#had to relive the knowledge a friend of mine asked me a long ass time ago if i think wesker would enjoy owning a dog

[itskeej]

have u got a favourite ask? like your favourite thing you've been asked using the ask feature. even if it's not a question

i don't think i have like... one favourite ask because there's a lot of them that i either REALLY liked my response for and had fun doing or the ask made me laugh a lot. or im gay but shhshshshsh

here is a mini compilation of some!

THERE'S LIKE SO MANY MORE I ENJOY SO I JUST GRABBED SOME OF THE ONES THAT WOULD ACTUALLY LOAD ON MY LAPTOP-

y'all are too funny sometimes though is the TL;DR

[oonajaeadira]

Long Fall Into Oblivion (Ezra x reader)

(header by sirtadcooper - check out the whole beautiful set here.)

Rating: Mature. 

Pairing: Ezra (post-Prospect film) x f!reader

Warnings: Non-explicit sex. Some swears maybe (think there’s a f*ck in there somewhere, my GOODNESS). A lot of gooey, syrupy, soft fluffety fluff. Author attempts at writing Ezra dialogue. A lot of chewy prose.

A/N: I can’t believe I’m posting this, but here goes. I love Ezra. He is a man of questionable morality and an insufferable tongue and I really shouldn’t. But I really do. I just wanted to give him a try. I’ve softened him up here, putting a few years on him so maybe he’s fluffed up some since the events in the film. Also I just ignored the fade or assumed that aurelac mining was still happening because scarcity/demand. Doesn’t matter. Just wanted to go exploring.

Summary: You take a job as an aurelac prospecting trainee and Ezra shows you the ropes. You’re gonna fall in love with him. That’s it. That’s the whole thing.

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MASTERLIST

________________

Bakhroma is one of the smallest gas giants in the sector, but as you stand on the surface of the Green Moon, it dominates the entire horizon, pulling your focus, threatening to engulf everything around it. You almost feel sorry for the lush moon as you walk through its undergrowth, so gentle and full of beauty, destined many years after you’re gone to give its life to her.

A moon is an orbiting admirer, and what is an orbit but a long fall to oblivion?

There’s a painful, sour ache in your heart as you walk back to the camp in twilight, watching the back of Ezra’s helmet bob along in front of you. You’d spent two days digging that claim only to find the weakest aurelac nest you’ve seen yet, only three viable nodes. You’d dug through one of them by accident and completely melted another like an incompetent fool. Kevva’s ass, you were such a disappointment. Three months in the Green and you still can’t cut a blister out properly. Not even once.

Ezra’s shoulders are wide and tense, his one hand splayed out as he walks, running over the tops of the tall ferns, catching one every now and then only to rip the top away, twirl it between his gloved fingers and toss it impatiently aside.

The other two members of your team headed out on a sling this morning, another two will be arriving in a few days. And you wonder if Ez regrets just not cutting his losses and leaving with them, or at least sending you back in exchange for another kip.

You think about shifting through the comm channels, hoping that he’s chattering away in one of them, switched without your knowledge, but it’s a lost cause. You can hear him breathing on the channel between you. It’s not often Ezra has nothing to say.

________________

You thought your father was leaving you an inheritance. It’s not the reason you took care of him through his illness, but you’d dropped everything to be back home with him through his final months. In a way, it was a blessing, a reason to quit the Dasha factory and the terrible working conditions there, come back home and focus on your dad, relive good memories, just spend time. The reconnection lifted your heart, but his death sank it low again. When you learned he had nothing to leave you but a small house and some old vehicles, you sold what you could and traded in the rest.

Then you had nothing. No family, no job, little savings, questionable future. It almost broke your spirit. But the last few months with your father rekindled your love of him as he told you about his years in the Fringe, mining and prospecting. And your heart had said, “what the hell, let’s try that.” So you listened.

It took some time to track down the right inroads, but you were able to find some ads for prospecting teams, in particular those who were willing to take on members in training for a re-distributed cut. With all provisions included--other than suit and gear, which your father’s inheritance neatly covered--it seemed like just as good of a deal as any, and an adventure to boot.

But the reality was, every team you met with was full of hardened men, and while you were not a soft Central woman, you also weren’t overly versed in weaponry and didn’t know if you could defend yourself out in the Fringe against attack if things got crusty.

You were just about ready to admit defeat when you walked into yet another conference bunker and found your match. The first thing you noticed was that he was standing when you arrived, waiting for you politely rather than manspread at the table. Second were his eyes. Deep, brown, and sad. Maybe sad was the wrong word, certainly it seemed by the lines in his face, possibly by the missing arm, that he’d seen enough sadness, but toward you, it read more as concern. You wouldn’t know it until later when he confessed his feelings about this first meeting, but he was worried you wouldn’t choose him. Ezra had a hell of a time hiring partners. He may have been one of the longest-working aurelac diggers out there, but young kippers saw his greying beard and seasoned diggers saw his lacking arm and they all tended to turn around and walk out before he even said hello. So he’d tried to put himself out there as a trainer, show that he had something more to offer.

It didn’t hurt his feelings when you admitted to him later that those qualities were exactly why you chose him. He seemed the opposite of threatening. And his eyes were bright when he smiled at you. With his thrumming baritone and his Fringe twang and his mixed deck of mosaic words, he had a way of speaking that felt like a fluffy blanket curling around you, your brain vibrating with comfort at every new monologue. He was eccentric and perhaps a little jarringly rough in his humor at times, but there was something about him that you trusted immediately, even though you’d come to learn later you probably shouldn’t have if you were being overly cautious.

Not that your judgement ever came to detriment. Not that he ever proved you wrong that way. Not when it came to you. But the man was dangerous when he had to be in a way you hadn’t initially picked up on.

________________

You hadn’t been out in the Green two weeks before you looked up from the bottom of a dig hole to see Ezra standing over you with a thrower.

“You get down and you stay down, understand?”

“Ez? What--”

“I said stay down! Do not make me waste words on mere repetition!” The fuzzy blanket of his voice replaced suddenly by a snarling, snapping brush wolf, a quick change hitting you like a slap in the ear.

There’d been pops and whizzes as shots rang through and you did as your trainer said, face down, the view of your visor giving you nothing but dirt. Your helmet was a chorus of quick breathing from both of you and sweat rolled down your neck as you begged the eyes of Kevva to look down upon your partner. When the crossfire faded, you’d heard Ezra stalk away. Then there were a couple more shots. Then more footsteps returning.

“You are permitted to stand, trinket. All is well as it can be for us. But not so much for our dearly departed friends.” These words were as soothing as much as his previous ones had burned, and he simply went back to working at the dig at hand as if he’d just come back from taking a leak. It wasn’t until you left the site that evening that you tramped past two rotting raiders, gaudily outfitted with broken face shields, left to let the Green take them.

Ezra whistled as he stepped over them, stopping only to harvest their filters and munition rods, which he tossed your way to stow in your pack, and then continued lazily down the path toward camp. Just another day on the job. 

He may be a little peculiar and not someone to trifle with, he may have just killed two people without remorse or further comment, but his lack of reassuring words told you that this was just part of the deal. You wear the suit, you use the air scrubber in the tent, you follow the landing pod instructions as written, and you defend yourself against those who wish to harm you. Survival by any and all means is paramount, mundane, and something he has no qualms with on any level.

There was something deep down inside of you that instinctually pulled you to follow him, not just down the literal path before you, but whatever path Ezra chose to wander.

________________

Before you’d left the station with him, he’d taken you to a thrower range to gauge your skill which was decent in theory, but dismal compared with what he could do. No matter, he still patiently taught you how to properly clean and charge a weapon and the best way to breathe and pull the trigger; “like you’re taking hold of a man’s...well... Just go easy and firm.” He suggested you should come and practice every day before lift off and then hope to Kevva that you didn’t have to rely too heavily on it.

“If I find myself in a coffin of my own suit, then feel free to defend yourself as a final means of preservation. Otherwise, when it comes down to shots fired, best to let me do the dirty work. Might as well keep the blood where the blood has been.”

You’d been a little nervous about sharing a freighter pod alone with him, but Ezra was...well, not so much a gentleman as just a comfortable soul. 

He always waited until you were hungry to eat, thinking it rude to eat alone in front of you. He never moved around the pod while you were sleeping, content to keep still with a book in his cot. And if you couldn’t sleep, he was always willing to read to you from whatever impossibly dense old world classic he was digging through for the umpteenth time, letting his voice come up from the deeps and pull you gently under. If you asked permission to turn on the radio, he’d ask you “why Isn’t it on yet, woman,” quietly tolerating your taste in harsh and gleeful babblecore pshcyopop. In the later days of the journey, he’d even come to dance with you from time to time, although both of you were dismal at it and ended up with you in a fit of giggles. It was a sure-fire way to cure a case of the pouts you carried through from the morning fitness sessions when he beat you at pushups. Again.

When it came to privacy in the tight space, he had a habit of turning away without having to be asked or stopping his stream of talk when you went to change clothes, just happily chattering away until you called the all clear. Although he was not squeamish about his own state of undress, should you happen to catch it by accident. While he was respectful of your privacy, he seemed to need none of his own, but neither did he flaunt anything. You might look up from studying the flight manual to notice he was changing into a fresh pair of compression pants, tugging them on haphazardly with one hand, more concerned with telling you the overwhelmingly disgusting manufacturing process of Bits Bars than his own ass hanging out where you might see it. At least he always changed facing away from you which was a kindness.

Until it wasn’t.

After you realized you’d fallen quietly in love with him--a sudden, soft moment on the Green--then you’d admit only privately to yourself that you wouldn’t mind if you accidentally saw a little more than the occasional shirtless attire he might wear around the tent.

But in the pod, the only part of him that had caught your curiosity was his stump, and you’d known Ezra intensely enough over the past couple of weeks where you knew he wouldn’t take offense. Especially if you asked him the right way.

“Will you tell me a story, Ezra?”

“I feel that it is my duty to do so whether you ask me to or not. Shall I choose, or is there something in particular you would like to hear?”

He was sitting cross-legged on the floor, propped up against his cot, going through his kit, cleaning his gear. You waited until he noticed your lack of answer and looked up to meet your eyes. When he saw that you had put your manual down and were focusing all your quiet attention on him, he stopped his busy work. 

When Ezra gives you his attention, it is absolute. When he knows you seriously need something from him, that becomes his immediate main priority and all else can wait. It’s only gotten more intense since that day, but there is a trust that resides between you when you look into his eyes, gathering your words as he waits patiently every time to hear whatever you’re going to request of him. There’s always hope there in his big browns, always something specific he’s waiting for you to ask, and every day you get a little bit closer to understanding what it might be. But until then, any question is a welcome one, any query is met with his wish to provide.

“Will you tell me how you lost your arm?”

At first you thought you may have gone too far, that maybe you insulted him, as his eyebrows peaked together and he looked down at his hand. But then, “That is a tale that may cause you some consternation, trinket. The Green is dangerous and unforgiving, and there were times I may not have been a man worthy of fair opinion.”

“My father was a prospector, you know. I’ve heard stories. Have you ever killed anyone?”

He clicked his tongue and screwed up an eye, causing the thin white scar on his cheek to twist. Then he sighed and returned to your locked gaze. “To be honest, I have. Though I have never done so with pleasure, I have killed in defense and out of desperation, and it was out of dispatching a man in this way that I came to lose the second favorite of all my appendages.”

“Second favorite?”

“Well, it depends what you classify as a limb.” He huffed a small laugh, a spark in his eye, trying to diffuse the harsh subject in his own way.

His leaning into baseness never bothered you. There was something earthy about it, gritty and rough, but never lewd. You rewarded his crassness with a smile. “Do you plan on killing me out in the Green?”

“I would hope my murdering days are behind me, and if they are not, you would see me aim a thrower at everyone but you in the course of my spree. You are under my tutelage, and for that, I owe you a duty of care. That is my word by Kevva.”

“Then tell me the story. I like your stories. I promise not to judge now-Ezra by then-Ezra.”

A dimple formed on his cheek, a punctuation mark framing the approaching anecdote on his lips. “Then I will declare myself absolved of any sin heretofore and regale you with a clean and grateful heart.”

________________

You can see the tent through the trees and you realize with some horror that it’s just you and Ezra for the next few nights. If he’s angry with you, and this is how he is when he’s upset, the silence will be unbearable.

Even that little girl he helped out here years ago was probably more capable than you. You feel so lost in this moment, and it’s only made worse by his silence. You fumble with your communicator and hit the mute just in time to choke on a sob.

This isn’t like you. You’re not one to cry when things get rough. You hardly shed a tear when your father died. But the thought of that just brings another sob and as acting as your own psychologist you realize that you are experiencing some displaced sorrow, the odd need to please the leading male in your life, the one that’s walking ahead of you, away from you. If he’d just turn around and throw you his worn weary smile, if he’d just start up a conversation you’d know that there was hope for you, you’d know you didn’t give up everything to be here in a job you couldn’t hack.

You gotta stop this. Or it’s going to be an uncomfortable night.

Shake it off.

Once you enter the tent, the usual dance happens. Ezra reaches up to turn on the air scrubber and you unhook his filter tube from his helmet. When he turns to you, you pull open the zipper cover on his suit and start his zip for him before lifting his helmet up and off. He can pull the zip the rest of the way, but you generally pull the left collar down for him so he can get his arm out. He’s on his own from there as you turn to fuss with your own gear. 

________________

You remember it starting easily enough. He was telling you a story about the breeding habits of the Tokovian Musk Owl and you could see he was having trouble with his suit zipper, yanking at it and trying to look down at it even though it was under his chin and his helmet. Without another hand to keep the fabric taut, the zip didn’t want to release, so you simply batted his hand away and started it for him. He didn’t even stop his yammering, just threw in a “thank you” somewhere in between “could hear them screeching” and “for a fuck.” He’d right out asked you the day before if you wouldn’t mind disengaging the filter tube just because it was delicate and he didn’t want to mangle the expensive part trying to pop it out one-handed day after day. And while he could manage the helmet fine enough, his prominent nose thanked you for a smoother removal for sure. 

It wasn’t the only routine dance you’d concocted. 

There was the harness dance.

While dig days were excruciating, you always looked forward to helping him attach the harness for his prosthesis--a kind of rigid pole attached to a shovel so you didn’t have to do all the hard digging alone. There were a couple of straps that came around his torso with multiple latches and you’d come to really enjoy wrapping your arms around him to fit the straps on. Sure, you could do the job just as easily from behind, but if you embraced him at the front, he’d usually raise his arm and let it come to rest around your shoulders while you worked. If you let yourself dream, it would be easy to imagine that he might be pressing you into him just a little bit.

And there was the harvesting dance.

On a dig, you were the one to mix the fazer and Ezra did the pour. He fished the sack, you cut the cord. You sliced the outer casing and held it open while he did the extraction. And with the flesh-covered stone, he told you every time to “hold it like you love it” so he could cut away the slippery blister before cleaning the gemstone.

It was a beautiful harmony. And the only way it worked. Because once on every dig he urged you to do a solo extraction, and on every dig, you pierced the blister and lost that stone. And on every dig, he squeezed your shoulder and told you it was a wondrous try, that he was proud of you, and there would always be another turn. There was no sarcasm, no pity, just a warm smile and ceaseless optimism even though you just lost both of you thousands in pay.

These were the first touches, these shoulder squeezes that ran down your arm on the let-go. Sometimes he would just reach out and grab onto you like a pole to help himself up, or he might stumble off balance on uneven ground and without the counterweight of his right arm he’d throw his hand out onto you to steady himself. He wasn’t beyond lightly touching the small of your back to encourage you down a path or to take your next try at a gem pull. 

This was all part of something you’ve secretly named the left-handed-lover’s dance. Basically, that you keep on his left whenever you can in case he needs your help or has the inclination to reach for you. It started out as just trying to be a good partner. Then it became a passing hope that it was more than just a friendly bond. But you were both here to do a job. He was here to teach you to be an independent prospector and you were here to assist and learn. That was evident at the end of the day; once you were both in the tent and out of the suits he never touched you, never so much as bumped into you or grazed your hand in passing an item or clapped you on the arm after a good joke. 

But out in the field all zipped in and helmets on, there was nothing more natural than his gentle hand guiding you or reaching for your assistance, including the day you realized you loved him.

________________

Before you can turn away to strip off your own coverings, Ezra catches your arm, spinning your face into the light. You try to shake him off, not wanting him to catch your eyes puffy from crying and your cheeks still streaked with tears, but his grip is not so gentle now and he yanks you back around to his stormy glare, chin up, brows low. His intensity paralyzes you, rendering you unable to continue your struggle when he catches your eyes with his.

When Ezra gives you his attention, it is absolute.

His gaze travels back and forth between your eyes, waiting for an explanation, a minute so stringent it breaks you down, dissolves you into the tears you’d tried so hard to hide.

“I’m sorry, Ezra. I really am trying... I don’t know why I’m such a scuffer at this and I know it would only be right to release you from the contract and tell you to send me back but I don’t want you to, I really wanna stay, I really wanna learn and I’m so, so sorry.”

Your words have an immediate effect, softening him, pulling his glare into concern and wonder, his lips parting just the tiniest bit in surprise.

“This is the reason for your heavy mood? You think I am provoked by your proficiency in the field?” 

“I crusted up good today and it seems like you’re not happy about it. Just...know that it means so much to me that...I don’t wanna let you down.”

“Oh, trinket, no.” An incredulous huff jumps out of him and his grip on your arm loosens, becomes a splayed warm support behind your shoulder, moving in soothing patterns and you’re instantly relieved that your assumptions were wrong. “You have done no harm in my book. It is not an easy thing to deliver a gem of this ilk into the world unscathed. Your opportunities have been few and scattered and it takes many sticks before a lover becomes a lothario.” He knows the crass humor will make you laugh, knows what to say to lighten your heart, to get you to soften, and bring you into his intimate, conspiratorial mood. “To be perfectly honest, I am selfish to an unrighteous degree, for every gem you burn keeps me in value to you. A worthy sacrifice to guarantee you mightn’t be so quick in your need to fly away from me until your training’s complete.”

This causes a hitch in your breath as you see the welcome turn the conversation he’s taking and you follow the path he’s making for you. “I don’t want to leave you, Ez.”

A smile creeps up one side of his mouth. “Well then I am a happy man. A bargain is struck! Partners it is.”

“Partners it is.”

A moment hangs between you as he rubs his thumb in slow circles on your shoulder. There’s that look in his eye again, the one where he’s waiting for you to ask the question he wants to hear from you. So close now.

Still, you’re unsure. “I guess I’m lucky I found the one person who wants an incompetent partner.”

“No, I do not, nor is it what I have and I must express my objection to your self-debasement. This work is not for the shiny, and you have not once complained about taking on the meat of the digging or the crawl of my schedule.”  His hand comes to your helmet shield and he rakes his thumb across it as if he ached to wipe away one of your staleing tears. “Those bright eyes of yours got a penchant for spotting deposits more skillfully than I could ever manage and that’s not something that can be taught; that’s talent, girl. The blistering?” He shrugs. “Even I can’t manage that without the steady help of your fine hands. You may think that your blunders in education are causing us some financial ruin, but our fortunes are creamy. I assure you, we can afford it.”

That look is still there. He’s waiting. “There’s some ‘us’ and ‘we’ in there, Ez.” Your hands drift to his sides, taking fistfuls of his compression suit top, willing him closer.

The edges of his eyes take on the crinkle you’ve come to find so much comfort in. “So there is.”

You’re almost there. You know what he wants. “Why were you so quiet on the walk back?” 

“Because for the next few days we are alone here and I have a mind full of questions I do not know how to ask you.”

“Then let me go first.” A yearning happiness settles in his brown eyes; finally. Finally you’ve found out what it is he needs you to request of him. “If I take this helmet off, are you going to kiss me, Ez?”

His eyes close in contentment and he nods, “Yes. Yes, little jewel. Yes I am, that and more. I hope I have inferred correctly that it is your wish that I do so, because I am in free fall. I feel my orbit ending and my pull to you is complete.”

_______________

“A moon is an orbiting admirer, and what is an orbit but a long fall to oblivion?”

Speculating days were some of your favorite times, just wading through the brush and looking for the telltale signs and shoots of an underlying deposit. Sometimes you came upon nests of strange groundling insects or flowers that only grew in secret. There were treasures underfoot on this poisonous moon, but if you remembered to look up as well, you might find some dangerous beauties there too. 

On that day--the one where you finally understood your heart--you’d looked up to find that you were on a cliffside overlooking a valley, the canopy a million different hues of green, the gas giant looming over half the sky in a big pink and orange semi-circle. There was a fallen log that served as a perfect seat for the perfect view and you knew Ezra wouldn’t mind if you stole a few moments to sit and to take it in. It’s just the kind of thing he’d appreciate. And you were proven right when he came up behind you, putting a hand on your shoulder to steady himself as he swung one leg then the other over the log, finding a perch next to you, spouting pretty words through the channel link--soft and low--about moons and orbits and obilvions.

“That glowing beauty is Bakhroma. She is quiet and fierce, made up of the unfathomable and the unknowable, always within sight, but out of reach and untouchable unless one would trade the honor with great sacrifice. She reflects the light that is given to her with a patience that is heretofore untold. And the Green Moon upon which we ride follows where she goes like a lovesick fool, spinning around her in a heady kind of adoration, full of secret treasures buried deep down that will ultimately one day belong to her, falling incrementally over eons until he finally loses himself in her, all his glories gladly forfeit to her welcome and inevitable embrace. Alone but together, seemingly eternal, pulled as one by the laws of a mysterious universe.”

The void that came after those words was filled with the beating of your heart, and you were sure he could hear it through the channel.

When he’d landed there beside you, you’d registered how his hand slid off your shoulder, diagonally down across your back, coming to rest at your waist, his arm draped lightly around you. Natural. Easy. Everything was warm--the colors of the sky, the care with which he kept you close as if to better hear the honey sweetness in his prose, the fire burning in your lungs and neck.

Ezra probably didn’t know that you spoke a little Vayok.

Bakh being the Vayok word for adornment. Ornament, Gem. Roma was a modifier, a diminutive. Small. Dear.

Bakhroma. Sentimental bauble. A little jewel.

In other words, a trinket.

All you wanted to do was sit down to take in the view of an entire world for a few moments, but by the time Ezra took your hand and helped you to your feet, all you saw was him.

________________

The helmet is barely off before his lips are sealed to yours in a press of greed. Even if he can’t form words when he kisses you, he can’t help but express his deep relief in a heartbreaking moan. It’s a fight to release yourself from the suit when he keeps pulling you against him and every time you try to get some space between you to work the zipper, he chuckles into your mouth, enjoying the tease and the struggle. It’s simultaneously frustrating and thrilling and you give in for a few moments just to give him what he seems to want so desperately right now.

Ezra kisses like a man starved for air, long, hard, and full of need, peeling his lips away only to come back for another breath of you until his initial want is slaked and he slows, allows for more time between his taking, his mouth starting to mumble against yours, praising you with pet names, telling you how perfect you are to him, how long he’s “fought against my more dubious natures to respect your womanly virtues and take them only when you could see in me a man worth bestowing them on.”

You’re able to use his weakness for monologuing to turn around in his vice-like embrace, finally freeing yourself of the suit and he takes the opportunity to drawl more pretty words in your ear, warning you that “I’m afraid I have been enamored of you overly long and may be extra eager in my attentions. So you just say the word if you need a slow down, gentle one, and I will do my best to comply. Although I will admit it will be a difficult endeavor indeed as I feel I am entering your atmosphere and nothing might quell this burn but finding some drowning place to land.”

Your first impression of him was of a man whose age and temperament and body would not be able to overpower you.

Your first impression was wrong.

Of course, it helps that you are willing.

It doesn’t take long for him to strip you down, and then himself. To kiss you down onto the floor. To find exactly where you like to be touched most and how long it takes for you to break from it. He has so many words for you, so many praises to sing about every part of you that is round or soft or wet, comparing you to things that are sweet and plush or celestial and holy. And when you take his favorite limb in hand--as wondrous as the rest of his body--and guide it to its fit, he plunders and harvests all you have to give him, filing you with himself, for as long as you call for it, as long as you let him. He loves you like he speaks to you: rough and drawn out, full of beautiful tangents and meandering plotlines, but in the end it is beautiful and fulfilling; you may be just a little bit confused how you got to the ending, but you’re completely in awe.

When you lay breathing heavy, staring but not seeing the ceiling of the tent, your consciousness seemingly lifted to see through it to the stars, to the glowing face of Bakhroma, you run hands through rough-chopped hair on a head laying on your chest. He’s listening to your heartbeat, waiting for it to slow down so he can start again. The air is thick--even the air scrubber can’t keep up with all your humidity--and there’s a halo around each bulb of the string lights just barely illuminating the darkness.

“How long, Ez?”

“Hm?”

“How long have you been waiting for that.”

“Most likely since the day you walked into my interview. I am a man of simple wants and you had all the right parts for my preferences.”

“For real, Ez.”

He tipped his head up to find you. “What you ask has many true answers, and I stand by the first. I have no qualms telling you of my weakness for a pretty succulence and a kind smile the likes of which you possess. But if you are asking when I knew I would have it, well, that may have been the first day you danced. Or when you asked me to read you to sleep. Or when I understood I wouldn’t let those bastard raiders get near enough to take their turn at your qualities when I had not had them myself. Or when you finally saw me as a viable person to drape your affections on; maybe it was that day too.”

“When I finally saw you as....”

“I have read many tomes and verses but none so full of beautiful passages as your face that day on the cliff. There is a difference of knowing and being. I knew the feel of your pull that day, but found I’d been in orbit all along.”

How he can live this way, twist everything into a tossed away poem...it should be exhausting. Yet you feed off it. You breathe it like air.

After another long cycle of frenzied entanglement and violent euphoria, you ask Ezra if he’d like to move to a cot, maybe get some sleep. “I’m not sure if I’ll be able to walk to the dig tomorrow morning,” you confess.

“No need to worry about tomorrow,” he says, wapping his arm around you and dragging you back to him, grumbling into your ear. “We are the only prospectors in this sector and the aurelac will wait. Until our new compatriots arrive, we are officially on hiatus. Recreational mining only. Restricted to the confines of this tent. By order of your supervisor. In the interest of more precious treasures. And I intend to strike it rich.”

“Well. I’m here to assist. And learn.”

“When it comes to this dig, trinket, you are more than competent. I am no longer your trainer. Partners it is.”

“Partners it is.”

The new contract is struck, signed and sealed in kissing and in touch and a long, slow fall into inevitable oblivion.

[vanillawinston]

Mad World| Chapter THREE

Joker x OC(Jane Parker)

Summary: Jane was in the wrong place at the wrong time and suddenly her life was falling apart. The past and future of a dangerous obsession which changed his life and destroyed hers completely.

Warning for this chapter: /

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Words: 1987

My nerves were raw when we all, dressed in our new clothes, equipped with our weapons, had to enter a helicopter. Unwanted I remembered how the first time ever in such a thing I had been by his side; I remembered how happy I had been back then, how different my world was. This situation now was weird. It was strange not being in a cell, being kind of free, sitting here, surrounded by those people. A few days ago I was ready to die, to let everything end, and now I was here with all those other prisoners, and one of them was Harley, the new girl at the side of the men I once would have died for without thinking twice about it.

I sighed hardly when I fastened my seat belt and of course hat the misfortune to sit right in front of Quinn. On my right sat this weird and kind of creepy crocodile man, who had the name Croc. From a nearer view he looked less creepy, but I was still freaked out of sitting next to him, in the end he still was a fucking crocodile. On my left sat the tattooed man, El Diablo. I had heard some stuff about him and his power of creating hell like fire out of nowhere. Weird. The other strangers were Captain Boomerang and Slipknot. We were for sure the weirdest group ever, especially in the company of Rick's friend Katana who was walking around with a bloody sword in her hands like some ninja and who was looking at every one of us like she wanted to nothing more but to behead all of us.

"So, I still have some issues understanding our position in this matter," Floyd spoke up while the last technical details were checked before we would depart.

"You will do as I say, you will follow the rules and do what you can do best."

"If not then... Pshhh," Boomerang said and made a gesture with his hands like he was imitating an explosion, and I shivered of it, but to explode doesn't sound that nice, not at all, and this Rick guy had the full power over us and our lives.

"Typically," Floyd snorted. "We are doing your dirty work and getting nothing in return."

"We will see," Slipknot mumbled when the helicopter started, and for a moment I was frightened of this sudden noise and the movement. It was still strange to process this whole thing, to really accept that we would go on this mission, that I was free, away from the prison and the torture in it.

"Easy kid," Floyd laughed now more friendly and calming, which was really helpful. I calmed down, remembered that everything was ok, even though it was strange lifting up, leaving the earth, the prison behind. My calmness didn't last for long though when I saw Harley's curious gaze on me. "Aren't you a bit young to be here?" she asked me amused, like it was some joke, but she was right. I was the youngest of all of them. I was a lot younger than the rest.

"The girl is 19 and in here for two years," Floyd answered and manged it that everyone was staring at me impressed. Even this Samurai Lady looked astonished to me. Yeah, everyone was asking themselves what the hell I did to end up here, how bad my crime was to suffer so much in such a young age.

"And why?" Boomerang asked, and I saw how this Diablo guy eyed me silently from the side. He didn't say a word, stared at me intensively, and it was really distracting.

"I'm useful," I said, didn't want to think about it again, about everything I've went through. The last few months I never had to go through all of this crap, but these last days I had to relive everything over and over again, talk about it, remember some horrible stuff, and I really had enough. I didn't want to say more, especially since no one knew my connection to the Joker and no one should, especially not Harley.

It is common knowledge that the Joker once had another toy than Quinn, but everyone, including himself, thinks she is dead. No one knew my real name back then, except for the Joker. I had a different name, one the Joker liked more, since only he was allowed to know the real me, the real Jane. I had managed it to stand all this time at his side without anyone ever recognizing me, only if they would have been close to me. Just the government had found out the truth.

"We really are weird," Boomerang laughed loudly, and I used the distraction of the others to look to Diablo, who was still staring at me.

"Is something wrong?" I asked him, and he seemed like he was trying desperately to find an answer when suddenly there was a loud bang and the whole helicopter started to spin around. It felt like I was pressed sharply against my belt, everything was spinning, my body was shaking from one side to another, and the fear of dying surrounded me. It felt like we would all gonna die, and even though I've welcomed death a lot of times in my life, I was scared, I didn't want to go now, not like this.

Some of the belts of the others stopped working by all this shaking, I saw how someone was falling without a hold in the vehicle, and this destiny almost was mine as well when I heard my belt click. I saw with wide eyes to the wall in front of me, knew that I would fall against it, that I would probably die, break all my bones, when suddenly Diablo put his arm in front of me, hold me back like some sort of extra belt and he kept me safe this way. It must be so hard and so painful holding his arm in front of me like this, holding me back, but he didn't stop, not until we finally reached the ground and the whole horrible trip found an end.

Breathing hardly, I looked to him when I took his arm away from me and he was just like me out of breath and exhausted. I stroked my hair back, tried to calm myself, but it was hard, after all we almost died here.

"A hell of a landing," Boomerang laughed, stood up from the ground and seemed ok, considering he was the one who was falling around during the crash, the one whose seat belt has stopped working just like my mine did, with the only difference that he didn't had a Diablo who saved him.

"Oh, this was funny," Harley giggled, and I thought I had to throw up, for one because of her but also because all this spinning made me dizzy.

"Everyone ok?" Rick asked, and I stood up, followed the others out of the wreckage, tried not to fall, so giddy was everything.

My eyes widened in shock when I saw the city around us, saw all those demolished buildings. It was nice seeing something different than the prison, but what the hell had happened here? It looked like a T-Rex or something had a fight with Godzilla here. Has Gotham changed this much during the last years or was this just part of the mission?

"Everyone is fine," Floyd mumbled and stand next to me, looked just as shocked to the city.

"I'm really here, seeing all of this again," I breathed quietly, and Floyd smiled. "Enjoy it. This won't be a journey to an amusement park like Harley is assuming," he said amused, and I sighed hardly.

"No, it won't." I looked back to the others, who were trying to get all their stuff out of the wreck and where I saw how Diablo was already looking at me. The guy was weird, but he has saved my life. Who knew what would have happened without him? I wasn't as stable as Boomerang to survive something like this. I was small, thin, really thin, it wasn't healthy anymore. There was no chance I would have survived. This was why I took all my courage to walk right to him, saw how he eyed me curiously while doing so.

"Thank you," I said struggling, and it was weird saying this. Gratitude. How long haven't I felt something like this?

"It's ok," he said shortly, turned around, and I rolled my eyes. He wasn't a big talker, was he?

"It is not. It wasn't easy holding me there, even if I'm not much of a weight, so thank you!" He looked me in my eyes before he stroked his in tattoos covered head.

"It really is ok, but try to watch out for yourself, lightweight," he said smirking, and I immediately smiled back when Rick shouted us all together, so I walked to him, asked myself what would happen next?

"So we have to keep walking, and I warn you, don't try anything or I will blow you up." "We got it," Slipknot answered him, was clearly annoyed, didn't seem too impressed of this whole blowing up thing. Either he wasn't believing Rick, or he simply didn't care, but it was his problem not mine. My biggest problem right now was trying to stay alive but also not to kill Harley who was a pain in the ass with her annoying behaviour.

"Don't be so tensed," Floyd said when we started to move, right into the destroyed neighborhood.

"I'm not tensed," I defended myself, and he smiled. "I see your tension and I really don't know what the reason behind of it is, but I'm sure it is not only because of this mission." "Then have fun trying to find out," I said amused, wouldn't tell him anything, he would probably judge me for my past, think I'm some lunatic, and if Harley finds out the truth... god, she would kill me! She would definitely kill me, she was too obsessed with the Joker, I was a threat, she would never let me live.

"I will find out, I promise," he said smiling when I suddenly heard Rick curse and fast saw the reason why. Slipknot tried to flee; so he really didn't believe Rick. Skillfully he climbed up one of the buildings, and I really thought he would escape, he would manage it, so fast and easy he moved up the building, when there was a loud bang, and he was dead. From one second to anther he was dead, just like that.

"Holy crap," Boomerang mumbled shocked, and I put my hand on my fast beating heart, but this was horrible. We really were damned, we really could die just like this if Rick wants us to, but it was also terrible to see someone die again, to see, after such a long time, someone die again in front of me. I've completely forgotten how fast this could happen, how fast someone, who was just breathing, could be gone forever, and I really don't want to think about it. This view opened so many old scars, old horrible memories came up, and I hated it.

"I hope this was a lesson to all of you," Rick said, looking with a weird look to the dead Slipknot, before he turned around and started walking again.

"Oh, how much I hate this son of a bitch," Floyd said disgusted, and I knew this whole thing would end in a tragedy, and I was right in the middle of it.

Aloha :) I hope you liked it. In the next part there will be finally something about the Joker. Sorry for any grammar or editing mistakes, tell me if you like to be tagged and the Gif is not mine xx

Tag: @xxqueenwxtchxx

[porkchop-ao3]

A Thrill I’ve Never Known (Chapter 52)

Just a Social Call

I very nearly didn’t post today. I hated this chapter and the one that comes after it, but after speaking to a couple of friends and sitting my ass down to rework them, I feel much better :) I hope you guys like this chapter even though it’s not too eventful. I do often worry about these kinds of chapters... But anyway, it includes some wound treatment, and lots of conversation with Charles, Micah and John, because hey, conversation is just what I do :’)

Tagging @emily-strange ❤

(All chapters tagged with #ATINK and also posted on Ao3, username PorkChop)

-

I was reliving it. The screaming and yelling and the gunfire, the searing pain; ice cold, burning hot, ice cold. The blind panic, the total belief that I was going to die, that Arthur was too, and the rest of the gang. That everything was going up in smoke, literally, all around me. And it hurt. Physically and mentally, and my heart was thudding so hard in my chest it ached and soon I jolted awake, my eyes flashing open. 

My mouth was dry and I swallowed a couple of times, looking around the tent as my pulse began to return to normal, and my surroundings brought me out of the terrifying landscape my mind had painted in my sleep. I lifted my head and spotted a cup of water that Arthur must've left for me, since he wasn't around; already gone from his bedroll on the floor next to the bed I'd temporarily stolen from him. I reached for the cup and quenched my dry mouth, exhaling loudly as I put the cup back down and slumped back against the bed.

I stared up at the top of the tent and thought about my dream, about how real it had felt, just like the night it happened. I didn't know why I'd dreamt about it. I didn't like that I had. But it was only a dream, and I took comfort in the knowledge that I'd made it out alive and now here I was; safe and recovering.

The fabric of the tent was pinned back just a little to allow a breeze into the space, the sun was beating down and it was stuffy and humid, so the cooler air seeping in from the gap was appreciated. I shifted, peering through the gap into the camp; I spotted John, Arthur and Karen all sitting around the campfire, just being joined by Abigail. I sighed and slumped back down onto my back, resenting my injury from keeping me held back, away from everyone else. 

My eyes went out of focus where I gazed at the split in the canvas, from my position I saw trees and sky, though it all blurred into a mix of pale blue and brown as I lost myself for a while in the murmurs of the camp. I heard Abigail laughing, followed by Arthur and Karen, and wondered if John had said something funny. I sighed sadly, then jumped when a mass blocked out the sky through the gap. 

My eyes refocused; the mass appeared to be Charles, standing outside the tent. 

"Hello?" I called out when he didn't immediately do anything. 

"Oh, hey," he responded, "I was trying to listen to see if you were asleep."

"Come in," I invited, and he lifted the canvas and hesitantly peered inside, like he was expecting to find me in my undergarments or something. "Would you open it up fully, please? I feel lonely," I chuckled.

"Of course," he nodded, then set to work pulling back the majority of the canvas that was closing me off from the rest of the camp. "How're you feeling?"

"Pretty good. The burn behind my knee is giving me some trouble, though," I admitted.

"Yeah? That's why I'm here," he began, picking something up from the floor just outside the tent. It was a mortar and pestle, filled with purple flowers. "I went hunting yesterday, brought back some meat this morning, but I came across some lavender."

"Lavender," I repeated curiously. As he approached and moved a crate to sit down on, I caught the scent of the purple flowers inside the mortar, a lovely soft, fresh, soothing scent.

"Yeah, I thought I could mash it up, make a paste. If you want, we could put it on your wounds, it should help with the inflammation, and help keep at bay any infection," he told me. "Do you trust me?"

"Of course,” I nodded.

"I'll be as gentle as I can. Has anyone checked your wounds today?"

"No, not yet."

"Okay, I'll take a look soon," he said, then placed the mortar on his lap, taking the pestle and beginning to grind the flowers down. 

The scent became stronger as he crushed the flowers, releasing the oils and fragrance into the air. I breathed in deeply, glancing out towards the sky as I laid back and waited. It smelled incredible. 

"How've you been sleeping?" Charles asked me after a moment, over the repetitive sound of the pestle rubbing along the bottom of the mortar. I peeked at him from the corner of my eye, watching him add more lavender from a pouch he wore on his gun belt. I hesitated for a few moments before responding.

"Okay. Arthur was in here with me. I sleep better with him around," I told him, and Charles hummed in acknowledgement. "How're you doing? What do you think of the new camp?"

"It's not my favourite place," he admitted. "This whole area feels… dark. I don't like it. I prefer being further south-west. The trees out here; there's a lot of forest. Makes it hard to keep track of your surroundings. When I was hunting, I kept making myself paranoid, always looking over my shoulder. Like there's people everywhere, but they're good at hiding." 

"Oh, don't tell me that. You'll freak me out," I chuckled. Charles smirked.

"The girl who grew up in the swamp, getting freaked out so easily?" He teased. 

"I guess I got used to the swamp, and all the spooky things you hear at night."

"Swanson seemed to think the swamp was haunted," he pointed out.

"It could very well be. I always wondered. There were stories when I was growing up, 'bout a woman who haunts Bluewater Marsh, telling passing cowboys that she loves them." 

"Yeah? Maybe she just weren't interested in me," he snorted. I laughed, shaking my head at him. 

"I never heard anything that couldn't be explained away somehow," I told him. "It's probably just overactive imaginations. But it's understandable, it's creepy. You don't know what's out there in the fog, and some of the sounds the wildlife makes, you'd think it was a lonely spirit, crying out."

"Well, a spirit won't hurt you. People, though. The Night Folk? You didn't seem worried about them, so you shouldn't worry too much about the Murfree Brood, as long as you stick around camp or go out with a partner."

I chuckled, "sticking 'round camp should be easy, not sure I'll be going out for a while," I said. Charles hummed quietly, a little guiltily, but I smiled at him to show him I wasn't put out by the comment.

"You'll heal fast if you keep doing what you're doing; lots of rest and regular check ups."

I nodded in understanding. 

"I've spent time out here before," I changed the subject, "a little further south. After my parents passed I was looking for work, I came to Van Horn to see if there was anything going. I didn't have much luck, but I liked the place. I used to go up the lighthouse and look at the view, even slept up there a couple times after we lost the house. Never strayed into the forests too much, though."

"Van Horn. That's just a little place, right?" He asked. I nodded my head.

"Ain't much to it, and I wouldn't call it pretty. But it's near the water, and it's usually quiet."

"You like being near the water?" 

"Yeah. I always liked that about growing up in the swamps, only in Van Horn, or 'round Flat Iron lake at Clemens Point, there ain't no alligators," I chuckled. "I don't know. The sound of the water lapping up against the shore has always been nice to me. What sort of place do you like?"

"Anywhere that's open," he told me. "I don't like cities. Or even really towns. I liked being out west, before Blackwater. That's the freest place I've been; only it's so damn hot out there. The sun doesn't pull any punches. So uh, I guess The Heartlands, near our camp at Horseshoe Overlook. That was my kind of place. Minus all the O'Driscolls and Cornwall's henchmen."

"Yeah, I liked that place too," I nodded, letting out a soft sigh. 

"May I?" Charles nodded to my leg as he put the mortar aside.

"Of course, thank you," I said hitching my skirt up enough to expose my bandaged leg.

"My hands are clean. I washed them before I came in and started working with the flowers," he assured me as he scooted forwards, and delicately began unwinding the bandage. 

I glanced over at the mortar, seeing a pulpy, thick paste inside. I pressed my lips together as he peeled the dressing's final layer away from my skin. I didn't look as he inspected it. Each time someone came to check my wounds, I was nervous, half expecting them to discover puss and all sorts, dooming me. 

"It looks like it's healing well," he told me, and I released a relieved breath. "I'm going to have to touch it to apply this, you think you can handle it?"

"Yeah," I nodded. 

"How's the patient, doc?" Arthur's voice made me jump a little. I glanced towards the foot of the bed to where he was leaning up against the side of the wagon with his coffee in his hand. 

"She's okay. She's letting me apply some lavender to her burns. It should help soothe them, and lessen any pain."

"They don't look too bad," Arthur commented. "Still hurting?" He glanced at me. 

"A little," I nodded. 

"When she says a little, I'm concerned she means a lot, and she's just putting on a brave face," Charles mused quietly in a monotone.

"I might be inclined to share that concern, Mr. Smith," Arthur nodded, his eyes on mine. 

"It's… moderate. Hurts worse in the evening, for some reason."

Charles hummed thoughtfully. "The blistered parts don't look as bad, they're going down. I'll avoid those, don't want to risk bursting them," he told me, and I watched him as he scooped some of the lavender pulp onto his fingers, and gingerly packed it against my leg, sticking to the less severe of my burns. He was careful enough that it only hurt a little more than it did anyway.

"You think it'll scar?" I asked. 

"I… I'd be surprised if it didn't. But I can't imagine it'll be too bad. Probably only on the worst parts, like here; on the outer part of your calf," he explained, and I nodded in understanding. 

Charles was very gentle as he applied the paste, pressing carefully and only enough to make sure it stuck. It caused discomfort, of course, but not a lot. Arthur was quiet, staring down at my leg with a slightly pursed mouth and a look of deep thought on his face, his brow furrowed a bit. I knew him well enough by then that I could tell he was feeling guilty, just like he had the night it happened. Just like he had when my neck was wounded by the O'Driscoll.

"Scars don't really bother me. Just a reminder of how lucky we all are to be alive, right?" I said, and they both glanced at me. 

"I guess that's one way of looking at it," Charles said, and I looked at the scar across his cheek, wondering if it bothered him. It shouldn't, I thought, it was interesting, as far as scars went. It framed his face in a way that gave him something extra, rather than take away. Similarly to John's. Perhaps I was odd, thinking that scars made a person more interesting to look at. 

I looked at Arthur, then, seeing him thumb the scar on his own chin, and I smiled at him. The smile he returned to me was small but affectionate.

"Okay, just gotta wrap this back up, alright? How was that?" Charles asked, sitting back and reaching for the tin of medical supplies that stayed on the table by the bed while I was recovering. He opened it up and retrieved some fresh dressing. 

"It was fine. Thank you, Charles," I nodded, nibbling on my bottom lip for a moment as he began to wrap my leg back up. "Actually, thank you for everything. I never said this, but when it happened, I know I clung to you like a baby; thank you for being there."

"Don't thank me. I just happened to be next to you, I didn't do anything special," he replied, his voice a little quiet and uncomfortable. He stole a glance at Arthur, then added, "I know I wouldn't've been your first choice," he released a laugh. 

I wasn't really sure why he said that, or what he meant by it exactly. Arthur was staring at him too, looking about as clueless as me. 

"Well, I appreciated your support in that moment. It was scary, I wasn't really sure what had happened but you kept me grounded," I continued, meeting Charles' eyes again. He simply nodded, his lips sealed. 

Arthur took a drink of his coffee, screwing his face up. "I think I'll have to bar Mr. Duffy from making the coffee. This is so bitter, it's barely drinkable," he murmured, "you folks want any coffee? Think I'll make a fresh batch." 

"Oh, that'd be nice," I nodded, "thanks."

"I'm good, thanks," Charles said, and then Arthur headed off with a nod. Charles finished bandaging my leg, and was closing up the tin when he spoke again, "sorry for the odd response earlier. I know Arthur's been feeling guilty over all this and not being able to keep you safe. I didn't want to make him feel like I was somehow– I don't know. I know he would've liked to have been there for you that night, instead."

I looked at him for a moment, considering. "You didn't want to make him feel worse. Or… inadequate," I murmured. 

"Yeah. Didn't take me long to figure out what kind of person he is. I don't think he's the jealous type, I think he's more likely to just feel bad about himself," he said, and I glanced over at Arthur where he was making the coffee across the camp. 

"You hit the nail on the head. I weren't thanking you to rub his face in it or nothing–"

"No, I know."

"Did he say something to you?" I questioned. He took a breath as he wiped his hands on his pants, ridding himself of bits of crushed lavender.

"When we were heading up here together, it was a long ride. We talked about a lot of things, about Guarma. About what happened while he was away. About the gang, and of course, you came up," he explained. He paused for a while before elaborating, and I was beginning to worry that Arthur would return before he could finish. "He's scared for you. He's never had a woman he loves in the gang before, he didn't realise how much it was going to worry him. Apparently he invited Mary to run with the gang a couple times, back when they were together. I think he's starting to realise how naive he used to be, now he's being stared in the face by just how fragile life can be."

"Seeing so many people he cares about die in the space of a few months will do that to a person, I suppose," I sighed. 

"Exactly," he nodded. 

I'd realised by then that Arthur was a nurturing person at heart, but he didn't realise it himself. He took on so much responsibility for the gang, and after I came into his life and we fell for each other, he felt responsible for keeping me safe too. I could see that he felt like somewhat of a failure when for whatever reason, he couldn't.

I hesitated for a moment before speaking. "Whenever I've spoken to him, he seems torn. He keeps saying he wants us to leave, find a safer life together. But he cares for this gang so much– I know it ain't gonna happen until he knows everyone else has a future. And I understand that." 

"There comes a point though…" Charles began under his breath, looking over his shoulder briefly, "where he has to realise that all of us? The gang? We've got each other. We'll figure a way with or without him, it ain't hanging on his shoulders alone. But you two? I, uh… I don't know. Maybe he needs to think about what he's putting first. Who really needs him the most. What he needs."

I stared at Charles with slightly parted lips, my mind reeling, buzzing. I didn't know what to say. He had a point and his words forced me to wonder and really question; did Arthur actually want to leave with me?

Arthur returned a few moments later, handing me a cup of fresh, hot coffee once I'd shifted to sit upright. I thanked him, and blew across the top of the cup, waiting for it to cool enough to sip. 

"I need to get something to eat, then I'm heading out again," Charles announced, smacking his palms against his thighs before pushing up to his feet. 

"Where you going? Anything you need a second gun for?" Arthur asked. 

"Oh, it's not always a job for guns, Arthur," Charles told him, a playful sternness in his tone at Arthur's automatic assumptions. "I'm going to the reservation. Bringing them some supplies; food, mostly. I'll manage alone. I thought you had somewhere to be today, anyway."

"Ahh, I don't know if I'm goin'," Arthur waved a hand dismissively. 

"Going where?" I asked curiously. 

"Got a letter from that Braithwaite girl," Arthur replied.

"Excuse me," Charles said quietly, ducking out of the tent and leaving us to talk. 

"Thanks again, Charles. Take care of yourself," I said before he left, and he nodded. 

"See you later," Arthur added.

"Penelope?" I asked Arthur, sipping my coffee as he took Charles' place by the bed. He hummed with a nod. "What did she say?"

"She's requested my help. After I helped out with that march of hers I guess she figured I wouldn't mind helping her again, but it's an awful long way away now. Not sure if I wanna head back down south just yet," he breathed, rubbing at his eye with his free hand. 

"Is it too dangerous?" I frowned. 

He sighed quietly. "No," he admitted a little glumly, "I lost that excuse when I busted John from the state penitentiary. Sneaking into the Braithwaite's place is a little less dangerous than that."

"But you don't wanna go," I noted. 

"She wants me to get her out of there, bring her to meet what's-his-face at the train station," he explained, "It's a long way away from here," he reiterated. 

"I remember you telling me we'd help them, if we could," I said softly. Arthur laughed through his nose, smirking.

"I thought you might remember that," he murmured. 

"I ain't gonna force you, not since I can't come along with you or do it myself," I shrugged, drinking more coffee, glancing out towards the main campfire. Arthur was quiet for a few moments.

"No, I'll go. Who knows, might make us a bit of money," he eventually said under his breath. 

"Yeah? Not 'cause you're a hopeless romantic at heart?" I teased. Arthur rolled his eyes at me. "Oh, an eye roll, you've been a real rogue these days. Disobeying orders, showing a little attitude," I smirked at him as I teased, and he huffed a laugh.

"Should I apologise for my transgressions?" He queried, cocking a brow.

"No. Not if this is you realising you're perfectly capable of thinking for yourself," I replied, thinking back to our conversation in his room at Shady Belle, when he admitted that he'd never had to think for himself, he just did as he was told.

"Mm. Maybe it is."

"You seen Dutch this morning?"

"Not really, I think he's still pissed off at me."

"Well then, he's a fool."

"I see Jack playing with his pa and it don't matter much to me what Dutch thinks. A boy should have his daddy around, if it can be helped," he mumbled, staring down into his coffee cup. My lips parted, but I drew a blank; I knew what he was thinking about. I reached a hand to his knee, giving it a squeeze.

"Arthur, I want you to know I'm proud of you. You're harder on yourself than anybody else is, but you have a lot of good in you. It always prevails," I told him, not minding that he kept his eyes down rather than meeting mine. "It's why I love you. One of the many reasons."

"It's when you say things like that, I just picture packing up all our stuff onto this wagon and just getting the hell out of here before Dutch can even tell me what he thinks of the idea," he murmured. I withdrew my hand, cupped my coffee with both hands as I stared at him for a while. Eventually, he looked up at me to analyse my silence. 

“I won’t hold my breath, but you know I’d never protest,” I sighed. Arthur looked sad for a moment, but I smiled at him, not wanting to go there. He smiled back and took a breath.

"Alright, princess. I got a love story to meddle in, haven't I?" He smirked.

"You go meddle in it, cross that off your list. One thing at a time," I smiled at him, "I'll be here when you get back, ain't going anywhere," I gestured to my leg with a sigh. 

Arthur retrieved his coffee, downed the remainder, then stood up. He cupped the back of my skull and kissed my forehead, then smoothed his palm over my hair a few times before straightening up. 

"I'll see you later, sweetheart. Can I get you anything before I go?" He queried, and I shook my head. 

"I'm all good, thank you."

"What about a kiss, can I tempt you with one o' those?" He asked. I chuckled at the unexpected offer, and nodded. 

"Go on then," I said, then he leaned down again, a finger under my chin to lift my lips to his. The kiss was tame and sweet, just enough for me to taste him and leave me greedily wanting more. Then he smiled at me one last time, and left.

-

I was excited to hear that Micah needed a button reattached to a pair of trousers. Not that I particularly enjoyed doing chores for him, he always seemed to get some sort of weird, gloating enjoyment from it, like he felt that me doing him a favour somehow gave him validation that he was above me. But I was just bored. Tired of feeling like a useless layabout, wanting to contribute to something, I was restless without productivity. I understood all too well how Arthur had felt during his recovery after his return from the O'Driscolls. 

So, I sat on the bed with my sewing kit, doing an especially good job of repairing the garment, making sure that the button wasn't going anywhere any time soon. The monotonous task of looping the thread through the button, pulling it flush to the trousers, securing, fixing, maintaining, was nice to absorb myself in and killed some time. When it was repaired, I did a good scan of the beige fabric, pulling seams, inspecting stitching, searching for anything that might need my attention. I found a row of loose stitching on the inner seam, and so I spent a few minutes more taking some preventative measures in reinforcing it. 

By the time I was done they were as good as new. I folded them neatly and handed them back to him when he came over to me in the afternoon.

"Thanks, doll, you ain't left no pins in there to stab me in the nutsack, have you?" He asked when he tucked them under his arm, crumpling them. 

"I'm low on pins, ain't worth wasting one on your nutsack," I murmured in response. 

"Right. Anyway, whenever Morgan gets back from whatever he's out doing, you let him know Dutch and I are in Annesburg, won't you? Need him to join us, soon as possible," he told me, his tone all serious and authoritative.

"Annesburg. What're you doing out there? I can tell you right now there ain't much worth robbing over there, ain't exactly a rich town."

"Business, my dear. Ain't nothing you gotta worry your pretty head about," he cooed, and I frowned in confusion. 

"What business you got? I'll worry my pretty head all I like, when you and Dutch are pulling Arthur out to some middle-of-nowhere mining town for business, when not twenty-four hours ago you was looking at him like he was the spawn of Satan for going out and damning us all," I spat, cocking my head.

"As much as I'm sure he'd love to spend all day hiding under your skirt, we've got wind of Cornwall stopping through there, Dutch wants to go pay him a visit to talk things out like men, try and stop him sending the Pinkertons after us like foxes to a coop," Micah explained, idly picking up the photograph of me standing up on one of the crates along with all of Arthur's other keepsakes. His moustache curled snidely at the sight of it, then he put it back down. "Don't worry. We ain't going out there to bump off old Sparkly Blues Morgan."

I snorted at Micah's attempt at a derogatory name for him, taking it only as proof that even he had noticed how lovely Arthur's eyes were. 

I smiled tightly. "Alright. I'll let him know." 

"Good girl," he grinned, nodded courteously, and spun on his heel to leave. My gut churned at his tone and his praise. It astounded me how different those words felt whenever Arthur whispered them to me.

“What was all that about?” A gravelly voice startled me and I gasped when John rounded the corner from behind the wagon. 

“Jesus, John,” I breathed, and he smirked at me.

“Sorry,” he laughed.

“It weren’t nothing. He just wanted me to pass a message on to Arthur,” I told him with a casual shrug. I looked him up and down, pleased to see him cleaned up and looking slightly less like a delinquent. “How’re you settling in?”

“Good as I could hope, considering daddy didn't want me back,” he said drily, coming and sitting up on the table next to the bed, putting his feet up on the chair. I smiled in amusement at his choice of seat. 

“I’m glad you’re back, I hope that counts for something,” I told him quietly and he looked at me from the corner of his eye.

“Yeah, it does, actually,” he exhaled, then looked at me fully. “I uh… I wanted to ask you somethin’,” he began.

“Okay,” I nodded, cocking my head.

“Since you’re a woman, I guess I feel like you’d be the best for this,” he said, and I raised my brows a little, curiosity piqued, “do you… really think Abigail and I got a chance?”

“I’m sorry,” I balked, completely astounded as to why he’d think I was qualified to answer such a question.

“Well, she’s been different since I been back, I can't explain it. She’s nicer. I feel like maybe things are looking up, but I don’t quite know where I stand,” he sighed, gesticulating anxiously, “I’m sure you know by now what a shitty man I’ve been to her. I guess I wanna know, do you reckon a woman could ever forgive a man like me?”

“I really ain’t the one to ask this, and I think you know that,” I said, and he sighed heavily, though he nodded.

“At least give me some… reassurance,” he pleaded and I chuckled.

“You want reassurance,” I repeated drily, glancing out over the camp, considering.

“I know I ought to be speaking to her about this. And we have, a little, but somehow I feel like she ain’t being as open with me as she could be. Or maybe I’m not. I don't know, I ain’t ever been good at this,” he grumbled, clearly frustrated with himself. I met his eyes and offered him a comforting smile.

“John, just tell her how you feel. If you want to make things really work with her then she’s gotta know your heart’s in it, and not that you’re just going through the motions because it’s what everyone expects of you,” I told him, leaning closer to him, “is it what you want?”

He was quiet for a few long seconds, his eyes dropping down to his feet. “Yeah. Yeah, I reckon it is,” he said under his breath.

“Then tell her. She’ll appreciate that. Transparency is the most important–” I caught myself, realising I was sounding far more knowledgeable than I really had any right pretending I was, “if being with Arthur has taught me anything, it’s that being honest and transparent is a lot easier than holding things back.”

“You two seem to have it figured out. Relationships, I mean, you seem to just work,” John mused, and it put a smile on my face.

“Arthur and I… we’ve got our own stuff,” I told him softly, “but we talk, that’s all.”

“I don’t know if talkin’s gonna solve all me and Abigail's problems, talking usually turns into shouting,” he chuckled, shaking his head.

“Well, maybe not, but it’s a start. Just… try not to let it get to the shouting stage,” I smiled sheepishly. 

“That ain’t usually my call.”

“Hey, that’s the kind of flippant attitude that’ll get you yelled at,” I snorted, smacking his knee lightly.

“Alright!” He snickered, crossing his arms over his chest. I exhaled loudly and smiled at him.

“You and Abigail can work if you try, that's my official response; as a woman,” I smirked. “You just need to speak to each other. She loves you, and so does Jack. Don’t squander what you’ve got. You’ll need each other when this all falls apart.”

“You sound pretty confident that this-” he gestured to our surroundings- “ain’t being held together by much.”

“Well, do you disagree?” I queried.

“No. Guess I’m just surprised to hear you validate it,” he breathed.

We both fell into silence for a few moments, each staring off into space and letting the conversation sink in.

“John?” I started, softly and timidly.

“Mm?” He looked at me.

“Work things out with Abigail. Get out of here, both of you, with Jack,” I whispered. His dark eyes widened a bit as he stared, then he blinked and looked away, his lips parting but nothing coming out. “I think everybody knows that it’d be best for you.”

“I…” He tried, shaking his head, fiddling with his hands. “I don't know what’ll happen. We’re all just… doing our best, right?” He met my eyes again, his expression soft, brows arched.

“Yeah,” I nodded, words hushed and coming out with an exhale, “we are.”

[digindydig]

Indy’s Stories

Part 4: A Night at Bowser’s

Indy sat back in her chair as she read the article. She sipped her warm tea slowly, trying to ease her hangover. She scrolled down as her laptop showed a picture of the sole survivors of the Endurance. Lara being one of them. It was past noon when Indy awoke from her slumber and the first thing that came to mind aside from her pounding headache, was of none other than Lara Croft. She spend a good hour searching the web before she found what she was looking for.

“So you’re ‘that’ Croft.” She said out loud, seeing the names of those who perished and photos of the original crewmen. But her headaches were making it difficult to pay attention to important information, she decided to give up the searching for now. Closing the laptop,Indy stood from her seat before her phone dinged as a text came through. It was from Lara. Indy had text her back when she awoke. Would a friend like Croft be good for Indy? Or would it be problematic? After all Indy was a thief, she wasn’t an archeologist like Lara or her grandfather. She was just a person with dumb luck and fast thinking. Some of Indy’s finds where based off of pure luck alone. She may not share the title of an archeologist but she was the highest paid raider. She knew her stuff and she was bloody good at it. Indy wanted to continue their conversation on Lara’s field of studies. She wanted to know how extensive Lara’s knowledge for history was, what places had she seen? What mysteries had she uncovered? But why was Indy so interested? Indy had to think on that. Why was Lara so interesting? They did share the same interests. Or was it that there was something else. Indy remembered the feeling she had when around Lara. Relaxed but intimidating.

‘Have to be careful around Croft.’ Indy would probably talk to Felicity about it.

She texted Lara back before she walked into the bathroom for a shower.

Later that night, Indy peered over the balcony, cold wind blowing through her hair, her green eyes focused on the busy street. Instinctively she was scanning the area, mapping out all the possible escape routes, her mind playing out scenarios. Something she found herself doing a lot, it had gotten worst after she came home. Her senses going into hyper drive even when she was out of danger. Adrenaline rushing, her mind racing. She knew that feeling.

“Heal that wound Indy.” She said to herself, she had a week of thinking and now it was time to do what she came to do. Lara had told her to get it done just like Felicity. She had no choice at this point, it had to be done if Indy wanted answers.

“Shit! Easier said than done.” She said out loud, she hung her head in frustration. She kept telling herself it was for a greater cause, too not let her anger get ahold of her when she saw the man. How would she feel when she see’s her sister or Cedric? It will only be a matter of time before Indy’s past is revealed. It will come to bite her in the ass later and she knew it. Indy wasn’t particularly the favorite in the tomb raiding business. Definitely will have a target on her back if news got out on who she was. She was screwed both ways. Was all of this really worth it? To Indy it definitely was worth it. She will pay a visit to the manor in the morning. The side door behind Indy opened. Felicity joined Her on the balcony. She leaned on the railing looking out into the city. In the far distance stood the Millennium Wheel, London’s big Ferris wheel illuminating. It was breathtaking for those who weren’t locals. it still amazed Felicity in how beautiful it looked at night. She still considers it a death trap but she can admit it was nice to look at. Sound of a ding caught her attention, she watched Indy smile at her phone as she’s texting back. ‘Interesting’

“Thought your weren’t the texting type? What’s the special occasion?” Felicity spoke and it broke Indy’s concentration. She snapped her eyes away from the phone to look at her partner. oddly enough she felt like she’d just been caught, like a child with their hands in a cookie jar. Strange for Indy to feel but she ignored the feeling and went to answer Felicity’s question. She knew Felicity was going to tease her to it if she didn’t tell her. ‘Might as well clear the air I suppose.’ She thought to herself.

“Well if you must know, I took you advice yesterday and made a friend.” Indy said. But was Croft a friend? Or will she become a foe? Indy was a bit unease about telling Felicity about her time with Lara. Was it a wise decision to tell Felicity everything? Yes, no doubt, Indy had to tell her even if she did want to keep Lara as a separate friend away from her already crazy ones. But her and Felicity where best friend’s and best friends don’t keep secrets. To Felicity it was a surprise to see Indy interact with people she didn’t know. Normally if It was work related or if you hadn’t met Indy before, she was cold and distant. That was her defense Mechanism. She didn’t blame the kid though. It was good to see her get out of her shell.

“Is that so? So who’s the unlucky girl?” Felicity had a smirk on her lips. Rolling her eyes at Felicity.

“Funny. But how do you know it’s not a guy?” She shot back. Sure she was going to tell Felicity but doesn’t mean Felicity will get her answer the simple way not after that comment anyways. Letting out a small tsk she knew Indy was lying.

“Because you don’t smile when a man texts you. So nice try.” Felicity said. She playfully punched Indy’s arm. Sometimes Indy forgets that Felicity knows a lot about her. After a few more playful bickering about who was person. The balcony door opened again only this time it was the youngest member of their crew. Another Aussie by the name Jai, he announced that their pizza had arrived. They joint the rest of the crew. The warmth of the apartment was welcoming and the smell of fresh food was enough to make Indy’s mouth water. After being out in the wilderness for so long Indy had to survive off the land, only time she would have something decent to eat was when Indy was in some town. She didn’t realize how much the familiar taste of pizza would make her relived to be back home. Moaning as the favor hits her taste buds.

“Do you have any idea how fucking good this taste.” Indy sign happily.

“Careful Pup, don’t burn yourself.” Said Dutch. Dutch born and raised in Fort Willams Scotland. He was the oldest of the group and one of Indy’s mentors. For a man in his fifty’s he was well kept, ex military along with Elias. Dutch was a man that really didn’t care about a persons feelings. In her younger years Indy often butted heads with Dutch but because of that, Dutch respected her for it. Dutch would had knocked someone’s lights out if they had talked to him in any ill form but Indy was special to him. Elias was more easy going. After Indy was old enough to tag along with them, Elias began to rely on Indy intuitions and that’s when they found out what made Indy so special. Photographic memory, the kid remembered everything. It was like hitting a gold mine. Over the years their relationship flourished and they gained more people, those Indy considered trustworthy and loyal. Jonathan Becket or Bowser for short, met Indy in the most unexpected and unforgettable time. Rumors where going around about a rookie who’s been picking up hard jobs and coming back loaded, going by the name Indy. Long story short Bowser took a job to steal an artifact from a museum in the middle of a civil war. Getting in was the easy part until Bowser ran into Indy or more into a heavy cast iron skillet Indy had in her grip. That it self started a game of cat and dog. In the end they turned out working better together. Calum Was Jai’s older cousin, they met through Felicity. Calum unlike the others pushed Indy’s buttons and often questioned her judgments on jobs which infuriated Indy at times but his loyalty showed in the end. He was there because Indy needed Jai. The kid was a technical wizard and a hacker to boot. The kid was still in college and stayed with Calum. Indy had no choice but to deal with man.

They all made small talk throughout the night, had a couple of beers. It was nice and relaxing.

“So what are you going to do about your problem, Pup?” Dutch stood next to Indy. He knew why Indy had to go talk to her family and it annoyed him that Amir wasn’t making things easy for her either. Dutch had become very protective over the years. Shaking her head, Indy chugged her beer before she answered.

“Not so sure, At this point I’ll just go with the flow. I’m going to stop by the manor in the morning to get this all over with.” She said. Once more her attention was taken away by her phone. Felicity placed her hand on Indy’s shoulder.

“Do you need me to go with you?” She offered because she knew this was going to be difficult for Indy.

“Or invite that new friend of yours.” She playfully teased but it made Indy chuckle a bit.

“No, This is something I have to do on my own. And I hardly doubt bringing Lara into the mix would help.” She didn’t know why she let Lara’s name slip from her lips but it was too late to take it back now. Much to Felicity’s delight to finally know the person taken Indy’s attention throughout the night.

“Lara? Hmmm sounds like a girls name to me.” She stated. At what joy did Felicity get out of teasing Indy, Indy didn’t know.

“Yes, Her name is Lara and she’s an archeologist to boot.” She didn’t want to say too much about Lara because she didn’t know the her. They had texted all day about little things unrelated to her family situation. It seemed that Lara was avoiding the conversation only telling Indy to go for it. But it seemed Lara was just as interested as Indy was. She asked about Indy’s line of work and other things. Of course Indy played it smart, not telling Lara too much. But sometimes Indy’s curiosity broke through when Lara spoke about history. She only met Croft last night, she was just a stranger whom Indy was curious about. Indy told Felicity and Dutch about her night at the pub where she met Lara but she left out the part about Yamatai.

“Could be a good asset to the team.” Dutch said but Indy shook her head.

“No, keeping her at a distance is the best for now. Until I can find out more about her.” Indy said. she did think about it but there was something in the back of her mind waving red flags and she took that into consideration, maybe now isn’t the right time.

“Smart. Keeping her at a distance until she can be trusted.” Felicity’s said. Dutch and Indy both agreed. The rest of the night was a blur to Indy. She knew when the morning came she will no longer be safe. But her training had to continue if she wanted to truth, she just hope that she doesn’t lose herself in the process.

It took longer then expected. I don’t own Tomb Raider or its characters. I do own mines. I know I didn’t get into details with the other characters but I’ll try to get to them.

[malunedyne]

¿Creíste que no te iba a encontrar? Quiero todas las respuestas del ask list de canciones de los 80 pero rapidito. (ay no perdón por no preguntar antes pero no tuve tiempo gfsgsfsdfsgfds)

rapidito :3 *se tarda más de una semana* !oof, perdona que el puente se me cruzó xD D:

billie jean: what do you notice more in a song - the drums or bassline?depends on the song! I find funky basslines sweeter to spot than drums sometimes

sweet dreams (are made of this): what’s the best dream you’ve had?maaaaaaaan, that is totally not something imma share here (lol) but I often find lot of peace when I dream of seashores….. it gives me a sense of tranquility and worth for some reason

africa: favourite 80s music video?you’re gonna murder me because I don’t truly watch music videos tbh jdkfkjsdf sorry

every breath you take: who’s the first person your mind goes to when you hear a love song?currently? no one, really

should i stay or should i go: how many languages do you speak?i barely speak spanish, a glimpse of english i have japanese and chinese abandoned atm and i’m interested in bengali too

uptown girl: what’s your favourite book trope?long ass nice paragraphs describing something with a short sentence at the end contradicting the whole paragraph (see Douglas Adams or Lemony Snicket djkfds)

don’t stop believin’: what’s the longest journey you’ve been on?longest in the road? perhaps some 10 hours in bus. as in time spent, a week or so when i was younger

i wanna dance with somebody (who loves me): who was the last person you danced with?uhh….. 5 years ago in college because of a stupid team work? i’m not good at it tho

maneater: where did you spend your last friday night?at my grandma’s backyard, staring at the sky

jessie’s girl: what would you do if you found out your best friend was seeing your ex?I guess I would feel jealous but since i’d have nothing to do romantically speaking with him, i guess i would let it be, people are free to do whatever

born in the u.s.a.: what’s your home town like?a fucking hell. i hate it. i wanna move somewhere else

wake me up before you go-go: how did your last date go?it’s been 84 years….. I guess, as always, nothing happened, or i would remember

girls just want to have fun: relationship with your parents?p good, but the wide generational breach it’s hard for them to understand some of my ‘millennial ways’, since i spend lots of time in the computer, working or watching anime, playing videogames and alla that for further reference since my life is kinda plain at this point, all they think is ‘i’m wasting time’ and they also think i’m talking 24/7 with strangers only when i’m only writing gay shit lmao

beat it: opinions on the police force?fuck the police

never gonna give you up: how old were you when you joined the internet?old enough to troll horny men online, perhaps….. 12 or so? (man, i surely am unforgivable lmao)

faith: when was your first kiss?2012, the cursed year. i was 17

i’m so excited: where was your first kiss?in my high school’s classroom….. remembering the context makes me feel like a bad person though

take on me: could you reach the high note?only with a great amount of effort

footloose: favourite musical?The Rocky Horror Picture Show

9 to 5: do you like country music?it’s not bad, but i’m not very into it either

back in black: what makes a good rock song?catchy riff, a good combination of everything: lyrics, bassline, drums….. a sick solo of any instrument

material girl: are you sentimental?oh hell yeah, i’m actually crying rn (jk but yeah i am lol)

walk this way: what was the most expensive thing you bought in the last six months?I was gonna buy a custom amiibo figure for 71 dollars (aprox.) but i cowered back, might actually buy it but then i wanted to buy some other stuff that is aprox. that price

you shook me all night long: are you seeing anyone at the moment?i was telling my friend the other day “the problem isn’t me being exigent, annoying or just plain weird anymore; the real actual issue here is the lack of men in my surroundings, lol"

thriller: favourite film genre and why?I don’t know, I don’t think I have a favorite, the only requirements i ask for is a fresh and not-predictable narrative; with those elements, i can even watch a romantic comedy movie gladly

i want candy: chocolate or sweets?c h o c o l a t e

ghostbusters: how far do you believe in the paranormal?I DO believe in alla that. For real. And thus, it deserves respect, since those are things that we can’t comprehend

the power of love: does true love exist?true cosmic love is accepting things and people for what they are and be willing to support them when needed

hungry like the wolf: what’s your crush’s favourite music genre?I don’t have a current crush so it’s a relief I don’t have to go facebook-hunting rn lmao

walk like an egyptian: favourite song currently in the charts?i, uh….. don’t know? i’ve been listening to videogame OSTs and my old songs only for months now lmao

(i’ve had) the time of my life: if you could relive any ten minutes of your life, what would you relive?perhaps 10 minutes on high school after the love triangle drama incident….. all in sake of having the clear, vivid memory and sensations to finish my story…..

just can’t get enough: what’s your guilty pleasure?shipping characters and dedicating time to write and read about them, since most of people i know sees it as a super weird hobby

i’m gonna be (500 miles): how far apart do you and your best friend live?i’ve saying i don’t like using honorifics, but FUCK you do live 7,353 km away from here

you spin me round (like a record): favourite modern cover of an older song?I fucking love Arctic Monkeys cover of All My Loving performed in one of their concerts

we built this city: if you were president, what would your first ruling be?sweeping away all of those lazy ass bastards at the chamber of deputies, cutting their salaries and invest more money in education, culture, arts, science and health services since we’re fucked up in almost every aspect

how will i know: do you believe everyone is deserving of love?loving, in the wideness of the meaning, someone else who we think does not deserve it and doing it anyway is the ultimate challenge, but i think everyone deserves love. no one is completely black or white, they just have distorted desires and hearts yet that doesn’t make them less worthy or human

nothing’s gonna stop us now: what’s been the biggest hurdle you’ve faced in your life so far?fucken dysthymia and self-doubt, man

come on eileen: have you ever written a song? if so, what was the genre?oh hell noo, writing songs is a whole challenge

living on a prayer: which was the song of your childhood?Penny Lane - The Beatles. coincidentally enough, my dad used to play that song a lot back when we lived in an apartment, so it was marked as that place’s song

sweet child o’ mine: describe your perfect first date.well, it involves a quiet place so we can chat, i instantly feel the chemistry with the person and an actual interest for them; we can jump from topic to topic and i don’t feel like being ‘someone else’ just so i’m liked

don’t you (forget about me): is there anyone from your past that you regret cutting ties with?not really, i’m okay rn. i lost some friends in this last year but i think i don’t even care anymore

eye of the tiger: favourite 80s movie?THE PRINCESS BRIDE, YOOOO

under pressure: give an example of a world event that occurred the year you were born. uhhh i had to google this one, so um: December 7 – NASA's Galileo Probe enters Jupiter's atmosphere, yay.

with or without you: what would you value most: a relationship or a job?this doesn’t specifies what kinda relationship but i would say it depends on that, actually

another one bites the dust: where did you achieve your biggest accomplishment?may 2012, cdmx. i went to my first therapy session. that’s my biggest accomplishment: care about myself so i can care about others

pour some sugar on me: turn ons?dude!!! long hair, kind aura, guys with submissive attitude, cultured but also willing to admit they don’t know everything and accept new knowledge

in the air tonight: do you enjoy flying?what.oh, no, i have never been in a plane tho !oof

tainted love: thoughts on synthesisers/electronic drum kits/technology based music?g r e a t. a good example? vaporwave, i love that shit

like a virgin: share a controversial opinion. if she breathes she a thot lol no i think all people deserve love. no matter what. but in this site, my most controversial opinion would be my posture that minorities are taking a defenseless posture, as well as being total intolerant to any kinds of frustration and depending of others for self-validation of themselves /you can’t change my mind meme.jpg/

karma chameleon: what do you like most about your appearance?not just yet, but it looks like i’ll inherit my mom’s tuft of gray hairs

@electroma89 a ver cuando traes más :ojitos:

[diem-writes]

1hour ficlet batch 5 #3

Another prompt given to me by @lazyblizzarddefendor Asking for a story about 2 of my favorite people in the Yuri on Ice universe. So how could I ever refuse.  I’d write a dozen more of these, if people simply asked. :}

A Touch of Cold

The stares are maybe colder than the howling wind outside of the motel room they ended up getting stranded in. Why they are sharing is just a matter of dumb luck, and the being stranded sheer bad luck all wrapped into one unpleasant situation.

“I don't care, as I'm the youngest it's only fair if I get the bed. I know the ground is dirty but you can take the bloody chair if you think you are too good for it.” Yuri snarls out, still shivering from the melting snow that had gotten down his hoody earlier.

“I mind neither the chair nor the floor, but common rules state that if I take up either one it does mean that the bedding is mine.” His voice is forced through clenched teeth, he wishes the heating will soon start warming the room but he fears it greatly.

“The hell.” Two large green eyes stare at him in disbelief. “I've never heard of any such rule. Why should I believe you it exists?”

Seung-Gil sighs. He is only one second removed from rubbing his temples in the same way he had seen this boys coach do when they had skated together at worlds.

“It seems that my experience with Victor Nikiforov proved me right then after all. Your coach fails to teach common sense to his skaters.”

“At least my coach knows how to train winners.” The defiant flick of the chin makes Seung-Gil laugh, something that even surprises him.

“Yes you win. I am starting to think that is all you are good for.” He smiles. “My coach tries to do the same for me, maybe it is my common sense and shreds of humanity then that are preventing me from being no more than a medal hoarding pack animal.”

The hurt look on the kids face make Seung-Gil waver in his conviction for a moment.

“What do you know about me. Do you have any idea what my life is like. You just stand there being some smuck bastard thinking he knows what the hell he is saying. You know shit about me.” The tears that form in Yuri's eyes are forcefully wiped away.

“You know what. You can have the bed. It isn't the first time I slept on a cold floor without food or heat.” He steps up to Seung-Gil, nearly pressing their noses together. “And once I'm out of here I will use that memory as I've been using for the past ten years to beat you and everyone else for every medal and prize money out there, so that I will never need to do it again.”

Yuri turns ready to pull the flimsy blanket of the bed, and ignore Seung-Gil for the rest of the night. Hoping they can get out of this bloody snow blizzard the next morning. He's stopped when Seung-Gil grabs his wrist.

The dirty look on his face deepens when he sees the look of sorrow on the other face. Crap the last thing Yuri wanted was for this ass to feel pity for him. He wants to live in a world where no one will ever look at him with pity in their eyes again.

“I was unaware that you had a past like that.” He gives him a tentative smile. “Knowing that, I can only admire how you have put yourself together. My apologies for making you feel like telling.”

Yuri takes a moment to asses the situation. Maybe the look he's getting isn't pity, but guilt. Yuuri had told him that that had been what he had felt when he had heard Yuri tell Victor the truth. Guilt for making Yuri relive moments of his childhood he rather not wishes to be reminded of.

“Yakov and my grandpa have done everything in their power to make certain it's not common knowledge. I would appreciate it if you keep it to yourself.”

Seung-Gil blinks a few times before he nods. If that is all he is more than willing to give his word about it. He too has things he rather not have the press found out. So he decides to even the playing field.

“I'm terrified of women. To the point I had to move out of my family home when I was about your age as the thought of my mother's friends and their daughters was giving me hives.”

He can't blame the chuckle when he is met with a look of complete disbelief. The growl when Yuri thinks he's being made a fool off makes him even burst out in laughter.

“I'm not joking. One of the reasons I am always doing my best to avoid Sara Crispino is because whenever she gets her hands on me I have to put on this awful smelling lotion on my skin that itches like crazy.” He looks a bit bashful “It influences my skating and not in a good way either.”

“Is that why there's such a big difference between some of your performances?” Then Yuri bites his lip and looks a bit more suspicious. “If that was really the case, why is your coach a woman?”

Seung-Gil sighs. “Because she is the one I can afford once I payed for rink time, and costumes, and my skates. There are some male trainers but they are nearly twice as expensive, and they will not even consider me till I've proven to be able to bring in enough money from my skating to be worth their time.” The shrug tells Yuri all he needs to know.

“It does explain why you are so bloody rude to her all the time. I'd have an issue with a coach that is giving me hives as well.” The snort that follows the words is quickly followed by a short cough.

“Oh damn. You are cold aren't you? Why don't you take a shower, get out of those wet clothes. I'm fairly certain nobody is wanting for you to get cold.” Yuri finds himself pushed towards the doors to the bathroom attached to the room.

“And I've thought of something about the bedding. If both of us put on our spare clothes from our bags, the bed is just wide enough to let us each have a side. That way we both lie comfortable and have use of the blanket in case the rooms heating never gets up to par.”

Yuri looks from Seung-Gil to the bed. Sure he's slept on worse, even shared a bed with his grandfather for a while before he started to make enough money to get noticed by sponsors. It would be the best solution. So he gives a quick nod to agree, grabs his bag, and slips into the bathroom.

After taking a quick wash down with one of the towels because the water of the shower never managed to become more than some lukewarm drizzle, he snuggles into his favorite longsleeve shirt, and biggest hoody. Putting his training pants over one of his dancing leggings, hoping that will keep him warm. He walks back into the room to find Seung-Gil already passed out at one side of the bed, maybe wearing even more layers than him.

'Ha' Yuri thinks, off course he went for this solution, if a Russian like Yuri is already cold there is no way that somebody that comes from a country with far more agreeable temperature isn't freezing to the core.

It takes some tossing and turning for Yuri to decide that the mattress is not one meant to give comfort to whomever is on it. He looks at Seung-Gil and notices that once the guy relaxes he doesn't look half as put off as he normally does.

Yuri's fingers softly caress his eyebrows, coming to the conclusion that they are what give the normal stern look. When two eyes flutter open a bit he pulls back his hand, only to realize that Seung-Gil hasn't really woken up. The eyes slowly close again, and Yuri finds himself lying there for a long while wondering if he was shocked or amazed at the soft look they had had.

When Victor manages to get a spare key for their room after they do not respond on his or Yuuri's knocking he is surprised to find the two young men completely wrapped in each others arms, dead to the world, with the softest smiles on their faces.

Knowing this is the calmest Yuri has been in ages he and Yuuri slowly slip back out of the room and decide to brace the storm a bit to go to the nearby diner and get them all some breakfast. It will be early enough to wake them once they can do it with fresh sandwiches and something to drink.

If you like this story or any of the other 1 hour ficlets, please consider sending in a prompt to get one for yourself.

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[tasteofswallowedwords]

Mere Speculation

Part Six

Pairing: Jughead x reader

Warnings: Mild swearing

Summary: Jughead feels guilty for digging into the new girl's past, and wants to make things right

Part One

The diner was empty as the four friends discussed (Y/N). They had ordered milkshakes, but each one sat abandoned on the table as Jughead to recounted the information he had found about Pop’s prodigal daughter.

“That’s horrible,” Betty said, wide-eyed.

The others nodded in quiet agreement. They sat in stunned silence until Archie quietly asked, “Why did her mom file restraining orders against Pop? What did he do?”

“I don’t know,” Jughead confessed.

“You know,” Veronica said carefully, “this is really messed up.”

Jughead didn’t argue, so she continued, “This poor girl has been through all this bullshit, and – no offence, or anything – but you’ve just been a huge pain in her ass since she got here.”

He sighed, angry because she was right. He knew from the moment he saw (Y/N) that he wanted to know more about her. He knew the first time he spoke to her that her wit was as attractive as her appearance. Everything about her was intriguing, and he was obsessed.

“I know,” he said miserably.

“Why’d you do it?” Betty asked gently.

He took a deep breath, trying to gather his thoughts and supress his emotions. “My curiosity went into overdrive, I guess,” he shrugged sadly. “I wanted to know everything about her, even the stuff she wasn’t prepared to tell me.”

He thought about all the things he had said and done to (Y/N). Going through her notebook was so wrong; he shuddered at the memory. Had he really suggested that she was somehow involved in Jason’s death? He had indeed. Not only that, he had gone full bad cop and held her in Blue and Gold offices.

Jughead dropped his head into his hands. “Oh God, what do I do? She’ll never speak to me again!”

“You have to apologise,” Veronica insisted.

“She might need some space,” Betty said unsurely, brows furrowed.

They looked to Archie, who smiled wryly. “I’ll give you the same advice a friend gave to me not too long ago. Just talk to her. It’ll go a long way.”

Jughead nodded, and his friends left him in the booth. He took five minutes to build up his courage, then walked to (Y/N)’s house before he could change his mind. At the door, he debated going home, but eventually knocked quickly and cursed to himself, supressing the urge to run for the hills and never look back.

 Pop answered, to Jughead’s surprise. He rarely saw the man outside the walls of the diner, and when he did, he wasn’t wearing sweat pants.

“Jughead,” Pop said, surprise evident in his voice. “What can I do you for? I hope you’re not looking for a burger, I’m off duty,” he chuckled.

Jughead laughed nervously. “No, actually. I was hoping to speak to your daughter? (Y/N)?”

Pop frowned. “It’s late, son.”

Jughead glanced at his watch, which read 10pm. “You’re right,” he replied. “I’m sorry.”

He turned to walk back down the drive, when Pop called, “She’s still up. Come on in.”

He led Jughead upstairs to (Y/N)’s bedroom door. They could hear her music playing through it. Pop knocked and the music abruptly cut off.

“Yeah?” (Y/N)’s muffled voice answered.

Pop opened the door, peering in. “You have a visitor.”

He pushed the door open further so Jughead could see the confusion on (Y/N)’s face morph into anger as she met his gaze. She masked her expression for her father’s benefit and forced a smile.

Jughead smiled awkwardly at Pop as he wandered downstairs, then he quickly entered (Y/N)’s room and shut the door before the yelling could begin. She stood in front of a huge canvas propped on an easel, paint brush in one hand and a scrap of cardboard she was using as a palette in the other. She had been painting the sky in a storm. It looked almost as ferocious as she did. She set the palette on her desk, the brush in a jar of water, and turned towards him.

“Get out,” she whisper-yelled. She took quick steps towards him and pushed him towards the door. It wasn’t a violent gesture, but it wasn’t friendly either. “Get out, get out, get out.”

“No,” Jughead quietly insisted. He held his arms up in surrender but didn’t move. “I just want to talk.”

“We are so past the point of talking,” (Y/N) whispered, exasperated.

“I’m sorry, okay?” Jughead said quietly. “I came to tell you that. I’m sorry.”

“Oh yeah?” she asked, dumbfounded. She was clearly finding it difficult to remain quiet. “What the hell is this, then?”

She produced her phone and scrolled through her texts until she found what she was looking for, holding it out for him to see.

A message from ‘Becks’ said:

  some weird guy just interrogated us about u?? he said he worked for ur school paper. Should we be worried??

  “You went to my old roommate?” she demanded.

“Well, yeah, I-”

She laughed. “Let me get this straight. You knew I was mad at you for spying on me, and you thought it would be a good idea to spy on me some more? Then you come to my house at night and expect me to forgive you?”

Jughead couldn’t mask the shame on his face. “I don’t know what I was thinking-”

“You just couldn’t take it, could you? The thought that somebody out there knew something you didn’t.”

The truth of her words shocked him like a splash of ice water to the face.

“I know, it’s bad. But I know now. I get it. I know how much you cared about him-”

“I’d never hurt him,” she said through clenched teeth.

“I know,” he said softly, gently grasping her shoulders. “I believe you.”

She pushed him away. “I wasn’t asking you to believe me,” she hissed. “I was asking you to trust me.”

“I’m sorry,” he said again. “I just wanted to know the truth.”

“Well you don’t get to justify everything you did just because you were curious. You can’t distract yourself from your own life by prying into mine!”

She gasped at her own words, eyes wide. “I didn’t mean-”

“It’s okay,” he interrupted, smiling ruefully. “You’re right.”

“It’s just-” she huffed, frustrated, but her expression softened slightly. “You don’t have the right to every answer, okay? I’m not some book you can open up at any page you want. I’m a person. I’m allowed to have secrets.”

Her frustration melted into sadness. She peered up at him with tears in her eyes. “You can’t just go rummaging through people’s closets and digging out their skeletons. We leave things in the past because they hurt us. Did you ever think that maybe the reason I didn’t want to tell you about all this is because I didn’t want to relive it?”

“I’m sorry,” he repeated, itching to reach out and hold her.

“Yet here we are. You know everything about me now. Every shitty thing that’s ever happened to me. Are you happy? Is this what you wanted?”

Her breath hitched, and the tears overflowed. Jughead couldn’t restrain himself any longer. He reached for her shoulders again, and when she didn’t pull away, he tenderly pulled her into his chest. With one hand rubbing her back, he stroked the back of her head with the other. “I’m so sorry,” he repeated, over and over, lips brushing the top of her head.

She reached up and balled his jacket in her fists, quietly sobbing into his chest. When she pulled away, she left tear tracks on his shirt. He brushed the remaining tears from her cheeks, brow creased with the knowledge he had put them there in the first place.

Part Seven

[bornasghosts7165]

All I Want: Part 5

Previous Part

“Who is Liam Payne to you?” Maddie asks you suddenly.

It had been four days since your talk with Liam and so far, he had stayed away, which was making you suspicious. Once your adrenaline died down that day you were back to being curious about his presence. It was like when you were standing right in front of him all your emotions had come back and all you wanted to do was scream at him, but the second he was leaving you alone you were anxious for answers again. You hadn’t thought about him for the better part of a year and a half, but now that he had resurfaced it was hard not to think about him. He, and his effect of you, was pretty much all you thought about in the past four days.

“Excuse me?” You reply, as you lift your face from your camera. You are trying to get some pre-tour pictures from the balcony before Maddie interrupted.

“Liam Payne? New stage rigger on this tour? You supposed ex? Maybe you’ve heard of him.” Maddie says and sits down next to you.

How could she know about Liam? You didn’t mention anything. The only other people that knew were Louis and Harry, and of course Liam. Liam didn’t seem like he was going to blurt out your relationship history to someone he didn’t even know, and Harry apparently didn’t see the urgency. 

“Who told you?” You ask, worried that she knew more than you wanted her to. 

“I am the manager of this tour. It’s my job to know.” Maddie answers. 

She was using her adult, serious voice. The Maddie that was forcing drinks down your throat a couple nights ago replaced with this rare form of Maddie that protected, and cared for her friends at all cost. It was what made her a great tour manger and it was what made her a great friend. 

“So, Louis told you?” You answer. Louis wouldn’t spill your secret like that, right?

“Yeah, because you didn’t.” Maddie said. “Any reason why you didn’t want me to know?”

“I only found out myself a couple days ago.” You tell her. 

“And you should have told me then. I wouldn’t have hired him if I had known.” Maddie assures you. 

“I know.”

“Do you want me to fire him?” Maddie asks. 

“Why does everyone keep asking me that?” You reply. “We can’t just fire him, Maddie.”

“Why not? Anyone who is responsible for breaking your heart is a son of a bitch in my book.” Maddie declares.

“Maddie, it’s fine, really.”

“It’s fine? As in you don’t have feelings for him anymore?”

You didn’t know what was happening with Liam. You only talked to him twice and both times you felt like you knew less and less. You got a weird sensation about being around him each time, like there was something he wanted to say to you or like your feelings for him were maybe somewhere deep, deep inside you. Your emotion ran so high when you were with him that you didn’t know what was real and what was left over emotion. There may have been a moment or it could have been all in your head. The point was that right now, Liam was just another stage rigger.

“Maddie, listen.” You say. “It’s fine. It’s in the past, and it’s really not a big deal. I’m with Harry now, and Liam is not even on my radar right now.”

She was quiet a moment longer before finally saying, “Okay.” 

“Okay.” You reply. 

“But, if he fucks with you I’m going to fire his ass.” Maddie assures you. 

How you were managing to convince everyone that your ex-boyfriend joining you and your current boyfriend of tour was ’fine’ you had no idea. It wasn’t normal and you were sure this was a special hell made just for you. But what was there to do other than to roll with it. No point in freaking out; nothing had happened yet; nothing serious anyway. Until something did you would continue to do your job, take pictures, and keep to Harry’s philosophy that there was nothing to worry about.

“Who in their right minds let me be in charge of a multi country, nine month tour?” Maddie asked as she settled into her seat and went over the schedules again. 

“You’ve done it before.” You remind her without looking away from what you were doing.

“Do I need to remind you of the time we almost went to Leeds instead of Bristol?” Maddie tells you. 

Now you were watching Harry rehearse and Liam watching with the rest of the stage riggers; a sight you thought you’d never seen. You were keeping Harry’s confidence in you close to heart and you weren’t getting involved with Liam in the slightest sense of the word, but boy was your mind testing you. Your eyes moved from Harry to Liam and back to Harry. Seeing them work together was unsettling and just bizarre. The sight was making you even more anxious to know Liam’s motivation. Liam was willingly working with your current boyfriend instead of leaving. Was that something a sane person would do? Maybe. It certainly seemed like something someone trying to stir up trouble would do. 

“Yeah, but that was a freak accident.” You answer after a long lull. 

“Well, now I have to worry about the tour and whether or not my best friend is going to make a reunion with her ex.” Maddie says. 

You finally look over at her.

“What?”

“What are you doing?” Maddie asks quizzically.

“Watching.”

“Watching who?”

“Maddie.”

“(Y/N).” She raised an eye brow at you. “So I should be worried?”

“No, you shouldn’t be.” You answer firmly.

“No?”

“I’m just curious.” You admit. “That doesn’t mean I’m going to suddenly lose my mind, forget everything that happened, and jump into bed with him or something.”

You really weren’t sure if you would ever forgive Liam. Not only because of what he did, but also because of what it did to you. How do you forgive someone for taking a part of you? How can you just get over that. If he was here for your forgiveness, it was going to take a hell of a lot longer than one tour leg that was for sure. However, despite your ‘no forgiveness’ stance you couldn’t help but remember how things used to be whenever you looked at him. Every time he looked into your eyes your heart was on the verge of skipping a beat before you would come to your senses, which was disturbing. Was it because you never got closure? Or just because your relationship with Liam wasn’t the kind where the love just went away. You couldn’t possible still having feelings with him. You loved Harry, and there was only room in your heart for one.

“So you don’t mind if I do?” Maddie asked.

“What?!” You say quickly. You were so surprised that if you were drinking something it probably would have come out your nose.

“Relax, I’m kidding.” Maddie says. “Just testing you. Quite the reaction.”

“Some joke. I just was surprised is all.” You say, trying to cover up your visceral reaction. “Sleep with your subordinates all you want. Just stay away from mine. Liam’s all yours.”

“Yeah, sure.” Maddie says. “Listen, I don’t know what happened between you two, and I know you don’t want to tell me, but clearly it was a big deal. If you need to talk about it, you know you can always tell me anything.”

You look at Maddie and genuinely consider telling her what had happened. She was one of your closest friends and the fact that she had no idea how much of a huge part of your life Liam was kind of insane. To her he was probably just a normal ex, but little did she know it was much more than that. Telling her would make you feel better that someone knew what you were really struggling with, and how weird this was for you, but that knowledge would come with other things that you weren’t interested in. 

First off, she would probably feel awful for you, which was not something you needed. You didn’t want anyone’s sympathy, that would only make you feel like you were reliving it. Second, she probably would be worried about the possibility of a love triangle because of the very nature of yours and Liam’s relationship. It was intense, and it was a big deal, and other people would probably be shocked to find out just how intense. Third, you knew Maddie would want answers if you told her the whole story, and then the secret would be out. Harry would know and then he would probably be worried too, and that was the last thing you wanted.           

“I know I can.” You say. 

You pulled your camera up to your face and snapped a few pictures of Harry rehearsing. This secret would live and die with you and Liam. No reason to open up old wounds. You liked the way your life was now and you would do everything you possibly could do keep it that way. Of course, you would have to find a way to make Liam keep that secret as well. 

You pan the floor with the camera still to your face. You snap a few pictures of the crew testing lights and everyone working hard to make sure the tour went off without a hitch. You loved the hardworking nature of tour. Everyone knew exactly what they were supposed to be doing, and they did it well. It was almost comforting to know a show would happen every night. You knew exactly what to expect, and that was something that soothed you. Soon you find Liam in your view finder and thought how weird it was that he was now part of this well-oiled machine that you thought of as home. You never though Liam would be part of your home again, but he managed to find his way back to you like he was always meant to be there. 

You linger on him a moment longer, until suddenly he looked up at you. It felt like he was looking right through you. You put the camera down to look at him with your own two eyes, and Liam didn’t look away. Even from far away you could tell that it was killing him not to talk to you. You weren’t sure if he was really staying away from you because you told him to or if he was messing with you until you just had to know what he was here for. The look in his eye didn’t seem malicious, in fact it looked like desperation, but you felt like you couldn’t be too sure.                      

You looked away first, feeling unconformable with the intense eye contact. You didn’t like that Liam was able to look at you in any capacity. You didn’t like that he was here, and you didn’t like that at any moment he could come talk to you. You could tell that Liam understood that, which was why he was keeping his distance. He didn’t want to make you uncomfortable, which you appreciated. You knew it was only a matter of time until he found his opening and you would have to talk to him. You would prepare yourself for that moment. You weren’t going to get any answers if you kept getting emotional

“Just…be careful.” Maddie tells you after witnessing yours and Liam’s eye contact. 

“Maddie, there’s nothing to worry about.” You tell her. “Liam and I are so beyond over.”

“That doesn’t mean that he can’t still hurt you.” Maddie tells you. 

“Liam is never going to hurt me again, Mads. Trust me.” You say adamantly.

“Not if I have anything to say about it.” She replies. “I’ll kick his ass off this tour. Just say the word. Now come on, it’s lunch time.”

“I can’t. I’m getting lunch with Harry. He apparently has a surprise for me.” You tell her. 

Maddie shakes her head at you.  “You two are disgusting.” She jokes. “Don’t make him late for the interviews later today or it might be you I’m kicking off this tour.”

“Yeah, yeah. Without me you would have ended up in Leeds instead of Bristol that one time.”

[lolosundara-blog]

That daydream feel...

I know it’s wrong, and the instant those thoughts come unbidden to the forefront of my mind, another voice chants “wrong, wrong, wrong”

So many years, spent daydreaming the wrong daydreams. 

His hands on me, his whispers in my ear. I smile and nod my head, and turn towards him, looking him straight in the face, and my heart squeezes as something deep in my belly awakens.

“It’s not right” “Just this one night”

But it’s not just one night, it can’t be. It’s too real, too sweet, too painfully addictive. I slide his jacket down his arms, kiss him as I unbutton the top buttons of his crisp white shirt and tug so it comes untucked. 

His fingers slide through my hair, pins fall and clink on the floor as they find their new home. He slides his hands down, down my neck to my shoulders, to my chest to tug on the laces of my shirt. My chest is heaving in time with my pulse, rapid, shallow breaths, and his rough fingers find my smooth skin bared to him. 

I pause in my efforts to unbutton him. Adrenaline centers my focus and crystallizes the moment, the point of no return. And then I am ravenous, hungry to press myself against him. To feel discovered, a forgotten relic retrieved from the lost & found. 

He slows me down, wants to take his sweet time with me. My shirt slips off of my shoulders, hanging loosely around my elbows. At the sight of me, he takes a deep inhale, and I watch his blue-green eyes search mine. He bends and takes my mouth, wrapping his arms around me, one pressed in between my shoulder blades, and one at the crest of my ass. I swear he can feel my heart sing to him, and with a breathy sigh, he leads me further into the den of the lions. 

I’ve been here before, but not like this. I was here before with the person I’m supposed to be doing these kinds of things with. Just visiting. At that time, I cautiously perched on the edge of the bed, passively listening to the conversation between the two. I was an extra, a ‘+1′, and that was an identity I never thought I could shake. 

It shifted when we both went away. He was gone for much longer, I for mere weeks, child’s play in comparison. But all the same, away. And the day after we both arrived back, strangers to our old selves, our time away slipping further away into a dream, that we saw each other, truly, for the first time. 

His facial hair was grown out, and easy smile lines crinkled his eyes when I asked him what time it was for him. “3:00 pm, you?” “6:00 am” My hair was lighter, sunkissed, and my body trim and weary. Despite my weariness, I sat more clearly in my own consciousness, eyes more full and awake than I had yet been, and the same was true for him. We recognized it in one another, awareness magnetized to itself. 

It started out slowly. He wished me happy birthday through someone else, and then soon after, he sent me a message asking what I was up to. We talked about meditation, of all things, and he asked if I would teach him. Of course I would teach him. We would sit down cross legged, facing one another as I guided his breaths, or rather, our breaths. We honed our attention to one another in silence. 

Session after session, we sat on the carpeted floors of his home, and it ended the same way every time. The timer would sound that we had sat for enough time, I would tell him to open his eyes slowly, just 10% at a time. “Allow the outside world to simply come to your eyes, don’t seek, let what’s there come to you.” And so we would slide our eyes open, a slow courtship with light and sensory experience. Our eyes would meet, pupils full of each other, soaking in the experience of sharing space. He always broke first, a cautious smile that invariably pulled the corners of my lips up, too. 

As the sessions continued, smiles turned to laughter, laughter to hushed conversations in the post-meditative glow. We talked of travelling, of our parents, of our hopes and dreams. He was easier to talk to now that he’d been away and returned. Behind his soft blue-green eyes, I knew there were experiences he’d never want to speak of; he relived them in his dreams and nightmares enough. Now that I’ve been back, I spoke more easily, my voice a tool I had learned to wield while struggling to find my own way in countries where I couldn’t speak to anyone. 

There were certain topics we perennially avoided - our past and my current relationship. We had an unspoken agreement from the day we saw one another again, unconsciously decided in the moment we met eyes. 

Before he had left, he was seeing a gorgeous girl. I ran into them twice, and I couldn’t help but feel envious of their shared beauty together. Both tall, long-limbed, one light and the other dark. She was strikingly intelligent, matched well with his artistic talent. 

And of course, there was my artist. From the moment we met, I was lost. Lost in his watery, murky depths. I desperately wanted him to be able to pull me out, to command and protect my heart from the hurt we both shared. But I knew on some level, he could not do that for me, and nor I for him, because deep within us, we are flawed in the same way. Our souls are mirrors of one another, and the ancient cracks run deep. We yearn for the same thing: for something or someone to make us stand in our own power, rooted firmly in the knowledge of self. My artist and I, we sink into one another and I have been slowly drowning for years. 

I stayed with my artist while I was away, though we barely spoke. However, James had made a different choice, and ended things with his beautiful girlfriend before he left. He returned unattached and ready for the world. I returned with doubts, and a fear of returning to the depths I would drown in. 

James was friends with him, my artist. They worked together, and were starting a business together. And so we started as friends, too. 

One night things changed. Our eyes met, eyelids heavy as we slowly uncovered each other. He held my gaze, and I his. This time, he didn’t smile. He didn’t say a word. I saw something like intent in his eyes, and the space between us crackled. In my mind’s eye, I saw us rushing together, colliding halfway, both breathless with want. I could almost hear him tell me how much he had longed for this moment, and I almost heard myself cry his name in passion. But he simply held my gaze, drinking me in like a cool glass of water. I was captured, unable to look away. He opened his mouth, as if about to speak, but changed his mind. After a moment longer, he broke eye contact and turned his gaze downward to his hands rested in his lap. I followed his gaze, wondering what his hands would feel like on me. I internally chastised myself, “James is just your friend, he can’t be more.” 

“Thank you for today’s session, Lola.” “You’re welcome, James.”

He offered me a hand to help me up, and as my fingers skated across his warm palm, my heart leapt. I found my legs again underneath me, wiggling a bit to get blood flow back. Then we laughed as he did the same. We were, after all, creatures of habit, our old selves pressing in on each moment, trying to guide our thoughts, feelings, and actions. It was through this practice that we warred against them, keeping ourselves new and fresh for one another. He let my hand go, and I instantly wanted more. He ran his hand through his beard, smiling and shaking his head a little as he looked at me. We were standing too close, I thought for sure, he could feel my excitement. I took a practiced inhale through my nose. Centre, centre, centre. Finding my feet again, I told him I’d see him next time, and turned to go. 

He walked me to the door. I put my shoes and coat on, bracing myself to rejoin the cold winter outside, leaving behind the dimly lit, soft carpeted rooms of James’ apartment. I pulled the zipper of my coat up, and in my haste, I zipped a stray curl. I struggled for a long moment, trying to unzip and extricate my hair. “Here, let me,” James said, approaching from where he had watched my blunder. He held my curl in such a way I wouldn’t feel the pull of the zipper, and with long fingers, he carefully guided the pull down, and after a brief catch, my hair was free. I watched his fingers guide the zipper back up as he tucked the hair behind my ear, fingertips grazing my cheekbone as he did so. My spine tingled, sensation raced through my abdomen, and I wanted nothing more than for him to pull that zipper down instead of up. I smiled, and he returned it, his eyes still more intense than I was accustomed to. I didn’t know how to leave. My body begged me to stay. Next time, next time, I told myself, telling myself old lies to get my feet to move. I did leave that night, but the memory of his eyes so dark and intense did not leave me.