rock on to one side as he tossed and caught a darker rock in his hand, every now and again making a tally mark on the ground.

"What're you doing Billy?"

"Our friend Craig said Sweetwater was a straight shot northeast of here."

"Yeah, he did, how does that explain what you're doing?"

He waves you over and quickly explains his set up, how tracking the shadow of the knife on the ground would make a makeshift compass, how the rock on the floor is a marker for East and after a few more minutes, the rock in his hand would be a marker for West, once that was done, he'd find the midpoint and mark North and South and know in what direction to go. 

As you waited for the shadow of the knife to move, Billy recounted a story in which he had had to use this same method once before due to his compass being broken and having lost his watch. Midway through his story Billy sets down the rock he had been tossing, and makes the appropriate marks he had explained and makes one additional mark between the marker for North and East. He pulls the knife from the ground, sheathed it, helped you onto the horse, then mounted his own, pulling the reins and guiding the horse in the direction he had marked on the ground. 

You rode in the hot sun for what felt like hours, taking small drinks from the canteens to keep yourselves hydrated and nibbled on small pieces of hot jerky Billy had found in the bags. 

"Well...I'll be damned," you heard Billy say next to you, his eyes squinting into the distance. "sonuvabitch was telling the truth."

You followed his line of sight, bringing your hand out and holding it against your forehead to shield your eyes from the too bright sun. You squinted into the distance, and there barely visible with the heat coming off the ground and distorting it, were familiar shapes, one of which looked like a reservoir, 

“Is...is that-?"

"Yeah...Sweetwater."

Relief floods your system making your body sag, Sweetwater, it's still a good ways away, but you'd made it. After wandering and wondering if you'd make it out of the barren plains, you'd made it.

[pawnshopsouls]

Mobile — About — Salem

.  C H A R A C T E R  .  I N T E R V I E W  .

“Mn? Oh, evenin’ to yeh! Didn’t hear yeh come in. M'name’s Salem, Salem Bonachard, but everybody calls me Sal. I’m the bone keeper a’ this here bone orchard. I keep everythin’ ship-shape and in its place, and bein’ a cleric really helps. You wouldn’t believe how many unhappy spooks come in here teh cause trouble. But a good dose a’ clerical magic usually calms ‘em down. Keeps demons out too, which is fantastic fer everyone!

“Eh? What’s a bone orchard? Well, yer standin’ in the courtyard a’ one! Whether yer in Winderheim or Vansia, when yeh see the risin’ walls ‘n’ stonework, yeh know yeh’ve entered a Bone Orchard. My brother’s biographer says it looks like a cross between a castle wall and an open-roof cathedral. It’s actually pretty beautiful if yeh look at it, and the ghosts seem teh like it too. Makes ‘em feel safer what with all the demons, bone mages, and nasty necromancers out tryin’ teh do who knows what with ‘em. Bad folks, necromancers… Illegal too, but that’s a whole different can a’ worms.

“Anyway, as the local cleric here, I  do my best teh make these folk comfy. Though I gotta admit, bein’ someone who’s all livin’ amongst the dead, it can get pretty boring. Which is where the knitwear comes from. I gotta do somethin’ with my time, so why not make somethin’ useful? Stan, who yeh probably know better as Bonely, has a thing fer the scarves I make. They help ‘im sleep and keep our dads dirty, rotten demon from gettin’ too frisky. We… haven’t figured out how teh get rid a’ the thing yet, but we’re workin’ on it!

“Now, I dunno about anyone else, but I like the night. It’s dark, peaceful, it’s the time when ghosts get really active, and yeh get teh see the stars teh boot! I love stars. All the constellations, the planets, the stories behind ‘em, they’re fantastic. Not to mention all the cool stuff people are makin’ nowadays; telephones, radios, everythin’. Sometimes yeh would swear yeh were walkin’ on the scene a sci-fi novel, it’s great!

“Now I gotta admit, even though I have loads a’ time on my hands, I’m.. not very good at buildin’ the kind a’ stuff we see in town. Never been mechanically minded sorta speak. I’m better at gardening and home repair than anything. Well, anything but diggin’ holes. Bonely says I have a good voice fer singin’, but I prefer playin’ my sax teh singin’ myself.”

“I can’t say the same fer my brother. He’s got a reputation a’ shatterin’ glass a quarter of a block away with that cat-screech a’ his! He thinks it’s funny and uses it as a punchline, but he always ends up gettin’ punched instead. I swear the inspector has a list a mile long with all the stupid stuff my brother pulls. If I didn’t know any better I’d say the moment he gets any cash, it goes straight teh fines and damage costs.

“Yeh’d think he’d learn his lesson with how many fines they slap on him. NOPE! HE STILL THINKS IT’S FUNNY. I swear..

“I gotta say though… he’s really good at controllin’ his magic. I mean, have you met that awful demon a’ his? Me, on the other hand… I’m… not so good at that. I mean, I’m workin’ on it, but I got more magic than I know what teh do with, so everythin’ I do tends teh get some a’ my magic in it. I figure that’s why spooks like teh hang around me so much. They get a free bolsterin’ just by hangin’ around. Bonely told me one time that he’s kinda glad I can’t control my magic like he does. Says it makes it easier teh deal with his demon, which is good - that’s what clerical magic is supposed teh do! But not bein’ able teh control it as well as I should is kinda why I’m not technically a full-fledged cleric yet.”

“Huh? Whoa, whoa, whoa! Where yeh goin’? Don’t be scared, it’s just a wisp! They ain’t gonna hurt yeh. They’re just residential ghosts who like hangin’ around me. Honest, these guys wouldn’t hurt a fly - unless it was tryin’ teh pull somethin’. I’m kiddin’! I’m kiddin’! But really, the only time they start actin’ up is when either I’m in trouble or the Bone Orchard’s in trouble. We look out fer each other, see? I look after the spirits and they look after me. It’s how things work.

“That doesn’t mean they don’t get inteh trouble though… Some a’ them are pretty mischievous - probably from hangin’ around my brother too long. He can be a real ox sometimes and tends teh have that sort of effect on ‘em. But he’s a good guy, ‘cept on the new moon when his demon comes out. Ruddy pain in the neck, that guy. Gotta pull out all the stops teh keep ‘im from gettin’ too outa had or else things get messy real quick.

“Well, I think that’s about it. Not much more teh tell. Eh? Oh… my folks… they’re… they’re deceased. Nah, they ain’t here. Ma got a straight ticket teh the Land a’ Souls. We… er, Stan and I, don’t really know what happened teh our pops and honestly, Stan couldn’t care less. He thinks every bad thing that’s happened teh us woulda been prevented if our pops hadn’t made the choices he did, and maybe he’s right, but it’s not something we can change. I know our dad was a good guy… even if he did bring Shyce inteh our lives. I just wish… ah, never mind. Doesn’t matter. What matters is what we do now. Forgive ‘n’ forget. Let it wash off yer shoulders, 'cause believe me, havin’ a grudge ain’t worth the tension.

"Oh! By the by, if yeh ever see Intrepid, mine an’ Bonely's Biographer, give her a shout, yeah? She’s more 'n’ happy teh chat 'n’ share what goes on here in Vansia - one a’ her favorite things teh do actually. So don’t hesitate teh stop by 'n’ chat!”

[ichigopanhpff]

BNHA One-Shot: Bust A Cap

I’m surprised no one’s written something like this yet. Just a short one with by OC, Takahiro “Ren” Remy, who is a second year at U.A. and currently an R.A. for the 1-A dorms. She’s from a fic I just started called “Blink!”

Enjoy!

---

It was lazy afternoon and a rare day where class 1-A didn’t have any school work or training to catch up on.

Yes, today was a total rest day.

Some decided to hang out in the privacy of their own room while others lounged in the common area. It was far too hot to go outside to do anything.

“Iida-kun, Deku-kun,” Ren called the two boys from the common room, carrying a small folded table and a bottle. “Come with me a sec.”

The two looked at each other in confusion and got up from the couch. They followed their R.A. outside, where the summer heat and breeze greeted them. Having been outside for merely seconds, they could begin feeling the humidity cling onto their skin when they ended up in the shady grass area to the right side of the dorm. Walking a few steps forward, she set the table up and set the bottle on top. Happy with the positioning, Ren turned back around with a determined smirk.

“Uh, senpai?” Midoriya asked with a tone of confusion. “What are you doing?”

“We’re training today.”

“Training?”

“There’s been a thing online recently called the ‘Bottle Cap Challenge’, where people unscrew the cap of a bottle with their kicks without knocking the bottle over,” she explained. “And I thought this would be a great training exercise for you two! You can learn precision and self-control at the same time.”

“What a great idea!” Iida agreed and put his hand to his chin. “My Recipro Burst does activate too fast sometimes when I use it...”

“And it’ll help with Deku-kun’s Shoot Style,” she added.

The two boys’ eyes lit up with excitement and yelled, “Let’s do this!” They all began stretching their legs before attempting.

“Senpai, would you mind giving us a demonstration before we start?” the tall boy requested.

Ren stepped back about six feet from the bottle and focused.

“I like to get a bit of a running start,” she commented and readied her stance. Doing little hops in place, she made two tight Chaine turns and went into a full roundhouse kick at the top of the bottle. In an instantaneous moment, both boys saw the tip of her shoe touch the cap and spun it off. Firmly planting her foot back on the ground, she huffed out a soft breath and released her stance.

“Ohhhhhh!!!! That’s so amazing!” they both exclaimed.

She walked off to pick the cap back up and reset the bottle.

“Whenever you guys are ready.”

“I’ll go first,” Iida firmly stated. The tall dark blue hair colored boy took a few steps back and readied himself. Hearing the engines at his calves fire up, he went full throttle and swung his right leg at the bottle, only to knock the whole thing over instead. He rigidly stood there, soaking in his failure.

“I went a little too gung-ho,” Iida sulked at the nearby wall.

“I-It’s fine! Don’t worry about it,” Ren comforted. “It’d be a miracle for you to get it on the first try!”

“How long did it take you, Ren-senpai?” Deku asked.

“At least 10 times,” she confessed and placed her hands on her hips. “The trick is to control the angle and power of your kick.”

She then turned back to Iida.

“Try it without your quirk on your next turn so you can get a handle of your strength,” she directed.

“That’s right! I’m so used to activating my quirk whenever we’re training!” he energetically replied, his hands moving in their usual robotic manner. “Such a wise suggestion, Takahiro-senpai!”

“Deku-kun, you ready?”

The freckled boy nodded and prepared himself.

Giving himself enough room, Midoriya activated All For One, making him glow teal green all over. He went into a running start for momentum and jumped up to ready his body into a roundhouse kick. Reiterating Ren’s advice in his head, he tried his best to angle his foot as it came closer to the cap. The moment contact was made, the whole bottle spun around on the table and wobbled back into stationary position a few inches from falling off of the table.

“Gah, so close!” he groaned out with a wry grin.

The viridian haired boy walked back to the table and reset the bottle for Iida’s turn. For the next 15 minutes or so, the boys took their turns in trying to knock the cap off, sweat beginning to accumulate around their arms. And at long last, Iida was the first one to succeed between the two. Both Deku and Ren happily cheered and clapped for him.

“Now that you got the feel for it, try it with your quirk,” their R.A. said.

“What’re you guys doin’ here?” a new voice intervened.

The three turned to see the Bakusquad, with Ochaco and Todoroki trailing not too far behind.

“We’re trying out the bottle cap challenge,” Midoriya answered.

“Whoa, that sounds super fun!” Ochaco exclaimed. “I wanna try too!”

With new challengers entering the arena, Ren gave them the lowdown on the challenge and had Iida give the demonstration.

“Hm, doin’ the challenge itself isn’t all that fun...” Ashino pouted and suddenly had a devilish idea. “How ‘bout this?! Whoever misses the most have to do whatever the winner wants for one day!”

“That’s a pretty steep bet, Mina...” Ren trailed off with a tone of concern.

“Heh, scared senpai?” Bakugou goaded with his trademark shit-eating grin. “You don’t have to do it.”

Ren shot him a look of annoyance with her hazel green eyes.

“I never said I wasn’t,” she shot back. “Let’s up the ante: Loser also has to call the winner ‘master’ or whatever name the winner decides on.”

“Hope you got the balls to back up what you said,” the ash blond boy arrogantly responded.

“Oh trust me, Boom-Boom. My balls are definitely bigger than yours,” the R.A. retorted, setting off a chain of gasps and excited exclaims of ‘ooooh’s, prompting Bakugo to offset a couple of mini-explosions in the palm of his right hand.

“Senpai’s all fired up,” Aishino giddily commented. “So freaking cool!”

“Alright, let’s go!” Kirishima exclaimed and slammed his right fist into his left hand. “I’m gettin’ riled up!”

While everyone got into place, Iida immediately shot his right hand up.

“I will not be participating in this as I feel my quirk will have an unfair advantage over everyone,” Iida firmly confessed. “Therefore, I will be the referee.”

“As expected of the class rep,” Ochaco applauded.

“I got no problem with that,” Sero said.

“What are the rules then?” Kaminari asked.

“Best out of 3 and you can only use your legs. Anyone using their arms or quirks are automatically disqualified,” Ren dictated. “You guys okay with that?”

With everyone agreeing to the terms, it was time to start. Mina was the first one up. Since she has dancing as a hobby, she’s already aware of how her body reacts when kicking. And with a swift turn with her extended leg, she was the first to successfully complete the challenge.

“Peace of cake!” the pink girl cheered and threw up a victory hand gesture with a toothy grin.

Once the bottle was reset, it was Ren’s turn. Shifting into stance, she repeated her process and went for it. Unfortunately, she put enough spin on the cap but not enough force to knock it off.

“Shit,” she hissed out.

“Those big balls of yours must be draggin’ you down, senpai,” Bakugou jeered from the back.

She merely scoffed and walked past him to sit down on the sidelines. Next up was Ochaco. Having had martial arts experience with Gunhead from her internship, the moves were still fresh in her mind. Focusing her mind and body, she managed to succeed without hesitation.

“Ochaco-chan may actually be a lowkey young lorddess,” Ren commented in amazement as the peppy brunette reveled in her success. “I felt her power in that kick.”

Next up was Midoriya. Getting into position, he prepared himself to attack. Within the first flicker of All For One, Iida immediately intervened.

“Midoriya! You’re disqualified for using your quirk!” the class rep bellowed.

“Ah crap!” the boy exclaimed. “I totally forgot about that! I got so used to activating it with kicks.”

“You moron!” Bakugou yelled and proceeded to kick his childhood friend in the butt. “Use your brain!”

“Kacchan, you didn’t have to do that,” Midoriya winced at the pain and walked off rubbing the spot he was kicked before sitting down beside Ren, pouting.

The challenge continued on, with Kaminari easily aced it and Kirishima disqualified for using his quirk to extend his toe to flick the cap; Sero managed to get it off and then it was Bakugou’s turn. Charging in his usual style sans his explosions, he jumped and managed to get the cap off with spinning heel kick. Last up was Todoroki and in a flash, he swiftly kicked the lid and it gracefully fell down onto the table. 

Round two was up with Ashino starting again, but accidentally kicked the bottle over this time around and reset it for the next person. Ren regained her focus and attacked the cap with a roundhouse for the centrifugal force and kicked upward to flick it off.

“Now you’re just showing off,” Bakugou huffed and crossed his arms.

“Maybe just a little,” she humble bragged.

Ochaco took her turn and also managed to succeed again. Kaminari went again and missed once more, much to his chagrin.

“Damn, this is harder than it looks,” the flashy blond boy groaned out and walked off.

Sero went and almost had it; the cap decided to stay teetering at the lip of the bottle and refused to fall. Everyone collectively groaned and chuckled. Everyone went silent when it was Bakugou’s turn. He went into a roundhouse and followed up with an axe kick on the cap. Whether it was by pure dumb luck or not, he managed to get the cap flip up in the air and have it land right back on the bottle. Explosive laughter filled the air when everyone saw what happened.

“All that flash and nothing!” Mina gasped between her breaths. “That was so lame!”

“Shut the fuck up! Don’t laugh!” Bakugou angrily shouted and lightly blushed out of embarrassment, only to be drowned out by more laughing.

After everyone calmed down, the bottle was reset and Todoroki was up.

“Do I have to do something flashy too?” he asked in his usual demeanor.

“No, no. Just do what you did last round if you want,” Ren said.

The bi-colored hair boy went for it and successfully got it off with a simple side kick.

“Dude, you been practicin’ on your own or somethin’?” Kirishima asked in awe.

“It’s really not that hard. All you have to do is focus on where your kicks land,” Todoroki instructed. “And the rest will follow.”

“This will now be the last round,” Iida announced. “The winner and loser will be determined after.”

From here on, the competition got serious and fun time was over. Ashino took her turn and got it off; Ren barely managed to get hers off while Ochaco completed it without a hitch. Kaminari went and got the cap off by sheer luck, to which he celebrated to for two whole minutes. Up next was Sero, who thought he had it in the bag, only to realize he spun the bottle as well. The cap threatened to fall off and barely did at the end. Bakugou went for the last time and got the cap off with a spinning hook kick, whereas Todoroki followed up his turn with a simple wheel kick.

“Here are the results,” Iida announced. “Ashino: 2; Takahiro-senpai: 2; Uraraka: 3; Kaminari: 2; Sero: 2; Bakugou: 2; Todoroki: 3.”

“Should we do janken* as a tie-breaker?” Ochaco suggested.

“I’m fine with that,” Kaminari agreed. “No hard feelings at the end.”

Mina, Ren, Kaminari, Sero and Bakugou made a small circle.

“First comes rock, jan, ken–”

Everyone threw down their pick: both Ren and Bakugou threw down scissors, whereas the rest threw down rock.

“Goddamnit!” Bakugou screamed.

“Scissors… why must you betray me,” Ren moped with wobbly legs while the rest cheered.

The two then turned to each other with sharp eyes as if they were mortal enemies and positioned themselves for the last round.

“No hard feelings, senpai,” Bakugou confidently belted out.

“Oh, none at all,” Ren reply was laced with sarcasm.

“First comes rock, jan, ken–”

Bakugou threw down scissors and Ren threw down paper.

“Fuck yes! I win!” the explosive blond shouted and threw his fist up in the air.

“Life… why you do this,” the girl dejectedly said to herself, holding her trembling ‘paper’ hand.

Finally, Ochaco and Todoroki went their turn, to which Todoroki won with paper. Sighing heavily, Ren slowly made her way over and stared up at him. She could’ve sworn he grew taller again.

“Here I am,” she announced without fanfare and shrugged her shoulder. His heterochromatic eyes gazed down at the R.A., wondering what he should do. “What is thy bidding?” she deadpanned.

“I’ll think of something later,” he uttered out and walked away. “It’s hot.”

“Ehhhh?!” Ashino protested. “You’re not gonna do it now?! No fun!”

The next day, everyone in class 1-A couldn’t believe what they were seeing: Todoroki was laying on top of Ren with his eyes closed on one of the couches in the common area, her arms were draped around his shoulders. A blooming embarrassed blush dyed across her pale cheeks.

“I’m… his human pillow today,” she muttered out, avoiding eye contact. “Because I look comfortable, apparently.”

Todoroki’s eyes fluttered open and looked up at his servant for the day in a nonchalant manner.

“My hair is in my eyes, Ren-Ren,” he softly uttered out in an almost arrogant manner. “Brush them aside for me?”

“Y-yes… my k-king.”

At that moment, Takahiro Ren wanted to teleport into a Black Hole and disappear off of this world while the entire class reacted with surprised whoops and shouts.

---

*Janken = Rock, paper, scissors

[fortvitous]

WASSUP FUCKERS ! it me again , friendly neighborhood trash ~ mack , thts who .. this time w/ Lesbian Jesus Joey Parker ! LFDKSF i’v had her for a long time w/ just diff names but , i lov her unlike my hatred for someone else ... but YA ! ykno what 2 Do .. hit that fat ♡ . i’ll come to u for plots in discord ofc , eventually Maybe ... in the meantime , everything u need 2 Kno about her is under the cut uwu ~ 

?  ?  ?  WHOA  ! i've  always  seen  the  parallels  between  (  johanna ‘joey’ lee ),  the (  twenty one  )  year  old (  cisfemale  )  and (  tyche  )  plus ,  they  look  just  like  (  kim chungha  ).  from  their  (  elephant necklace  ), to  their (  clover tattoo  ),  some  would  even  notice  how  their  (  silver  tongue, adrenaline addiction and doe eyes )  connect  perfectly  ! i  don't  know  about  you  but  i  can't  wait  to  see  what  olympus  brings  to  (  her )   !

⦗○⦘ backstory.

hmm ok , so joey is far from a tragic story .. she’s full of life & love ! she was born in england actually , to a loving mother & father.. & she wasn’t the only one – she has five brothers which she lovs but also equally h8s 

her mother was the only person she kind of connected to growin’ up but tht didn’t stop her from attemptin’ to hang out w/ her brothers / do activities w/ her father ! as much as she was a girl, nobody culd guess tht she culd do a lot of things tht were meant for ‘men’ from a glance ! & equally enjoyed things tht were boys were only supposed to like !

however, growin’ up with a lot of boys around the house onli taught joey to stand up for herself & how to be even more confident .. despite that she was the only girl sibling in their family ):

tho, around the age of ten – the lee’s had decided to pack up & move to chicago only due to the fact that her father had gotten into some risky business ( gamblin’ ) & didn’t want anyone to come after his fam if he culd never pay w/e he owed back /:

so joey resided in chicago for most of her teenage yrs, where outside of the house – she became more ‘westernized’.. as in she hardly ever talked in korean or kept to her family traditions ; hence where her wildt side began to blossom

thru the ages of 13-17 , joey ran within a small group of people that enjoyed the rush of ( literally anything this group does ) tht made them feel lik they were livin’ their best lives ! ofc , peer pressure came into play & joey was thrusted into it however she did learn to adapt

despite tht , joey never drank too much or did too much drugs in fear of lettin’ her secret slip of why her fam actually moved to chicago  /: but she did make up for it in the adrenaline part , datin’ ppl she knew tht was bad for her .. doin’ dangerous things .. sometimes disobeying her parents bc ! why not ! her brothers always did , so why culdnt she ?

even tho she was a bit of a wildt child , her studies & education were always imp to her as she desperately desired to go to college ! in which she did , but however her parents desiried 2 send her back to where she grew up as they felt it wuld b right for her .. to settle down , figure herself out w/o the influence of her friends & for her to connect w/ her roots & other fam members !

which ! at the ripe age of 19 , she said fuk all dat shit .. i’m staying . 

⦗○⦘ present.

joey enrolled in college rite in the hort of chicago , & takes the train there n’ back !  her major is in economics , as she had always had a fascination w/ shit lik ! 

she works at a roller rink as an attendant , gathering & savin’ money up to continue to live comfortably ... yet , she also has developed a tiny bit of an addiction to gamblin’ jsut as her father however she Seems 2 never lose so . she’s got a bit of savings in her bank acc .. .

she currently lives in a small + dingy apartment , bc her fam isn’t the wealthiest of ppl & has lived there since she moved out ! despite how much she complains about it , she does find her lil apartment cozy & wuldnt trade it for the world + all the memories she’s made there from the past few yrs

⦗○⦘ personality.

ok uhhhhhh h h h … joey is heavily based off ramona from scott pilgrim vs. the world dlskfjsdlf as in she lives on the edge , does shit tht probs isnt the best for her but does so anyway bc she lovs the thrill , & has a personality tht is kind of alluring but once u get to kno her it’s either a hit or miss !

on the outside , she definitely appears lik a girl tht doesn’t enjoy gettin’ her hands dirty but bc of her brothers .. she enjoys dirt , she enjoys insects ( shes that bug girl ) .. has an interest in sports cars & last but not least …. lovs girls slkdfjd big lesbo alert ! !!

due to her need for thrill & an addiction to adrenaline , she often changes the tips of her hair .. one week it culd b blue & then the next week it culd be purple ! she’s wildt lik tht ..

as for her in depth personality: click here 4 dat :3

⦗○⦘ etc.

there’s not much else to say about her  …& her sexuality is .. she’s a [ janis vc ] big fat lesbian ! sorry boys /: ( aside from the one’s she’s dated ig .... maybe she says i kno dicc once in awhile )

joey is a wildt child as previously stated so it’s hard to tie her down , whether to a friendship or relationship .. one min she’s there & next she’s lik dust in the air sdkfjdsjkf

her bday is on the 31st , so ! she’s a halloween baby , lovs the big orange moon on her bday night !

i think tht’s it !!!

sorry i talk so fukn Much . . . anyway if u read tht ily ok Gudnite < 3

[mystisnykoto]

The Outsiders - Chapter 11

Lockpicks

“You said that your name was Yoshi?” asked Iris, looking across the table to the red-haired miqo'te.

“You know it!” cheered the red-head, sending Iris an exaggerated thumbs up. “Omi got a hold o' me, le' me know you's lookin' to take on some Reds!” Yoshi blinked gleefully, her blue lines flickering quickly. Ruri giggled, watching Yoshi's over-the-top attitude on display. “Th' black haired one, th' one you described, he's been leading th' Reds f'r the last seven hectocycles, which is 'round about when they went nutso.” Iris nodded slowly, glancing over to Ruri and leaning in close.

“How long is a hectocycle?” whispered Iris, causing Ruri to chuckle.

“Don't you know, silly? It's one hundred cycles!” Ruri whispered loudly, trying to hold back her laughter. Iris leaned back, if only for a moment before returning back in close.

“How long is a cycle? For us Eorzeans,” Iris asked again, as Ruri lightly bumped Iris with her elbow.

“It's one year for you sweetheart,” Ruri smiled, Iris returning to her normal sitting position as a possible timeline of events rolled through her mind.

“He's been in here... for seven-hundred years... But... how?” Iris asked herself, glancing over to Omi, whom had been sitting in the main chamber of the building. “Is that how he suddenly appeared for us two years ago? He'd been in here the whole time?” Iris thought to herself for a bit, Yoshi looking between the two and shrugging her shoulders.

“You're an odd one!” Yoshi spoke, looking over to Ruri. “Is she always weird like this?” Ruri and Yoshi shared a laugh as they looked at Iris.

“Well, she's... not from here, so she asks a lot of questions about everything,” Ruri replied. “We were first helped by a girl named Hanna, she had this really pretty pink hair and everything!”

“Ye' I know 'f 'er!” Yoshi cheered out. “Sh's a good smart girl, helps the lot 'f us out quite often.” Ruri nodded, rubbing Iris softly on the back. “I can try gettin' a hold 'f her for ye.” Iris looked to Yoshi with a nod, the segments of her eyes twisting slightly.

“I think that would be for the best, we could use as many people on this as we can get,” spoke Iris. “How many others do you have as part of your group that would be helping with all of this?”

“'Bout twenty 'f us,” Yoshi, two more wit' the both of ye' helpin' us,” replied Yoshi. “Thankfully we're small enough that we don't pull much attention from the Reds, but thinkin' wit' ye both here we'll make some actual headway against th'm.”

                                                                                                                            Hanna sat quietly, watching over the outside of a nightclub with several people waiting around outside. Using a scoped headset, she looked to each of the patrons out front and gained small bits of publicly available information on them. She panned over to the front door of the establishment, picking up on the sound inside. A beat-heavy song started up, filling Hanna's ears as she started to pop and bounce in her seat.

“Oooo... I love this song!” Hanna mumbled to herself, humming along with the beat of the song. She kept her eyes trained upon the front, partly only so she could listen to the music, as she waited on some Reds to appear.

“Hanna, Hanna!” crackled the radio inside Hanna's ear caps. “Are you there?” Hanna groaned softly, reaching up to press on a small switch on her cap.

“I'm here Yoshi, what's up?” she asked, grumpy at having to interrupt listening to the song.

“We have a pair 'f new recruits coming out t' help ye,” Yoshi's voice spoke through the radio. Hanna scrunched her face as she set the scope down, mock collapsing to the floor.

“I gueeeess I can show them the ropes,” Hanna sighed. “You sure this is the best time to do so? That Zeffer guy is said to be running around here tonight, may not be the best time for a proving ground trial.”

“These two have experience and knowledge of Zeffer 'nd his activities. If anything, they'll be a great heap 'f info f'r ye',” Yoshi spoke as the radio signal cut out.

“Always something...” Hanna spoke, looking back through the scope in time to see a group of Reds walk in through the front, shoving passed the orange Firewalls guarding the door. “Well, now there is something interesting...” Hanna trailed off, curiously watching and zooming in to the max setting of her scope. She aimed in, as Zeffer's face entered her viewfinder. “Bingo!”

“Who's Bingo?” called a voice, causing Hanna to nearly leap into the air from her prone position. She let out a quick shriek, her blue lines turning nearly white with shock as she landed on her feet. She spun around quickly, prepared to defend herself, only to come to face Ruri and Iris, both giving a small wave.

“Oh my gods you two! It's been a while!” Hanna shouted happily as she hugged the Valeths together.

“Well, it hasn't really been that long has it?” Iris chuckled. “Only a few days, right?”

“That's what you think! It's felt like ages since we last saw each other!” Hanna pulled back, smiling as she looked over the pair. “Did you make it out? Iris looks different and your pink lines are a color I've never seen before! And Ruri has her blue lines! That's really good!”

“Well... we did make it out of here, but we... well, came back in... and are now stuck here...” spoke Iris as she began to explain the events leading up to their meeting.

                                                                                                                          “I see... that is quite the pickle to be in...” Hanna spoke, rubbing her chin as she glanced over her should to the club. “Well, if nothing else, I've confirmed that Zeffer is inside the club right now, if you were wanting to get some sort of revenge on the guy.”

“You know we do!” Ruri cheered out. “After he put u-uu-Iri-sss through, you know we want to deal it back to him!” Ruri spoke, her voice force correcting itself. “Just let us in there and we'll set him right!”

“How would the two of you think it best to get inside?” Hanna asked as she pointed over her shoulder with her thumb.

“Well, we can try to sneak in through the back, hoping we don't get spotted,” explained Iris. “Or we can just go in through the front, act like normal people and see how far we can make it inside.”

“Well, the Firewall at the front won't likely let us in without some sort of collateral or proof to our higher place of data...” explained Hanna. She lowered her scope, focusing her eyes on the alley behind the building. “Sneaking in the back might be out only real chance.”

                                                                                                                          “So... I don't have the software to bypass this door...” spoke Hanna, as she looked over the door. “Do... either of you have the software for it? Do you even have software?”

“Well, I don't have any installed in me, and Iris... well, she is... maybe she can have software?” Ruri spoke, motioning with her hands. “Since she is, well, mechanical and such.” Iris gave a small chuckle as she walked up to the door.

“I don't need special software to open this door,” spoke Iris as she had her left forearm open and the gauntlet wrap over her arm. Hanna and Ruri watched in awe, as Iris seemed to ready herself to attack.

“Whoa...” Ruri let out, looking at Iris' newly weaponized arm. “Are you going to smash the door down?” Ruri asked, looking back up to Iris' face. Iris gave a small smirk, instead knocking softly on the door with her right hand. “Wa-wait...” Ruri squeaked out, surprised by the subtle action. The door cracked open, a man standing inside peeking out through the sliver of light.

“Yes?” spoke the orange-lined man, as Iris pushed open the door and slammed her gauntlet into the man's face. The man had been sent careening backwards, slamming into the far wall, his lines going dark and turning into a weak orange pulse. “O-oh... well then...”

“Gods... he's been put directly into sleep mode...” Hanna mumbled, following Iris and Ruri into the club. “I guess that's one way to open the door, much easier than trying to slice it's data. Now, let's find Zeffer!”

(First Chapter)          (Previous Chapter)      (Next Chapter)

(Other Tales)

Huge thank you to Yoshi for providing themselves to the story and chapter!

[nomoregraydays]

Under The Stars (G.D. Fanfic) - Part 9 Archery and Shopping

POV: First person 

Word Count: 2,787

A/N: I know that this is not their parents’ names, I just didn’t know them nor feel like looking them up. 

****

“Hey babe, I have a semi-serious slash important question to ask you.”

“Mmmhm?” I looked away from my laptop to give him a look to proceed on.

He fiddled with his phone in his hands and finally took a deep breath. “Would you want to come back to Jersey with E and I? Meet our parents, we can eat good food, go dirt biking, four wheeling, all that.”

Obviously, he needed a lot of encouragement to ask me this, and part of me wanted to say no, but I couldn’t do that. I mean, I guess we are at that part of our relationship where I should meet his parents and see where he grew up.

I gave him a smile. “I’d love to do that.”

***

“Why the fuck did I agree to meet your parents?” I let out a deep breath.

Ethan was snickering from the back seat as per usual. “Cause you wove Grayson Bailey Dolan.” He babied.

I rolled my eyes. “Shut up. That may be true.. I just… What if the parents don’t like me?”

Grayson looked back at Ethan and they started to share a similar laugh.

“What?”

“I don’t think either of them will dislike you. My dad may actually want to take you out to the shooting range. That’s his way to get to know someone. My mom… she’ll probably want to go shopping or crafting, that’s her detecting strengths.”

I cocked a brow. “You’re kidding, right? The only guns I’ve ever shot are a pistol and a bb gun. Shopping and crafting.. I’ve mostly got covered.”

Ethan was suddenly in the middle section between Gray and I. “There’s archery too. He’ll probably ask which you prefer. Doesn’t matter which one you choose.”

I hunched over, bringing my knees to my chest, and I made some sort of dying dinosaur sound. Then I stayed there, trying to think of what to do, and pull myself together; it's just how I work.

“Is she okay?”

After a couple seconds, I went back to sitting normally and let out a deep breath. “I’m fine. It’s gonna be fine. If your dad asks, we’ll do archery. It’s been a few years, but it's better than the other. If your mom asks for shopping or crafting, no problem.”

Chanelle now popped up from the backseat. “Dude, I don’t know why you’re being crazy about meeting their parents.”

I huffed lightly. “Really? You don’t? You’re not dating one of their sons.” But she wishes she was.

Her cheeks flushed. “Oh, right.”

Grayson and Ethan exchanged clueless looks, then Grayson looked at me and I shot him a look, switching my eyes to Ethan. These boys can be so horrible with picking up on signals. I’m shocked Ethan doesn’t know Chanelle has feelings for him; though she’s actually pretty good at keeping her cool.

“Do you think your parents will ask me to do that stuff with them?” Chanelle asked as Grayson pulled off onto a dirt road between the walls of trees.

“Uh..” Ethan started, then closed his mouth with a puzzling look. “My mom might, I mean just as a girls day out or something?”

I couldn’t help snorting. “That should be fun. Chanelle, if she asks, please go with.”

“Okay.” She sighed.

I smiled as we all unbuckled and stepped out of the Bronco. I felt my knees wobble a little though and then one locked. I huffed as I kept walking to pop it and sort of limped to the trunk to grab my duffel and backpack from Grayson.

“What’s wrong, babe?” Concern was etched his face.

“My knee locked. It’s fine.” I leaned up to kiss him on the cheek and when I pulled away he was giving me a look. I rolled my eyes. “Seriously, I’ll be fine. Just gotta walk it off. It’s not my first rodeo.”

He didn’t say anything else as we all headed inside to their childhood home. I… How am I moving right now? I feel like I’ve stopped, yet my surroundings keep changing as I walk through different areas in the house. It was more spacious than I was expecting to be honest. What should I have expected? Nothing I ever think is actually reality; most of the time anyways.

A women came into the living room, her brunette hair swaying perfectly as she walked over to her sons for hugs and kisses. Then a tall, broad shouldered man came into the living from what seemed may have been the garage? Okay, I can see how Grayson, Ethan, and Cameron are all attractive. Their parents must’ve been some goals couple, still probably are.

A breath hitched in my throat as both of them looked at me, their mom with brown eyes and dad with blue and friendly smiles were on their lips.

“Hi there.” Her voice was so light, airy compared to the boys, or even Cameron’s. Though, I haven’t actually met Cameron in person yet.

Their dad was upclose in my face now. “Are you okay?”

“Yes.” I cleared my throat. “Yes. Sorry, I’m Kat.” I reached my hand out to shake, but now I was given some weird looks.

Their dad chuckled and tugged me in for a hug. “It’s so nice to meet you. I’m Freddie.”

“Agreed. I’m Laura.” I looked her and could see she was ready for a hug as well.

I was not expecting this reaction. They’re not at all worried about the age difference? Or do they know? I’m just not going to mention it right now.

“Well, the feeling is mutual.” I laughed lightly. “You have a lovely home, from what I’ve seen so far.”

Laura snorted, batting a hand. “Yeah, just wait another hour or so when these two are let loose.”

I bit my lip to stop myself from laughing as Grayson and Ethan came in with groaning protests; I could tell Chanelle was trying not to laugh too.

Freddie and Laura looked at Chanelle now.

“You are?” Freddie prompted.

“A friend of the boys, and Kat. I’m Chanelle.”

Laura gave her a bright smile. “Welcome Chanelle. It's nice to meet you too.”

“Yes. Glad you could make it out too.” Freddie added.

“Thank you.” Chanelle mumbled back, seeming slightly embarrassed; not at all what I was expecting.

“Let us show you to the guest room and you can get settled.” Laura prompted and started to walk away.

“Uh, mom.. thought Kat would stay in my room.”

A slow smirk crossed on Freddie’s face. “Adda boy. That's okay, Kat can stay with you in your room.”

A snort escaped me before I could stop it and I covered my mouth and nose with one hand, but continued to laugh. I cleared my throat finally, “Sorry, sorry.”

Grayson seemed a bit off as we entered his room and he shut the door. He threw his backpack onto his bed and went into the connecting bathroom that Ethan also had access to through a different door; that should be interesting.

“Gray, what's wrong?” I approached the open doorway and rested my head on the siding.

“I…My dad is my dad, but when he made his comment, why did you laugh? Believe it or not, my parents don't know everything that goes on in our relationship. So he didn't know that we didn't have sex yet.”

“Whoa, whoa. Lemme get this straight, you're upset that I basically told your parents we weren't sexually active?”

“Well… my dad, at least.”

I rolled my eyes with a small scoff. Then I sighed lightly as I saw his actual emotions seeping through. I walked over to him and wrapped my arms around his torso from behind. “Gray... if your dad has ever made you feel bad about not gettin it right away, then fuck him. It's our relationship and we're not ready.”

He sighed heavily and turned around to look at me as he leaned against the counter. “I know… I'm sorry. I shouldn't have snapped at you because of this personal problem between my dad and I. I'm really sorry.”

I reached up to brush back the fringe that’s growing out. “Babe, you can talk to me about these things anytime. Don't let it build up, and yes, definitely don't snap at me because of it. I forgive you, and always will cause I love you.”

My heart nearly stopped for a moment, then sped up. The words flowed from my lips so easily though, but maybe that's what scares me a little. And I have no idea if he feels that for me yet.

A hint of terror and shock crossed his face, but then a quirky smile spread on his lips. “I love you too.” He dipped his head down to kiss me, slowly, and I smiled.

Not really how I saw saying our first “I love you” going, but it was still wonderful. I'm immensely happy, and I think Gray is too.

***

“So, Kat, what did you say your major was?” Freddie loaded up his blue and orange arrow before stringing back and letting it go at the target; it was nearly a dead center hit.

Clearly, Grayson did not give him much information on me and he was trying to get more of a read; including my age. Well, this is probably going to get worse.

I strung my own red and black arrow with a slight struggle, but then raised my bow to pull it back. I focused as much as I could and tried to not show any shakiness. I let the arrow go, it whipping past my face a little, and it landed on the third ring in; not terrible.

It's really been a while. I sort of forgot the physical strength that goes into archery; it's not easy to master, I only learned from years of girl scouts and other camps.

I cleared my throat. “Uh, I hadn't said yet. My major was creative writing and my minor was graphic design.”

He looked at me a little dumbfounded and he cocked a brow. “You're graduated? You only work now?”

“Yes, I’m a script editor down in LA, Chanelle works there as a screenwriter. I'm twenty-one. Twenty-two in October.” I decided to add it on before he'd ask. It was going to be the follow up question, I know it.

“Huh.” He strung another arrow and made his aim; he hit dead center this time. “Look, I don't mind the age difference. I like the fact you've got a full-time job, you support yourself and you're not taking advantage of Grayson in that way.”

“I never would. Really, I never ask Gray to pay or buy anything for me.”

“Good.” He, now, distracted himself again with shooting. “Cause I know if you were to ask, he'd do or get anything for you. Hell, this kid would probably take a bullet for you. That's the kind of person he is.”  

I was a bit stunned and his words hit hard. I cleared my throat. “I know… but I would never ask him to do that.”

Freddie stopped, lowering his bow and arrow, and he looked me dead in the eyes. “I don't think you get it. I know you'd never ask him to, no one would, but he'd do it anyway cause he loves you.”

I swallowed hard. I don’t want to think about Grayson taking a bullet for me or doing anything like that; even though I know his dad’s words were true.

“I'm not exactly sure what you want me to say right now.. I do understand. I don't want him to take a bullet for me. I'd probably push him out of the way and let the bullet hit me cause I love him. I don’t need or want anyone taking their life for me.”

Freddie had still been looking me straight in the eyes, but now he looked away. “Good.” He went back to hit a bullseye and didn’t utter another word.

Part of me was relieved and I went back to doing my archery as well. I think his dad likes me alright, as long as there is no bad air I think I’m good.

***

The air felt more easy as Chanelle, Laura, and I walked through the decent sized mall they had. I think it’s because Chanelle was there, their mom seems more chill, and we’re in a mall.

My eyes set on the Adidas store up ahead and I knew I was in trouble. If you asked me a few years ago if I’d ever shop there, my answer would’ve been Hell no. But times changes, and their shoes are cute and comfy; sort of becoming an aesthetic of mine.

“Would you like to go there? You seem to have that love at first sight look going.” Laura commented with a small laugh.

I looked at Chanelle and she shrugged. “Up to you, my dude.”

I noted the Vans store that was across the way from us. “We could go there next?”

“Sounds good.” She replied as she walked into the Adidas store.

I guess we’re going in.

Laura seemed to stay close as we browsed, though she was silent. Now, though, she stopped and picked up a red, dry-fit style tee that had the three stripes logo on the left side of the chest.

“This would be good for Grayson.” She mumbled.

I cleared my throat. “It would be. Red is a good color for him.. And the style of it would be good for his workouts.”

A smile spread on her lips. “You’re right.”

I was about to offer to pay for it all or part of it, but I think as his mom she’d like to buy it. I pointed to the black on in the same style. “That one would work for Ethan.”

“Thanks. I know there would be a riot if I came home with only a shirt for Grayson. So pricey though..”

Before I could talk myself out of it, I suggested, “I could buy Grayson’s.. You can still say it’s from you.”

I think I may have just unlocked her loving me more mode as she pulled me into a hug. “Freddie told me about the age difference and everything, but I don’t care. I am so happy Grayson has found you.”

I laughed under my breath. “I’m really glad to be with him, really he’s… he’s perfect in every way and I feel completed when he’s around. Like.. I could be in a bad mood and if he comes around I feel better no matter what.”

As she pulled back, she was wiping away at underneath her eyes. “I’m ecstatic to hear you say that. He deserves a girl like you, and Ethan… he should man up and ask that Chanelle out.”

I busted out a laugh. “Wait, did he tell you he likes likes her?” Wow, I felt like I threw myself back into middle school with that ‘likes likes’ phrase; cringe.

“No.” She scoffed lightly, “But moms know their sons. Does she like him?”

I snorted now. “That’s a joke.” Laura looked at me a bit confused. I shook my head. “Yes, she does. A lot, actually.”

A sort of evil look came about Laura’s eyes and I shot her a look.

“What’re you thinking?”

“To get one of the two to ask the other out.”

I really had to bite my tongue to not laugh out loud obnoxiously. “I think Gray mentioned we were all going dirt biking and four wheeling tomorrow, maybe I could convince one of them to ask the other out officially?”

“She does seem like a great girl, and Ethan seems smitten. If you could try, that would be helpful.”

“I’d be a pleasure to help meddling those two together. The tension is getting ridiculous.”

Laura took my hand in hers and started walking us towards the cash register. “This is the beginning of a beautiful bond, Kat.”

“I’m glad.”

I pulled my card out to pay for the red shirt for Grayson and then handed the black bag to Laura. “Here you go.”

I looked around for Chanelle, only to realize she was sitting on one of the benches outside of the store, waiting for us. I approached her with a slight sheepish look. “Sorry, we were deciding on some shirts for the boys.”

“They’ll love them, I think.” Laura added on.

Chanelle jumped up from the bench. “It’s all good. Now, let’s find me some cute ass Vans to show off.”

Yeah, to show off to Ethan. Laura and I exchanged looks after Chanelle had her back to us and we laughed under our breaths as we followed her.

Next: Dirt Dirt (Part 10)

[the-voice-of-hell]

Rent is Theft, part 23

Read from the beginning here, read the previous chapter here.  Note:  My MC is a Filipina trans woman and I am not.  If you have notes on that or anything else, hit me up.

                                                      ***

      I turned on the fans, turned off any lights I’d missed before.  Don’t panic.  The quick increase in the heat was counter to what the internet said about concrete, but maybe that was just because it’s a rather thin layer of the stuff.  Nothing supernatural in that, right?

      We drank our water.  I unlashed the twine that bound the ottomans into my fake bed, so we could space our bodies out a bit more as we lay there.  I retied them into two beds, as much as I didn’t want the extra labor.  You lay on three ottomans in a row, they’ll slide apart on you over time, and your body will be unconsciously tense as you try to hold them together.  That would be more work, ultimately.

      So we were on two improvised mini-beds, three feet apart, like a Hays Code era film about a married couple.  No implied fucking in this household.  The conjugal bed is hidden in the attic, along with the gay stuff and prospering criminals and other contraband concepts.

      “Did I apologize for this yet?,” I asked.

      “Yeah, stop doing that.”  She rolled the bottle on her forehead.  The cooling effect wouldn’t last.

      “Maybe we should talk about something to take our minds off the heat.”

      “I can’t think of what.  I don’t wanna tell cute stories when it’s like this, because when I think about the story after that, I’ll think about being hot.”

      “Yeah.  I could play music.”

      “But... same thing.”

      “Oh yeah, even worse.  I know whenever I hear a song I’ll remember other stuff that was going on when I played it before.  Maybe we’ll just talk about cold things, see if we can trick our imaginations.”

      “I don’t think my imagination is that good.”

      “Alright I thought of something I can do, but will you be OK just layin’ there alone?”

      “You’ll be here with me, right?”

      “You bet.  I was gonna go on my laptop and try to get more job interviews.”

      “Good idea.  Thank you, Courtney.”

      “You don’t have to say that.”

      I got my laptop out of the living room and brought it in.  I knew running it in that heat was a bad idea, but was getting desperate.  I lay down on my belly, chin propped with a thin pillow, arms dangling over the edge of the ottoman to my compy.  I turned it on.

      It took only a little longer to start up from nothing, but once I was past the loading screens, I found performance still very laggy.  Slow background startup operations, I’m sure.  But I had a bad feeling and kept my eye glued to the bottom right of the taskbar.

      I was waiting for a specific program to load - one that monitored motherboard performance.  I wouldn’t have to open it, because once it loaded from startup, it would display the processor temp right there in thumbnail.  A useful little thing.

      The thumbnail was only part visible glowing red beneath a pop-up window from the program.  “Excessive heat alert.  Shutdown recommended.”  Shit.  That made it official.  I couldn’t afford for my computer to melt now, so I turned it off.

      “My computer won’t work.  There goes that idea.”

      “Ugh.  I’m sorry.”

      “We apologize a lot, don’t we?”

      She seemed like she wanted to turn her head to face me, but that it would be too much exercise in her current state, and gave up after the most fleeting glance.  “Sorry about that.”

      “Love you.  I’ll think of something to talk about.”

      “OK.  Just remember.”

      “Nothing that will remind you of this later.  Roger.”  I drank my warm water and pondered it.  There was another knock at the door.  Fine.

      The doorknob was as hot as a hot shower now, initially shocking to the touch, but not scorching.  I got it open.  “Deandre.  Kids.  Pretty messed up, huh?”

      Deandre said, “Yeah.  Feels like we should all get out while we can.  This can’t be safe.  What are the odds they see us if we just use the stairs, go down one more floor, and hide out in the hall?  Ain’t nobody lives on that floor.”

      Knobby asked, “Are we gonna be alright?  I’m, eh, gettin’ kinda...”

      “I don’t know guys.  You could try it, I just...  I’d hate so much for any of us to get caught now, y’know?  It makes me sick.”

      “Heat can make you sick,” said Olivia.

      “I know it,” I said.  “I say, do what feels right.  I can’t tell you what to do and I wouldn’t want to.”

      “That’s the problem.  Nothing feels right,” said Deandre.

      “Well, until you make a move, drink plenty of water and rest as much as possible.  Guy said one hundred twenty-five degrees for three hours, but that’s up there.  Shouldn’t be that bad down here.  It shouldn’t.”

      “Yeah.”

      Me and Leimomi drank more water, as best we could.  It’s hard to chug when your body is starting to cook like a hot dog.  I searched my mind in increasing desperation.

      “Erotic Grime thriller.”

      “What?  Why?,” she asked.

      “Because it was the first thing I thought of, and the less we think of that guy sexually, the better.  You won’t wanna remember this later and you won’t.”

      “Heh.  Fuck it, OK.”

      “So Grime is a fast-paced computer programming man in the fast-paced world of computer programming.  The office is abuzz with activity.  It’s crunch time.  That’s when a product is about to hit a big milestone and we’re lagging behind expectation, so we all have to work extra hours.”

      “You’re there?”

      “Naw, no thanks.  Funny I was thinking of myself as part of that world.  I never do that, these days.  Maybe it was because I’ve been looking at job listings.

      Anyway, Grime is burning the midnight oil.  He’s wearing his skinny jeans and one of those ‘communist party’ t-shirts that has Karl Marx and Lenin with lampshades on their heads and bottles in hand.”

      “Don’t know that one.  Hard to imagine.”

      “It’s a bright red t-shirt.  It shrank in the wash a little bit.  Not enough he would throw it away, but a tighter fit than he’d usually go for.  In the cold late fall weather his nipples are pressing against the cloth.”

      “Ooh.”

      “Yeah, they’re ‘green’ buildings, so management skimps on AC in summer and heat in winter.  So Grime is there, nippin’ out, but typing so fast, like Sick Boy in Hackers, green matrix code raining down across his screens.  He’ll win the day.”

      “Does he have cool sunglasses?”

      “Is that hot?”

      “We’re all too hot right now, Courtney.”

      “His midnight black wraparound shades are ink dark portals to a level of Hell that is pure ice.  I think there was one of those in Dante’s Divine Comedy.  But yeah, frost is forming on the keys.  He has to step back, lest he freeze the whole desk like a liquid nitrogen bath.”

      “I can’t imagine it.”

      “Point is, he’s sexy action cool.  And he thinks he’s alone, but he’s wrong.  A sound from several cubicles away makes him leap for the katana at his deskside.”

      “Like a ninja sword?”

      “Exactly.  They let guys have those if they have enough corporate spirit.”

      “OK.”

      “His blade flashes like blue lightning, but nobody falls to his deadly moves.  He sees a guy step into the hall.”

      “A guy?  Huh.  A guy?  Are they gonna..?  Is there a girl in this one?”

      “No way.  It’s old school slash, baby.”

      “Does that mean..?”

      “Yup.  So he sees the guy stretching and is embarrassed.  He tosses the sword into a nearby cubicle, hoping he isn’t noticed.”

      “What’s the guy look like?”

      “He’s a silver fox.  Name is Michael Haeckel, he’s like six foot four.  Not chubby like Grime but not too skinny either.  You can tell just because he’s that tall and has big hands, he’s packing *redacted*”

      “Whoa.  Is he real?  Did you used to work with him?”

      “Yeah.”

      “Is it OK to make a dirty story about somebody else?”

      “I dunno.  We’re getting broiled like baby back ribs in here.  Ethics can wait.  Anyway, Michael was kinda sleepy and started to get *redacted*”

      “Can that happen?”

      “If you’re sleepy enough and you are packing *redacted* in my story.  So the outline of *redacted* is pretty visible in his acid wash jeans, and Grime is like, whoa, shit.  He hopes he wasn’t noticed.  He lucked out.  Michael does notice his situation though and picks up a clipboard fake casual to hold over his *redacted* while he goes to say hi.

      ‘Hey Graeme,’ Michael says.  ‘Hey,’ says Grime.  They talk about work, and how other guys don’t have the dedication like they do, to work so late on crunch.  Randomly, the subject of donating to charity comes up.  All the tech boys do it for tax breaks.”

      “That’s nice.”

      “It would be better for the world if any of those pricks paid their taxes.  Michael mentions that he’s giving to some LGBT charity.  Grime says that’s cool, but wonders why Michael feels like that’s a good one.  After all, he’s married to a lady and stuff.”

      “Hm.”

      “He says he’s actually bi.  One time in college he had sex with a dude and feels like it was beautiful and nobody should be judged for love.  Grime is like, cool, but you have been with nothing else but ladies forever.  Do you still feel bi?”

      “That seems rude.”

      “So does the funky bass music starting to play out of thin air - the sounds of love are soon to come.  Michael says, ‘Yeah,’ and they have a big moment.  Sexual tension in the air so thick you could cut it.”

      “Hm.  He’s six foot six?”

      “Yup.”

      “Silver fox?  Like a furry?”

      “Sure, why not?  So the guy says, ‘Maybe my wife doesn’t mind if I do stuff sometimes,’ and Grime is like, ‘Oh shit, I’ve never been with a dude before.  Is this really happening?’  And Michael is like, take it slow, and they do.”

      “Like taking off their clothes slow and stuff, or *redacted* slow?”

      “The first one.  Michael suggests they just watch each other *redacted* for a few minutes, see how it feels.  Grime and him are alone, think it’s funny.  Why not take advantage?  They *redaaaaaaaacted*”

      “Cool.  But I can’t *redacted* myself right now.”

      “Good.  That would be unethical, maybe.  I don’t know, whatever.  So the guys are showing each other what they got, and Michael is like, ‘Damn, Graham, what you wanna do now?,’ and Grime says ‘Graeme,’ but kinda chokes on it because he’s *redacted* like it’s water in the desert.  Oh. reminds me, drink some water, babe.”  I did the same, hard as it was.

      “So,” I continued, “Grime is *redacted*  Michael has to push him back a little and say, ‘Easy there, tiger.’  And that makes Grime all sad because he was fixin’ to experience *redacted*  That thing is too magnificent.”

      “What’s it look like?”

      “It’s like a white dude’s *redacted*, y’know, all *redaaaaacted, includes missile metaphor*”

      “Wow.  Haha, his *redacted* is the bomb.”

      “True.  So Michael says he wants to *redaaaaaaaacted*”

      “What’s it feel like, for somebody to have their *redacted* on a *redacted* ?”

      “Kinda crazy, like you got two *redacted* in a wrestling match, daring each other to make a move, but they can’t.  Not without help.  So Grime grabs *redacted*  He remembers to check in with Michael, because he doesn’t want to lose his privileges.  Michael lets him know, yeah, he’s doing it too *redacted*

      So he loosens up his grip a bit, and *redaaaaaaaaaaacted*

      “Yeah.  So they’re *redacted*?”

      “Yeah, y’know *redacted*  Does that make sense?  Anyway, it feels real good.  They’re feeling it, because *redaaaacted* lightly while *redaaaacted* tightly.”

      “That was a rhyme.  You should be a rapper.”

      “Oh yeah.  That’s a good job.  Where do I interview for that one?”

      “Sorry.”  She drank more water.  “Go on.”

      “They can’t take much more of it.  *redaaacted* so they gotta step back.

      So Grime is looking at the big man’s *redacted* and feeling inadequate, feeling like a child.  The guy senses his hesitance and says, ‘I like what you got, kid.  Let me see that.’  Then he goes down to his knees, taps an office chair to suggest Grime sit down in it.  Our boy rolls into position.

      He isn’t feeling it that much, like, *redaaacted*  But Michael gives him a look, so kind and beautiful like Obi-Wan Kenobi.  Then the older guy nuzzles Grime’s *redacted*  He feels Michael’s beard on his *redacted*  It feels crazy, but he knows he can't just *redacted* because it would scratch up his *redacted*

      Then Michael *redaaacted*  Grime is lightheaded, feeling like he might *redacted* at any moment, *redaaaaaaacted*

      But then Michael relents, right as Grime is about to *redacted*  He leans back and says, ‘You wanna feel this *redacted*?’  He’s gesturing to his *redacted*  Grime is speechless.  How can he say yes?  He’s never done anything like that before.  But still, he agrees.  Sometimes you hafta jump in the deep end.”

      “Whoa.  You think Grime would take a *redacted* in the *redacted*?”

      “Probably like it better if it was *redacted* but I bet he would.  Y’know, it’s just a story though.  Grime could have two *redacted* and taste like rose water if we wanted.”

      “Two *redacted* and he can *redacted* a furry?  OK.  Tell me about it.”

      “For real?  Grime has two *redacted* now?  And I’m supposed to get real about the furry thing?”

      “You mean he wasn’t really a furry?”

      “I guess he could be.  What kind of furry do you like?  Wolf boys?  Horse boys?”

      “Um, you said he was a silver fox.  And now Grime has two *redacted* and he wants to get a *redacted* in his *redacted* for a first time.”

      “Hm.  So Grime’s *redacteds* are kinda hanging there, like *redacted* but as soon as the older guy suggests *redacted* they both *redacted*

      “Why couldn’t Grime have had two *redacted* instead of the red hands thing?”

      “You really picturing that?  Because it’s just kinda abstract to me.  Hard to call the image to mind, really.  For me.”

      “I was thinkin’ like what it would feel like to have both in my *redacted* at the same time, be all filled up like that.”

      “Damn, baby.  I’d like to see that.  But I can’t *redacted* right now.  It’s too hot.”  I took a drink.

      “I know.”

      “Before I go on, should I describe the fox *redacted* looking like a fox *redacted* or a human *redacted* that maybe has some more hairs on it?”

      “What’s a fox *redacted* look like?  Don’t do it if it’s real weird.  That’s just gross.”

      “I don’t know, but I’d imagine they look like regular dog *redacted* which are pretty fuckin’ gross.  Moving on then, the silver-furred fox man stood up to his full height, his long human-like *redacted* brushing against Grime’s *redacted*  It was time for Grime to *redacted*

      They pushed all the printers and folders and three by five cards and highlighters and shit off of the desk, and Grime sat himself there with his legs up in the air.  Fox Michael probably made a sound like a fox makes, whatever that is.”

      “A howl, probably.”

      “Probably he howled.  Sometimes a howl is a mournful sound, the baying of bloodthirsty creatures on the moors, singing how theirs is a life of pursuit, of famine and violent feast, and eternal scraping in a social order from which the only escape is death.  But for the horny fox man, the howl is of Looney Tunes-esque hubba-hubba awooga-styled lust.  He rubs Grime’s *redacted* all over with his big fox paws, giving him little scratches with his short sharp claws.  Grime finds that exciting and bites his lip.

      Then Michael *redaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaacted*

      “What are Grime’s two *redacted* doing?”

      “They’re wondering why they only have three *redacted* between them and not four.”

      “Three *redacted*?  What would that be like?”

      “Three *redacted* is good when you’re rubbing them on a regular set of two, because the *redacted* go between each other, don’t butt against each other and get sore.  It’s pure sensation, like God intended.”

      “Damn.  That makes me wish I had three *redacted* Courtney.”

      “Would you also like two *redacted*?  While we’re handing out body parts, it’s OK.”

      “No, I don’t know if I could have *redacted* right.  I don’t know.”

      “It’s OK, I prefer you with *redacted*  I mean, if you have a *redacted* and three *redacted* that might be kinda hard to *redacted* without being like you’re getting kicked in the *redacted* all the time, so you have some decisions to make.”

      “I don’t know what to do.”  She seemed a little upset.

      “It’s OK, babe!  It’s just a game.”

      “Ugh, sorry.  It was just the heat.  That would be weird if I was sad about pretend *redacted*”

      “Oh good.  I love you too much, honey.”

      “I’d laugh but it’s too hot.”

      “I understand.  Do you want me to keep going?”

      “Can you?  It’s bad in here.  Real bad.”

      “We’re just trying to kill time.  How much time have we been doing this?”

      “I dunno.  Feels like hours.”

      I got up the will to look at the time on my phone.  “Oh Christ.  It’s only been eleven minutes.”  I sobbed once, before I even noticed what I was doing.

      “Don’t cry, Courtney.”

      “You’re right,” I choked it down.  “Gotta conserve my water.”  I took another drink.  “So Grime is holding his *redacted* together loosely, one palm over the *redacted* kinda *redacted* so he doesn’t *redacted* before the fox even gets started.  Michael *redaaaaacted*”

      “Uh huh.”

      “Maybe I should be doing Goldilocks and the Three Bears.”

      “Whatever’s easiest.”

      “I guess we’re already here.  And I’ll have time to get through the whole fucking Grimm Brothers catalog.”  I almost cried again.

      “It’s OK.  You can stop, and we’ll just...”

      “No, no.  I can do this.  So Michael has his *redacted* all *redacted*  It’s *redaaaaacted*  I think if Michael is basically so humanoid his *redacted* looks like a *redacted* he’s gotta have a tail and an animal head.  So his tail is wagging like a happy dog and his face is all, again, awooga awooga.  You know, like a cartoon wolf when he sees a hot chick.

      He *redaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaacted*

      Meanwhile, Grime is losing his mind.  He’s insane with ecstasy, didn’t even know it was possible to feel that good.  But he can’t get it together to help out, or say something, or do anything yet.  His mind is a technicolor CG explosion, like a commercial for expensive fruit juice.  Meanwhile his grip on his own *redacteds* has firmed into a stiff claw shape, like he’s clutching a stick shift in a muscle car.

      Finally, sometime around *redacted* Grime gets his brains back.  He says, ‘*redacted*’  Michael is ready and *redacted*  Grime knows if he actually *redacted* he’s gonna *redacted* on the spot, *redaaacted*”

      “Holy shit, Courtney.”

      “So Grime knows it’s basically game over, but he doesn’t wanna go out like a bitch.  He’s gotta get Michael to *redacted* somehow.  He knows he has practically no chance, but he begs for it, hopes that’ll work.  ‘Michael, *redacted* please.  I need your *redacted* dude.’  Michael likes that, but will he do it?”

      “I don’t know.”

      “You could make that up.  No pressure.  But does he *redacted* first?”

      “Yeah, but I can’t say it like you.”

      “OK, maybe I can teach you how someday.  You can be my bard apprentice.  In the meantime, Michael felt his *redaaacted*  His mind turned inside out, his mirthful expression went slack as lust stole the blood from his brain, then his eyes bulged and nostrils flared as...  I forgot he has a fox head.  Let’s say his long pink wet tongue flopped out the side of his mouth and he rolled his muzzle around and his ears went like... helicopters or whatever.

      Just for funsies, let’s imagine *redacted*  When it’s *redacted* hitting Grime’s *redacted* he feels a thrill *redacted* and he knows he actually won.

      He gets each *redacted* in a medium firm grip and they *redacted*  For whatever reason, *redacted*  Each got *redacted*  Grime’s *redacted* was *redacted* but in his excitement, and with his *redacted* it *redacted*  A *redacted* in a magic instant, then *redacted* their *redacted* like in the fancy grocery store, where they got those little pipes that spray water on the lettuce heads.  You know what I’m talking about?  Remember seeing one of those?”

      “OK, but it’s *redacted*?”

      “Yeah, it’s Grime’s *redacted* and it’s *redacted*  He yells in joy and then sucks in his mouth and bugs his eyes.  Oops, he thinks, somebody might be around.

      Michael *redacted* hastily, but not too fast, just to avoid accidents or discomfort, and uses his tall vantage to look around over the tops of the cubicles.  There’s nobody in sight, and he says as much.  He takes a wad of tissues out of a box and dabs up the *redacted* on himself while he watches Grime recover.

      He’s not recovering fast.  When Michael *redacted* the sensation prolonged his *redacted* even more, though there wasn’t much *redacted* left to *redacted*  It was kinda pathetic, just his two *redacted* rapidly *redacted*  Michael could see Grime’s *redacted* in the crappy green lights and the way they *redacted*  Grime’s head lolled and all he could say was ‘oh man’ over and over again.”

      “Oh fox man.”

      “Good catch.  I guess Michael’s probably lapping up the *redacted* from his muzzle and chest, leaving dabbed tongue shapes on his shirt.”

      “They didn’t get naked?”

      “I don’t remember.  That’s a missed opportunity.  Coulda said what they look like naked.”

      “Fox man and two *redacted* Grime.”

      “It’s true.”  I exhaled.  It would have been a sigh but I didn’t have the strength to muster a good inhale at the beginning, just weakly deflated my shallow lungs.  I had to hork down some air a moment later to make up for it.

      “You OK, Courtney?”

      “Ugh.  Sorry.  Let’s drink more water.”

                                                        ***

   Read next chapter here.