#how goddamn claustrophobic it was in there with all these people pouring in and how already tiny that dumb place was

[lesbianstarlightglimmer]

night

[bokunosimpfiction]

Yandere!Karl Heisenberg x Reader

Synopsis: Heisenberg kidnaps the reader. And she’s pissed about it. And so is he. Turns out there’s a lot more to it than it seems, tw: kidnapping I’m not tagging for violence because it’s less graphic than even the mild stuff in canon. Like reader gets a concussion and a dislocated arm, that’s it.

A/N: first time ever writing for Resident Evil. I haven’t even played the games, only watched a play-through and immediately fell in love with this hobo. Honestly, there’s a lot of room to make a sequel or some more from this but I have commitment issues and it probably won’t happen.

Oh and one last thing! Do you think I should add resident evil: village to my fandoms I write for or no. Let me know please!

             It’s dark in your small cottage, claustrophobic with the way you stumble to the front door as fast as you can. You try to take deep breaths, but you can’t, not with someone chasing you. You cut through the kitchen, and when he reaches out to grab you, you slam the door to a cabinet as hard as you can. You can hear his pained yell.

             “Don’t make this harder than it has to be, (y/n),” he says.

             “I’ll make it as hard as I damn please!” You put your hand on the handle to the front door, twist and right before you manage to open it, a body slams into yours and you hear your arm pop. Loudly. And it burns at the elbow like someone poured gasoline on it and set it on fire.

             You can hear his heavy breathing and feel the warm air on the crown of your head. “You put up a good fight, I’ll give you that much.” He presses his body further into yours, and you feel everything. The toned muscle under a layer of fat, the harsh fabric of his shirt and jacket, and the bulge that presses into the small of your back.

             “You’re so small,” he coos, like he’s talking to a dog, “I can’t wait to break you.”

             You manage to wiggle one arm free and jab him in the side as hard as you can with your elbow. You hear him say oof under his breath, and you take this as the opportunity to press your foot into the door and push back into him as hard as you can, to at least get him to stumble back.

             It doesn’t work, he just leans his whole-body weight on you and uses one hand to smash your head into the door. He could have done it harder, you reckon, but it still hurts like a mother fucker. “Shut the fuck up before I do something I regret.”

             “Like you don’t already regret breaking into my house and trying to kidnap me? Like you don’t regret slamming me into my door and dislocating my elbow? What are you going to do to me that you’ll regret? Huh?”

             He looks down at you through those yellow glasses of his, light from the glass peephole reflecting off of them but his hat shading the rest of his face. “I said shut the fuck up!” He presses your head even further into the door, and your temple digs into the frame. It hurts, and your eyes water from the pain.

             “Who even are you?!” You end up shouting. His grip loosens a little bit, just enough for you to move your head off the door frame and onto the actual door. “I’ve never met you in my goddamn life and you break into my house, say you love me, and try to kidnap me!”

             Something in him breaks, you can tell, the outline of his features look crestfallen. “You don’t know who I am?”

             “No… I don’t. And here you are in my house, chasing me around like I’m some goddamn animal you’re hunting.” Your eyes water. “I know you don’t mean a damn word you said this entire time.”

             “Shut your goddamn trap woman!” His grip on your hair tightens. “I love you and we both know it; I know everything about you.”

             “So, you’re a stalker? Huh, didn’t think I was pretty enough to have one.”

             “I knew you had a mouth on you, and it was attractive till it was pointed in my direction.” His voice is low and gravelly at this point, like a thin string that’s pulled taut and about to snap.

             “Well get used to it you fu-” You don’t get to finish your sentence, because a piece of metal from his hammer slams you hard in the face, knocking you out cold.

             When you wake up, it’s hard to open your eyes. It’s too bright and the room is spinning when you move your head up. That must be one hell of a bump on your forehead. You go to feel it, only to find you hands chained up to a metal pipe on the wall. Your feet are too, but that chain is a lot slacker.

             You’re lying down on the floor, a cheap scratchy blanket separating you from rough, worn down cement. It’s still hard and cold, but it didn’t scratch up your skin, so that’s something to be grateful for. You look around the room, only to find an old tv, that’s on, and playing static. That’s what was so bright, you realize.

             Suddenly the noise from the t.v. stops, and you hear a voice. It’s still sounds like static, but it’s audible enough to understand the words and recognize the voice. It’s the same guy who kidnapped you. You don’t really process what he’s saying, it’s just noise to you, and you close your eyes and curl up as best as you can. Maybe you’ll wake up, and everything will be okay.

             “Quit ignoring me girlie.”

             You snap out of your daydreaming. The days of that warm bed and leaky bathroom faucet are over, and this cruel situation is your reality for the time being.

             “Okay. Okay. But just quiet down my head hurts.”

             “I’d be sorry, but you brought that upon yourself,” he says.

             You can’t help but be snarky, you’re tired and already sick of this shit. “I’m sorry you don’t have the self-control to not kidnap people and knock them unconscious via flying pieces of metal.”

             “Touché.” You hear back.

             “Can you at least get me some Tylenol for my head or something.”

             “Why should I? After all the attitude you’ve given me, I should just leave you in there to starve.” Looks like he knows how to be snarky too.

             “Because you were the one who hit me in the head and locked me in here?”

             “Apologize and I’ll consider it.”

             You go back to your curled up position. “I guess I’ll just starve down here then.”

             The t.v. cuts off again, or you just tune him out, just run your hands along the chains to try and find a lock. You find the one attached to your left ankle and begin to plot your escape. Maybe you could pick the lock with a bobby pin? You run your hands through your hair, not only to find that it was down, but all of them were removed.

             You run your hands down your pajama pants. Maybe you have something in your pockets? They also turn up empty.

               “Are you looking for something to pick the lock with?” You hear from the t.v. You turn back to look at it, only to see his face. He’s not wearing his glasses, and he’s taken off his worn-out bucket hat, so you can see his untamed salt and pepper hair. “I took the liberty of searching your person while you were knocked out. I highly doubt you’ll find something to pick the lock with.”

             “You’re an asshole, you know that.” You find yourself saying. To be fair, you probably shouldn’t, considering that he: is holding you hostage, threatening to leave you to starve, and is clearly a psychopath, despite his claims that he loves you.

             “Calm down, you know it makes me upset to see you mad.”

             You can’t help but raise your voice at him. “Quit fucking taunting me! You won this stupid ass game. You kidnapped me! You can come down here and kill me now!”

             “You think I wanna kill you?” He asks, you can tell he’s just as furious as you are. He chuckles lightly. “You know I love you. I did this for your own good! There are people out there. People who want to taint you and your innocence! People who want to hurt you!”

             “I can handle myself just fine! I had before your psycho ass came along and kidnapped me!” Your furious, desperately searching for a weak point on the pipe with your hands while you yell at the t.v.

             “And what would have happened if I didn’t?” He asks you, “lady supersized bitch in the castle would have gotten to you first… I can’t have that.”

             “I’m sorry who?” You ask. Suddenly things have gotten more confusing.

             “I’m not the only one who’s after you,” he clarifies. “You think I’m the one who’s a psychopath, there’s a woman out there who wants to drink your blood and eat your flesh! And monster that wants to drown you and swallow you whole-”

             “Slow down! I have no idea what the fuck you’re talking about!”

             “Don’t interrupt me! I want what’s best for you!” You can hear him take a deep breath. “I’m going to bring you upstairs and explain everything. And you’re going to behave, am I clear?”

             You just nod your head.

             “Good. Now stop trying to find a weak point on that pipe to get loose before I get down there. It has carbon monoxide in there, you’ll poison yourself before you get to that door.”

             You immediately stop twisting the connector and drop your hands to your sides.

             “Good girl…” His praise makes you want to vomit. “Now stay still while I come get you.”

             When he comes down and opens that iron door and unceremoniously tosses you over his shoulder, you can’t help but comment on it. “Am I a bag of potatoes to you?”

             “Don’t complain, I could be like that Dimitrescu bitch and turn you into wine.”

             You shut up immediately and grasp the back of his coat for balance. You don’t know why, but his empty threats scare you immensely. You watch the hallways blur into one another, trying to see if you can find a window, or an escape rout of some sort, hell, even a vent he couldn’t fit in but you could would work well.

             He smacks your thigh. Not hard, but enough for a slight sting and to get your attention. “We’re in the center of the factory, there’s no need for you to be tracking an escape route, especially because you won’t be leaving any time soon.”

             Eventually, you end up in a small office like space, with a desk, a cork board with several pictures of people on it, and a large grate that leads to a tunnel downwards. He pulls the metal chair out of the corner with his powers and places you in the chair. “Stay.”

             “So…” He turns towards the cork board. “Since your out of town, I’ll explain the run-down-“

             “I don’t really care for the details.” You stand up from the chair and go to walk towards him, but he crosses the room in a second and slams you back down.

             “I told you to stay in that goddamn chair!” He opens his mouth to explain but a whirring noise starts out of nowhere. It’s loud, obnoxious, and coming from the vent. He opens it. “Shut your goddamn trap!”

             “Anyhow, (Y/N),” he starts, “the other three lords decided that they’re interested in you, for whatever their reasons are. I’m assuming they want to kill you.”

             “That’s a veeeeeery extreme assumption.” You roll your eyes, and prop your head on your hands.

             “Well two of them are well know for turning people into dolls and drinking their blood,” he says casually, “it’s only a fair assumption they want to do the same with you.”

             “I’m sorry they what?”

             He turns to you, surprised for a moment that you don’t know what he’s talking about. “Super-sized bitch over here,” a sharp piece of metal lands on the photo of a pale, middle aged woman with bold red lipstick and a black hat, “is one of the other three lords, known for drinking the blood of girls like yourself. Wouldn’t suggest meeting her, she’s not that pleasant.”

             “Known for?”

             “Sort of, most of the towns people don’t know,” he turns to you and leans on the table by the cork board, “they’re too busy worshipping Mother Miranda.”

             “I’ve heard her name before,” you say, “doesn’t she protect the town?”

             You can sense the anger you caused before you can take it back.

             “That Miranda bitch doesn’t protect anybody from shit. She’s the one causing all the issues, kidnapping people and mutating them, killing them and throwing their lives away like table scraps.” You slams his hand on the table and you visibly flinch. He quickly apologizes.

             “You keep mentioning ‘the other three lords’ how many are there, and who’s the one your excluding in that statement?” You question as soon as you get the chance. He’s talking, loudly, quickly and it’s filling up the space in the room with an anxious sort of white noise.

             “Pardon me,” he says, and waltzes over, almost over-dramatically. He brings your hand to his lips and places a light kiss. You can feel his stubble and chapped lips on the top of your hand. He desperately needs to use chap-stick. “I’m Heisenberg, one of the four lords, but you can call me Karl.”

             “Okay… Karl.” You test the name out on your tongue. “What are you going to do with me, now that I’m here?”

             He gets down on one knee in front of you, still holding your hand. “Oh (Y/N), I’m going to treat you how you deserve, like a princess.”

[sandersidesaddicted]

FOREST BROTHERS

Summary:  Virgil lives in the woods until five strangers come knocking on his door in the middle of the night it seems that he knows them more than they know him....

Word count: 2001

The roof leaked as the rain poured outside.

It was nearly 3 in the morning but to Virgil, it felt like 8 pm.

His hair was very overgrown, he could barely recognize himself in the mirror.

He always had a problem sleeping but it was better now without any people telling him to go to bed, there really wasn’t much pressure of living alone.

When he lived with his family, things weren’t…the best, he couldn’t be himself or do anything if it wasn’t on a stupid schedule.

But now he could do whatever he wanted whenever he wanted, and right now he wanted to sip hot chocolate and listen to the rain.

The house wasn’t big by any means but it wasn’t claustrophobically small either, it was like a cozy cottage, and it was to him.

He closed his eyes peacefully, drip, drip, drip, he could swear that was the most relaxing sound in the universe, drip, drip, drip, splash.

Wait, What? He thought. He listened attentively again, drip, splash, drip, splash, splash, and just like that, that relaxing moment was over for Virgil.

He dove under the window’s view and sat on the ground.

Virgil knew he could be overly paranoid and he shouldn’t panic but it was the middle of the night and he was deep in the forest, all those factors point to a serial killer or an escaped prisoner or- splash, holy crap he’s gonna die.

“Hello?” A voice outside his front door called, but Virgil almost didn’t hear him, he went from feeling safe to beyond panic to quickly.

The voice outside announced again, “Hello?” and Virgil nearly jumped into the wall when they knocked.

Virgil’s thoughts became more irrational by the second, his thought went from dangerous criminals to straight-up briar witch.

“It doesn’t look like anyone is home,” Another voice rang to who he accused knocked on the door.

“We might have to break in because we can’t stay out here all night,” Virgil sat up as he heard a logical voice propose.

Virgil started to have an internal debate of just opening the door so they wouldn’t break-in.

“But that’s wrong!” Mr. ‘Hello?’ conveyed.

“I am sorry Patton but we are lost, and I am sure they would understand” The almost robotic voice uttered.

“I have to agree with the nerd,” An reckless sounding voice affirmed.

“I think that’s the best opinion” A misfit voice obliged.

“You just want to commit a crime,” The reckless voice spoke again.

“You’re not wrong,” That’s why the voice sounded so misfit.

“I am the oldest and I say we do it,” Another voice advanced, how many people were out there Virgil thought. That voice sounded like a person was trying to tell a lie.

“You can't have that excuse when we are all adults,” The logical one proclaimed.

“I get to use that excuse so I am going to,” The sounding as a liar verbalized.

“The front window right there looks open,” The misfit suggested.

At that moment Virgil decided it was better to let the strangers inside rather than let them break-in and he turned on the porch light quickly.

He thought he heard the once reckless sounding one scream right after, and a bereft ‘told you we shouldn’t’ before mustering up enough courage to actually open the goddamn door.

Virgil stared and spotted about five men, he couldn’t quite see their faces with his weak porch light, but then he spouted, “Uh, hi?”

There was an uncomfortable amount of silence.

Until one of them walked to be better seen in the light, the man wore a light blue shirt and glasses.

This man seemed to be ten years younger than him “Hiya, Kiddo, we are a bit lost and we were wondering if we could stay here for the night?”

A hundred reasons ran through Virgil’s head of why he should say no, but something about this man seemed so… he couldn’t really say what with all the panic but his mouth said, “Sure.” without his control.

“Thank you,” The cheery boy noted and hugged the purple wearing stranger and walked inside.

Each man all seemed to thank him on their way inside.

Virgil now figured out whose voices were who’s. The logical one was the dark blue shirt and glasses man, the reckless one was the bold red shirt man, the misfit one was the green shirt and mustache man, and the one that sounded like a liar was the man in the yellow shirt.

He was also pretty sure the red guy and green guy were twins, and he could guess they were all brothers because they looked so similar.

Virgil also realized they looked similar to him but with all the anxiety it seemed like a useless thought.

They all looked kinda tired so Virgil commuted nervously, “Okay so I have three sleeping bags and blankets in the cabinet and the couch turns into a bed, you guys can decide the rest,”

“Ah yes thank you,” The green man professed dramatically then promptly jumping on the couch and seeming to fall asleep.

“So sorry about him,” The red man denoted.

“We really must apologize for our brother,” the dark blue man added and went over to move the green man so he could make the bed.

“It’s okay so, uh how did you guys get lost in the woods?” Virgil insisted, trying to make some small talk with the newly formed strangers in his house.

All of the four men still awake sighed in unison and then told a quite amusing story to Virgil about how they just wanted to go on a simple hike, and the red one wanted to be adventurous and guided them off the trail, which made the yellow and dark blue one fight over the map well the light blue tried to calm them both down until the green one just grabbed the map and throw into a lake chaotically making them have to wing it until they found this place.

The story made Virgil feel much calmer around the strangers and thought it would be okay if he fell asleep in his room that night.

“Oh, uh I never caught your names,” Virgil suddenly phrased after finally realizing he didn’t ask.

“Don’t worry we didn’t throw them,” the yellow man claimed,

That made Virgil laugh ever so slightly, and walked to his small kitchen to put his mug away. But something tugged at Virgil, they all seemed so familiar to him in a nostalgic way.

“We’re actually the Sander Brothers, as in the Famous actors, Victor and Brittney Sanders,” the light blue one commented,

Virgil froze, that was it, that was fucking it, that was the tug, but this couldn’t really be them, it’s like a one in a millionth chance.

“I’m Patton, the other one with glasses is logan, the one in red is Roman, the one who jumped on your couch was Remus and the one in yellow is Janus.” Patton went on not knowing Virgil tensed at the word Sanders, but Virgil did earn a curious brow from Janus.

Virgil was standing there, terrified-, no, petrified, in his kitchen basically surrounded by people, his brothers, he hasn’t spoken to in ten years.

His breathing began to Rigid as his horrible thoughts seemed to drown out the concerted voices around him.

He could’ve sent a birthday card, left a letter, or just even a fucking postcard to one of his brothers but he didn’t do any of that shit because he was a coward.

Because he thought he turned back on even the good parts of his past life it would all come rushing back to him, but it didn’t matter now because now all the five good reasons he should have stayed wandered to his house at 3 am.

His thoughts could go on forever but for some miracle, he heard a logical voice speaking.

“Sir, I need you to name five things you can see,” Virgil followed the instructions, and after the full exercise was complete, the group almost didn’t dare to speak after not knowing what set the panic attack off.

Virgil left when he was 17, he was the oldest, not Janus, Janus was 12, Logan was 11, the twins were 10, and Patton, his baby brother was 8, almost ten years apart.

Virgil couldn’t take the silence and though his mind was racing and yet blank all at the same time he mustered up a, “Sorry,”

“Sir there is no need to be sorry, you can’t control these types of things,” Logan declares, his little brother declares, Virgil thought, he was a genius back then he must be even more of a genius now.

“Yeah, there is no need to be sorry kiddo,” Patton told him, it was weird having your baby brother call you ‘kiddo.’

Standing next to Patton was Remus who must have woken up from his attack.

Roman seemed to say back and looked uncomfortable like he felt bad he didn’t know how to help.

And Janus had a hand on Virgil’s shoulder stabilizing his reality.

The reality, Virgil looked up and felt like he was going to puke they all turned out so amazing and caring, and he wasn’t even fucking there for them when they surely got neglected, and used the way he was.

Roman saw Virgil starting to panic, and quickly stated, “Yeah, everything is okay,”

That made Virgil want to cry, he already cried from the attack but that made him want to cry again.

He looked at Janus since he was the closest and then with Janus having his attention, Janus asked, “What’s your name?”

Virgil breathed and then spoke, “It’s Virgil,”

Virgil saw Janus’ eyes light up and continue to say, “Virgil Sanders,”

He looked to the ground as the words fell out of his mouth, he couldn’t bear to look any of them in the eyes, he left them, he caused them pain, to look them in the eyes right now would be his own personal torture.

Though he stayed looking at the ground he could feel their eyes turning to each other and then back at him.

Janus had his eyes stead on Virgil as he’d seen a ghost.

Janus got down next to Virgil to met his level and declared, “Look at me,”

Virgil felt like he needed to do that for Janus so he took some bravely and faced Janus eye to eye.

“I am so sorry JJ,” And like that nickname was a secret code, Janus hugged him knowing without a doubt it was his big brother.

“You’re so stupid, why did you ever leave I missed you so much,” Janus mumbled starting to tear up.

“I missed you to JJ,” Virgil was fragile from the panic attack, but it could keep it together just enough for his little brothers.

And like that, they all joined the group hug and all cried and expressed how much they missed him.

When they all broke apart there were only stuffy noses and red puffy eyes.

“You guys have grown so much, but you guys are still dumbasses getting lost in the woods,” they could only smile at Virgil as he talked, he’s really here.

Virgil felt almost frantic to tell them how proud he was of them.

“Wow, You guys turned out so amazing and you have changed so much, but Logan is still a smartass, the twins are still as reckless as ever, Janus is a sarcastic prick, and Patton you're still a sweet Hufflepuff,” Virgil stated proudly in his own special way which made them all laugh and happily cry.

After that Virgil still didn’t want to go back to see his parents, they didn’t seem to care when his brothers revealed they found him.

Virgil eventually moved out of the deep woods to see his brothers more often.

And Virgil always finds a way to at least see two of them a month.

[carmenlire]

I Give You Real Tough Love

Part I

read on ao3

Magnus eyes Alec and can’t stop the question from slipping past numb lips. And he tries, God how he tries. It feels like he’s been biting his tongue for weeks now, for so long that it’s a wonder blood doesn’t pour from his mouth along with the stupidly weak question.

“What are we doing?”

He watches Alec’s hands as they hover over the keyboard and his eyes dart up to see if there’s even a hint of expression on that beautiful face. He’s disappointed but not particularly surprised to see nothing but the same blank wall he’s been fucking for a few months now.

Infuriatingly attractive and twice as stoic.

When Alec drawls, “Having fun,” in a voice that makes Magnus shudder even as he hates himself for it, Magnus wonders how much longer he can keep going before an asinine question isn’t the only thing slipping into the space between them, the space that feels a little claustrophobic for all it could be as wide as the goddamn Grand Canyon.

He swallows the bark of laughter at the cryptic answer, at the nonanswer, and as the sound of fingers flying over a laptop keyboard fill the silence, Magnus regains his composure that had felt, if even for a moment, like it was melting through his hands like sand. “Just a little stress relief between friends?”

It feels like glass sticks in his throat as he watches Alec answer without even deigning to look up. “Exactly.”

Making himself presentable again, he meets Alec’s eyes in the mirror as he absently folds his tie. “And when it’s not fun anymore?”

He promises himself it’s not delusion as he watches Alec’s gaze flicker for a second. “Then we stop.”

Magnus smiles and wonders if they’re both fools or if it’s him, just as it always seems to be.

Just Magnus and his goddamn foolish heart that can’t help but hope for things that have no chance of happening.

He can’t resist poking just a little more though and doesn’t fault himself for wanting to find something that lets him know Alec feels something for him-- maybe not as deeply, maybe not what he wants-- but something.

“No hard feelings?” He doesn’t know what he wants. Christ knows he doesn’t want Alec to lay prostrate at his feet, declaring his undying love. But Alexander’s a fickle bastard and no matter how hard he tries, Magnus can’t crack him.

It’s quickly becoming the most infuriating puzzle he’s ever tried to put together.

Alec echoes, “No hard feelings,” and Magnus doesn’t meet his eyes for the rest of the hour before they leave, separately, two strangers for all the warmth they give each other.

--

He leans over Alec, kisses a trail from that beautiful mouth down to a jaw that leaves him weak in the knees, over a neck where the scent of Alec’s cologne is warmest.

He’ll never tell him, doesn’t think his pride or heart could take the hit at this point, but Alec’s claws are sunk so deep into Magnus that he doesn’t know how he’ll bear it when this thing between them ends.

Because there’s no doubt. Magnus might be a fool but he’s realistic enough. It’s been six months and Alec’s still as impassive as he was the first night they met, both seeking distraction from the ennui that comes from being the youngest CEOs of Fortune 500 companies.

Losing himself in Alec-- as though there was ever a choice-- maybe Magnus bites down a little harder than intended. His breath catches at the sound Alec makes though, something high and desperate and Magnus needs to hear it again.

“Darling, you have no idea what you do to me,” he whispers and his teeth are sharp as he marks a trail on flushed skin. He tastes salt and it only makes him want more.

He wants to wreck Alec, his darling Alexander, if only in his own head.

There’s only the sounds of Alec under him, of their sharp breathing, until he hears Alec utter words that still him.

“Make it hurt,” Alec begs. Magnus isn’t sure what he does, is only aware of Alec so desperate and lovely before him but Alec’s insistent. “Want to feel you. Want to remember this.”

And God help Magnus, but he wants to hurt Alec. Just a little, just enough so that Alec remembers who he let see him like this, so that maybe when everything’s said and done, Alec will feel Magnus’s phantom touch and wonder.

It’s not nearly enough but if this is all he’ll have, then Magnus will be goddamned if he doesn’t take it and run.

--

It ends like most things, Magnus thinks to himself as he stares out over New York. It’s a city he knows like the back of his hand and he has the sudden, desperate wish to lose himself in it’s darkness and never see the light of day again.

With the way it feels like his heart is being slowly, agonizingly ground to a pulp, he figures he’s damned anyway.

The room is silent and as he waits for his Alec to arrive, he idly examines the room. Straightening a frame, nudging a magazine into alignment, he kills time.

In the back of his head, he wonders if he really has the guts to go through with it this time. The truth is, there have been a handful of times over as many weeks when he’s resolved to end this thing between them. It’s been close to a year that they’ve been fucking-- because that’s all it’s ever been and Magnus is painstakingly stripping away any and all flights of fancy that might like to think it was more than that.

There’s never been a look in Alec’s eye. There’s never been a special gentleness he’s only ever shown with Magnus, a sort of lazy affection that lit up those wonderful hazel eyes just often enough to make Magnus’s heart jump with hope.

No, Magnus is done deluding himself and hanging onto possibility that’s never been his to begin with. They had a mutually beneficial relationship and Magnus knows it’s run its course.

He can’t take another afternoon of loving Alec and seeing nothing but bored interest in return.

Hearing a card at the door, he turns around just in time to meet Alec’s eyes. Knowing that he can’t drag this out or he’ll chicken out again, Magnus smiles-- just a little, all he can manage-- and starts without preamble.

“Alexander, we need to talk.”

So focused on finally getting this done with so he can nurse his wounds and start putting the pieces of his heart back together, Magnus ploughs on. For the first time, he comes outright and says what he means-- no flirty rejoinder, no coy lead-up, just ripping off the band-aid.

“I think we should stop this, whatever this is.”

It’s cathartic until his heart starts beating again in the empty silence that follows. He swears he feels it hurting in his chest, aching behind his ribs.

All Alec offers is, “Okay.”

Magnus bites his tongue so hard he tastes blood. Everything boiled down to one apathetic word. He wants to strangle Alec and maybe himself for falling for such a fucking bastard.

He barely hears Alec’s answer. His head is filled with white noise and distantly he thinks he might have said something meant to be chivalric but Magnus just feels like someone is taking a vegetable peeler to his heart.

He doesn’t know what he replies with only that he needs to get out of that room. He can’t be in the same space as Alexan--

Lightwood.

Ruthlessly, Magnus yanks his self control into place. They are nothing more than people who used to fuck. They might see each other at the odd gala, the occasional conference and it will mean nothing because Magnus will make sure of it.

It feels like he can’t breathe and Magnus prays his gasping is only in his head. He couldn’t take the indignity of Alec ever knowing that this meant so much more to Magnus than it did to him.

He’s so close to freedom, to escape, when Lightwood’s voice stills him. Not looking back, he barely hears the cause of his latest heartbreak ask why it’s all come crashing down.

And it’s not like Magnus can say that he’s fallen in love, that Alec had pushed and pulled in that carefully inscrutable way he possesses so that Magnus hadn’t even realized his heart was in danger until it had already been taken.

Magnus loves Alec and he can’t take the pain of knowing he’s nothing but a convenience in return.

He furiously thinks for a reason that won’t betray the depth of his feelings and folly and he lands on an answer that-- sharpened just right, lobbed very carefully-- should have all the effectiveness of a bomb detonating.

And the thing is, it’s even the truth.

“It’s not fun anymore,” he replies in a voice so cool he shivers himself and he leaves before Alec sees the cracks in his chest grow into chasms.

--

The light fairly stabs into his retinas and Magnus groans, swallows down bile as he whimpers very, very quietly.

His mouth tastes like something crawled into it and died. He’s sure there’s an empty bottle of bourbon somewhere in this hellhole.

Sitting up, he shudders and keeps still but it’s nothing to the way he freezes when he hears the sheets rustle behind him.

Goddamnit, he thinks blearily. Not another one.

It’s been a few weeks since he left Lightwood at the hotel. And since, he’s developed a penchant for losing himself in faceless strangers. It’s a good time until the morning comes and then Magnus vehemently despises himself so much he can hardly stand it.

He can’t keep doing this.

Magnus has always enjoyed a good time but that isn’t what this is. This is him drowning his sorrows in top shelf liquor and anyone willing enough to spend a few hours together.

He doesn’t like the person Alec’s turned him into. He doesn’t like who he’s allowing himself to be.

It’s not his best moment but Magnus feels his stomach lurch and lunges for the nearest wastebasket. He throws up his fucking guts and wants to die and to add final insult to injury, he’s buckass naked and not completely sure where the hell he even is.

After he’s done expending a kidney, he wipes his mouth, inelegantly and more than a little sloppily and laboriously gathers his clothes.

He gathers his phone, checking his wallet before shoving it into his pocket, and leaves the nondescript hotel room.

He doesn’t look back to see who he shared a bed with. He can’t remember a face and knows he never asked for a name.

It feels more than a little bit like fleeing but Magnus makes it back to his own loft and showers until he’s almost raw.

He keeps his promise though, the oath that was more hope than decision.

Building himself back up takes effort, considerably more than he thinks Alec deserves most days. But he has his friends and he has nothing better to do with his time when he’s not working so Magnus becomes whole again.

It’s a year later when he’s idly strolling through a bookstore. He’s taken the afternoon off to enjoy his own company-- something he had started to do in the aftermath of Lightwood-- and he feels better than he has in years. Since Lightwood, but since before him, too.

Magnus hasn’t always been the best at taking care of himself and the fiasco with Alec had shown him just how far he’d fallen. Alec hadn’t been the start but he’d been the brick that had brought his entire house of cards tumbling down.

He’s better now. It’s taken work but Magnus knows his worth and what he wants. Happy enough by himself, he’s learned to appreciate his own company in a way he had never been able to before.

Still.

When he sees Alec’s favorite book in the bookstore that gloomy afternoon, Magnus finds himself reaching out almost without thinking.

Alec had mentioned it in passing. The details are hazy now but it must’ve been when they were putting themselves back together after a lunch hour tryst.

It’s a romance and from the cover, it looks cheesy as hell. It’s not hard to remember the embarrassed little laugh Alec had let out as he’d admitted his favorite book wasn’t a business treatise or horribly written classic but a romance novel between an actor and a professor.

Magnus wonders if there’s anything there. He wonders, hopes that he could be friends with Alec. With distance comes hindsight and Magnus has thought a time or two that maybe it wasn’t delusion that had made Alec’s facade seem to crack every so often when they were together.

He could do with some new friends, Magnus thinks as he browses through the cookbooks. He trusts that he’s in a place to extend an olive branch-- and that if he’s wrong, he could leave Alec behind once and for all.

Frowning a little, he considers and rapidly dismisses any unintended consequences and pulls out his phone. Laughing a little at his screensaver of Madzie and Cat at their favorite ice cream shop, he opens his contacts and scrolls down to a number still familiar despite age.

There are a dozen messages he could send but he still has a flair for the dramatic.

I miss you sometimes.

--

Sunshine pours through sheer curtains that are practically useless, Magnus gripes to himself. Since he’s the one facing the windows and the bright sunrise, he thinks it only fair that he get to complain.

He opens his eyes just to roll them as he hears no pause at all in the snoring that sounds like a buzzsaw of their bedroom.

Turning over, he spares a moment-- or two or three-- to stare at Alec, his lovely Alexander before he snorts out a laugh.

His husband looks ridiculous and he’s grossed out to see a hint of drool in the corner of his mouth.

What an idiot, he thinks silently but full of mirth. My idiot.

It’s with a startled yelp that he’ll never admit to that Magnus finds himself practically hauled across the bed until he lands sprawled across Alec’s chest.

“I could feel you staring at me,” Alec murmurs, voice low in the early coolness. “Go back to sleep, babe. You can admire me when it’s not ass o’clock in the morning.”

Magnus thinks about a sharp retort but his brain seems disconnected at the rest of him because he just settles against Alec and lays a kiss over his heart.

He knows. He nauseates himself sometimes.

Still. He laughs a little, makes some noise of agreement, and smiles at the feel of Alec kissing the top of his head before laying back down, almost immediately dead to the world again.

The sound of his husband’s snores ring in his ear and there’s no other way he’d rather fall asleep, if he’s being honest.

Magnus knows he can live without Alec and is quite confident Alec would do just fine on his own. They grew apart and then grew back together and Magnus doesn’t mind admitting that he like it best like this-- him and Alec against the world.

Before all the world saving though, there’s sleep, Magnus decides as his eyes drift shut.

And if he’s really lucky, there might even be french toast.

The joys of domestic bliss, Magnus wonders to himself and lets Alec’s warmth lull him back to sleep.

[hozierfic]

Submission by @ineffable-nalu​

Hey this is my first Hozier fic, and my first time ever posting a submission of my wiritng on Tumblr, I’m kind of scared but YOLO right ? I don’t know how this works if that wasn’t obvious. Well hope someone enjoys it. I think it will be a couple of chapters if someone likes it!

Thanks!

Calliope’s POV

The sound of Marimba fills the room waking me up in a bed that isn’t my own which sucks, even if it’s a fancy hotel room bed, there’s just something peaceful about waking up home knowing that it’s your space your time no rush even when you are rushing. Is any of this even making sense ?

I sigh as I look over at the clock, it’s 5 minutes passed 8 and I really should get up and start getting ready. Rolling out of bed and stretching out my joints I make my way into the bathroom for a shower, I really need the wake up call.

Nearly 30 minutes later and I’m done getting ready, my curly brown hair is as tamed as it can be and I decided on being as casual as acceptable when your sister is a super model, considering I’m meeting her for brunch I can’t show up in sweats, so I opted for skinny black jeans, a black turtle neck and my favorite high heel boot. I put on my liner and a red lip and grabbing my coat before stepping out, it’s still early and I’m not meeting Harmonia until later, but there are a few things I’d like to do.

I’m only in New York for 1 more day and I can’t miss the oprotunity to go to check out the Stephen A. Schwarzman library. You see I’m a published author, well a barely published author I wrote a fantasy novel that is supposed to be a trilogy, it was published 5 months ago and I was surprised by the fact that people really liked it, so here I am on my book tour. Thinking about my reading tonight I entered the elevator and pushed the button for lobby when I heard someone shout

“Hold the lift please” My hand jupms out at the closing doors and a tall man rushes in as they close “Thanks for that, you’re going down too? Great” he says in a charming Irish accent as he pushes the lobby button again and leans back on the wall with and took the guitar case strapped off of his shoulder

I took this as my chance to check him out. I was wrong he’s not tall, he’s very tall, I would say over 2 meters probably, his hair is long and hectic, curly and frizzy but god does it work for him. I was startled out my daze when the elevator jumped slightly, the lights flickering making me almost fall over if not for my reflexes and the rail I would’ve fallen, it made another clunking noise before finally stopping in place

“What the hell ?” I asked looking up at the counter that shows you what floor you’re on only to see it’s stuck between the fourth and fifth floor. Perfect.

“I do belive it’s stuck” The handsome stranger says and I look at him over my shoulder with an arched brow as if to say ‘Really I hadn’t noticed’

Sighing back into the wall I answered

“Yeah, it seems so. I just can’t belive that these things actually happen. I mean for 23 years I have never been stuck in an elevator and then this one, in a 5 star hotel may I add decides to brake down. Doesn’t this sort of thing usually happen in movies ?” I ramble on and look up to him as he just startes at me with an amused look on his face

“ Yes I think it does usually happen in movies, but in real life as well. I’ve been stuck in a lift before don’t worry they’ll get us out soon. You’re not claustrophobic are you ?”

I snort-laughed at his question

“No, and thank god, that would be unpleasant. For the both of us”

he nodded and extented his hand towards me “The name’s Andrew” cute name, it suits him I though as I shook his and smiled at him “Calliope”

“The Greek muse of epic poetry ? In the flesh ?” he gasped putting his hand on his heart “Forgive me my lady for I hadn’t a clue as to who’s presence I was in” he said dramatically making me scoff playfully, can you a blame a girl for flirting a little ? He’s gorgeous.

“If only you were half as funy as you think you are, you could be a comedian. My parents are historians and Greek mythology fanatics I would say, my sister’s name is Harmonia” he chuckled at that

“How do you know I’m not ? A comedian I mean. and I like your name, it suits you. I can see you isnpiring Homer to write the Illiad”

I chucked at that “Because you’re not funny, and that’s kind of esential to being a comedian. And If only I could inspire my self to write” I said the last part somewhat softly but he heard any way

“Oh, you’re a writer then ?” I turned my head to look at him, then realized he is a good head and a half taller so I craned my neck and shurgged “I suppose I am, barley”

He laughed at that and sat on the floor “What does 'Being barley a writer’ even mean ? You either are or you aren’t”

Following his example I plopped on the floor as well and sighed “ I am a writer, just been going through a funk and can’t seem to write a god damn word, you know ? Sometimes I think the first one was just a lucky break and I’m not actually a good writer” I stopped myself before I could continue, what was wrong with ne ? Just spilling my guts out to this beautiful relative stranger.

Andrew nods his head as he looks at me before leaning back and looking at the roof of the box we were currently trapped in “ I actually know well what that’s like”

“Are you a writer as well ?” I asked

“No, musician” his head tilts to the guitar next to him and I almost facepalm, what am I an idiot of course he’s a musician

“Oh yeah obviously, sorry I haven’t really had coffe yet so I’m a bit slow. Are you in a band ?” I ask him and he nods

“Don’t worry about it I feel the same, can barely keep my eyes open. And yes I am in a band” he says with a smile

“That’s cool, you do look familliar. Wait don’t tell me” I hold my hand up and I can see he’s trying to hold back a laugh, but he listens and sits back as I inspect him, top to bottom

“Ok, you’re Irish, you play the guitar but you also write the songs and you’re in a band.”

I mumble to myself as I look into his beautiful hazel eyes he smiled at me seeming quite entertained, brushing off his looks I keep thinking.

I know I’ve seen him but where ? “Andrew ? Andrew ? Where do-” and the it hit me and I jumped to my feet

“Oh, Oh I got it!”

I said loudly and this time he does laugh as he looks at me take my seat again “Already ? I was kind of enjoying the attention and proximity” I shoved his shoulder playfully

“Andrew Hozier-Byrne, How did I not see it ? I mean I love your music” I say laughing at myself for not seeing it.

“Ding ding, we have a winner.” He laughs

“To be perfectly honest I never looked at who was singing too engrossed in the lyrics and melodies . But your music is hauntingly beautiful you know ?”

I tell him and his face shifts from amusement to flattery and a bit of embarrassment

“Uhm, thanks always nice to know people like the music I create” he says scuffing his hair as he talks.

“And don’t even worry about not recognizing me, I prefer being as anonymous as possible”

I smile at him placing my head on the wall

“I can imagine how hectic life can be for a world renown musician” I say gently and he nods in agreement

“You are a writer though. Your music is poetry. If you were born in the 16th century you would’ve given Marlowe and Shakespeare a run fir their money”

He laughs at my statement rolling his head over to look at me

“That is high praise I am humbled, you said you have a book published?”

“Yeah, I’ve had the idea for it for so long and I finished the first book about a year ago, it was published about 6 months ago”

“What’s it called maybe I’ve read it ?”

I really laugh at that shaking my head “Oh no, no you haven’t trust me”

His brows furrow a bit at my words

“Why so self deprecating? I’m sure I’ve heard or read about it if not actually read. Come on” he urged making me want to sigh.

“Keepers of the rift” I say after a moment of silence.

“No way” he says quietly making me look at him “What ?”

Andrew beams at me akin to a child on Christmas morning “I absolutely loved your book, are you kidding me ? You’re Cal Andjelkovic? ”

he bewildered completely butchering my last name making me laugh

“It’s Andjelkovic actually but yes, I shortened the name. And you actually read my book ?”

I asked seemingly suspicious but in all honesty just sort of stunned. I still can’t believe that anyone’s read my book let alone well known artist

“Yes, yes I stumbled across it in a book shop while we were touring The UK and since you spend 90% if your free time on a bus while touring I love to fill the time by reading.

And when I started yours I couldn’t put it down until I finished it”

He said sincerely and it warmed every part of me.

I’ve met loads of people during my signing and reading sessions but this almost intimate setting with us on the floor, shoulders pressed against one another having him tell me he enjoyed my writing made it special

I nudged his shoulder slightly making him look at me with a raised brow I  smiled up at him

“That is high praise, especially from you. I am humbled” I repeat his words to him and he smirks slightly at me

“Cheek” he mumbles making me laugh

—————————

“So you’re struggling with the second one then ?” His voice resonates around me, he’s looking up at me from a journal of some sorts. We have been sitting in silence for, who knows how long.

I look at my watch seeing it’s 11:30 and we are still in this goddamn elevator. I’m going to be late for brunch, and as if icing in the cake there was no service in here.

“Yes you could say that. For almost 8 years I had this story in my mind, and every day it was slowly building itself. It took me some time to actually physically write a sentence of it.

I have an outline of all three volumes. Always saw it as a trilogy of sorts.

And even though I know what I want from the second one- Writing it is still a completely different story”

I say looking at him and seeing sympathy on his face

“I have been there, sometimes the music pours out, the lyrics come to me in dreams and during showers or cooking.

And then other times I’m close to banging my head against a wall just to think of a single note”

I hummed at him in understanding

“Soon you said, eh ?” I laughed after about a minute of silence making him chuckle in return

“Apparently things work differently in America, if we were in Ireland we’d already’ve been out of here and into the nearest pub for a celebratory drink” he says

“Drink? It’s not even noon yet ?”

I said laughing at his comeback

“It’s happy hour somewhere right?”

——————————

“Ok so I write something for you, you sing something for me ?” I ask and he nods his head in confirmation. It was a little after 1pm

“Deal, now would you like me to insert you into the world I created or just make up something new?” I asked

“Oooo, into the story you’ve already created I love the way you used certain folklore, myths and legends”

he replies with a childlike grin on his face making me chuckle at how cute he was

I took my own journal out of my bag and started writing, trying to find the best story to tell.

I found that writing came when writing about him, words flowed onto the page as my mind was overtaken by him.

His presence was calming, I enjoyed his conversation, he is charming and beautiful. And his music haunts me, it inspires me.

I skim over the the few pages I wrote and glanced up at him, only to find him staring at me with a intense look on his face

I cleared my throat and handed him the journal

“I- um I finished it, and to be clear this is a non proof read rough draft. So don’t expect some novelty” he takes it from my hands and starts reading intently.

Following the words with his eyes and tracing them with his fingers, I smiled looking at him

“A Fae ?” His voice brought me back and looking him in the eyes, amusement laced his voice as he looked at me with a raised brow

I shrugged my shoulders

“It was either that or a deity of the forest. But I believe Fae suits you. Hauntingly beautiful” I say

Smiling at my answer he gives me my journal back,

“It was a wonderful story, I quite enjoyed reading about me as one of the Fae”

He says

“I could put you in the second book ?” I tease

“I would be honored” he says, reaching for his guitar

“I’ll quote you on that. Oh, am I about to have the most privet Hozier concert ever ?” I joked

Making Andrew snort slightly and take his guitar out of the case slinging  it on his shoulder

“Hozier is me and my band, you are going to get an exclusive one man Andrew show. Which if you ask me is bit as good”

I slap his shoulder “Shut it, and play me something”

I smile and watch him tune his guitar for a couple of minutes before he clears his throat and looks at me

“May I sing to you a work in progress? Since you gave me an original I figured ?” I nod enthusiastically

He starts strumming the guitar gently for a while, as if trying to find the right sound and then-

“I still watch you when you’re grooving, as if through water from the bottom a pool.

You’re moving without moving.

And when you move I’m moved.

You are a call to motion, there all of you a verb in perfect view, Like Jonah on the ocean.

When you move I’m moved.

When you move I’m put to mind of all that I want to be , when you move I could never define all that you are to me”

The strumming stops and his heavenly voice fades leaving me staring at him, most likely with my mouth agape

“That was incredible, I’m awestruck to be completely honest. My god. You Sir are a poet. That was beautiful. Is there more?”

I ask and he shakes his head

“It came to me just now. While being stuck in this hellhole” he says laughing slightly but I’m just mesmerized by the lyrics he just sang

“I still watch you when you’re grooving,” I mumble to myself  reciting the lyrics “as if through water from the bottom of a pool”

I look at him

“And you’re moving without moving” I keep going

“When you move, I’m moved” he finishes for me making me smile at him

“So move me baby” I wink at him and he just stares at me for a moment

“Shake like the bough of a willow tree” and he smiles at me before scribbling down things in his journal.

I went back to scribbling notes on certain ideas I had for some of my characters, plot points needed to be addressed and such, not ten minutes passed and we heard a clunking noise and the elevator started moving.

Descending down to the lobby after 5 hours. Andrew and I get up right as the doors open

“Oh thank god man, we’ve been freaking the fuck out. I mean you’re never late to anything and then you don’t show up at rehearsals and not answering your phone, we drive together next time”

A man almost as tall as Andrew hugs him making me laugh at his ramble.

Stepping out of the elevator I looked around the lobby spotting Harmonia sitting at the bar,

I look over at Andrew and to see him talking to his band mates making me smile and move towards my sister.

Hopefully she won’t be too pissed. But them again it wasn’t really my fault.

[donteattheappleshook]

Of Cars and Bars Chapter 9/14

As always, thank you Krystal @kmomof4​ for all of your amazing beta work and for just being a lovely person. Twice now you’ve talked me out of giving up on this one! This story exists because of and is dedicated to you!

This chapter is a little smutty ;). A ‘lime’ as we called it back in my day.

Summary:

Rated E

When Emma Swan is offered the chance to go on tour as an opener for one of the most popular up and coming bands of the decade, the last thing she expects is to find that the lead guitarist is the stranger she had a one night stand with five years ago.

This started out as a smutty two shot about Emma Ruby and Mary Margaret going on a road trip and has evolved into a slow-burn mutual pining angst-fest.

Read it from the beginning on Ao3 and Ffn because tumblr eats all my italics.

Chapter 9 - The Wrong Direction

When I was a kid the things I did were hidden under the grid / Young and naive I never believed that love could be so well hid / With regret I'm willing to bet and say the older you get / It gets harder to forgive and harder to forget

“I know how to write a song, Killian,” Emma practically snapped, sighing in exasperation. 

“You asked for my help,” he reminded her, sounding equally annoyed. “I don’t know what you were expecting.”

“Well, you’re not showing me anything I don’t already know.”

He threw his hands up in the air. “Well, what do you want me to do?” 

Emma was frustrated. They had been bickering for twenty minutes now, since they’d sat down on the bed in her hotel room, guitars in hand, finally trying to write together again. It had been two weeks since Killian had helped her with her song, had helped her finish it, making her realise how much she missed writing real music. And this was the first quiet moment they had been able to find to finally try again. It was not going well. 

Between shows every night and press in the mornings and afternoons, their days were full. When they weren’t performing on stage or in front of a camera they were on the bus with everyone else. Eight of them, jammed into a tour bus that, while spacious, was very claustrophobic and offered them no privacy. 

Emma didn’t want people around for this. She trusted Ruby and Mary Margaret and she’d come to really like Belle and the boys, but having them there, listening - or pretending not to listen - while she tried to relearn how to pour her soul onto a page terrified her. It was enough that Killian was there to see it. That was terrifying on its own. Emma wasn’t good at being vulnerable. But Killian had seen her at her most exposed and hadn’t judged or pitied her. That terrified her even more. Writing with him before had been so easy and so natural, and she feared that she wouldn’t be able to do it on her own. Not yet, anyway. 

But there had been no time. Well, that wasn’t entirely true. There had been some time. Usually, at night after their shows they were free to return to their hotel rooms and relax. They’d tried once or twice to write then but they always ended up getting… distracted. It wasn’t her fault. It was Killian’s. He was just so damn good at distracting her. He was just so damn good at kissing her. He was good at everything honestly - but she couldn’t tell him that, it would go straight to his head. 

He would find her by the vending machine in the hotel, or backstage after the show, or even that one time in the restaurant bathroom. Any moment they found themselves alone for a second she’d find herself pressed against a wall or a door with his hands roaming everywhere and his tongue doing unspeakable things to hers. And then he’d leave her with her knees weak, and her heart racing, and so damn frustrated. And she’d be left waiting until the others had gone to bed to seek him out. So yeah, most nights had ended in one of them doing their best to sneak out of the other’s room before anyone woke up. 

But now, now they had two blissful days off. No shows, no driving, no interviews or appearances. They were in Austin for an entire weekend all to themselves. And, that evening, Emma had finally managed to find a moment to sit down with him and try and create something. Instead, they’d been arguing. She knew he was trying to help but all he was doing was giving her advice on things she already knew, structure, chords, melody, fucking rhyme schemes. She knew how to write a song. She needed him to help her find the truths that were hiding scared inside of her, to lure them out like he’d done last time.

She sighed, dejected. “I don’t know,” she answered honestly. “Maybe this was a bad idea.”

Killian didn’t answer for a minute. A frown pulled down his brow and his lips tightened into a thin line as he thought. “A few weeks ago, when I told you that writing music was like finding a way to have someone else help you carry your burdens… you said it used to be the same for you.”

“It was,” she admitted but her voice sounded distant and sad even to her own ears. 

“So then try that.” He looked at her in that way again, that way that made her feel like he was looking inside of her, into a part of her that she was sure she had kept well hidden from the world. But he could see it. And sometimes, when she looked at him, really looked at him, she thought she saw the same bit inside of him. “Let me help you carry your burdens,” he said, not as an order or an assumption that she should, but as a request. 

Emma had to steel herself. She could do this. She needed to do this. She’d asked him to help and that meant that she’d agreed to letting him see this part, this private part of her. But that didn’t make it any less scary. She nodded and he placed his fingers on the frets of his guitar. He played a couple of chords, improvising a melody. She told him when she liked something and when she didn’t, playing her own instrument and adding bits until they had a little verse they liked. He asked her what she wanted to write about and she said her childhood. 

It shocked her, surprising her even as the words came out of her mouth. She’d avoided talking about her life before Granny and her sisters, avoided thinking about it. He only nodded and waited for her to start. But nothing came. She sat, frustrated and trying to put into words the pain and the naivety and the stolen innocence but she couldn’t. It had been buried too deep for too long. She let out a frustrated groan, her head falling into her hands. The music stopped. 

“What’s wrong?” he asked. 

“I don’t know!” she whined. “I just - I can’t remember how to do it. I used to just sit down, you know, with my guitar and my thoughts and then it would just kind of, spill out. I didn’t used to have to think about it. Thinking about it is making it just feel - wrong.”

“Then stop thinking about it,” he encouraged. “Just say whatever pops into your head.” God, he was annoyingly persistent.

She glared at him, narrowing her eyes. “I don’t think you want to hear what’s in my head at the moment.” 

He laughed. “Perhaps not. I could give you prompts, like word associations?”

Emma sighed. It wasn’t working. It wasn’t going to work. She just didn’t have that spark or whatever it was she’d had last time. Last time she’d felt like the words just wanted to come out and so they had. This time they were shy, hiding timidly somewhere she couldn’t find them. She set down her guitar.

“Let’s just try another time,” she said, closing up her case. 

Killian considered her for a long time, long enough that she started to feel a little uncomfortable. He really needed to stop staring at her like he was trying to read her thoughts - she was already half convinced he could.

“We’re trying too hard,” he said finally, moving to put his own guitar away. “That’s the problem. You know, watched pot and all that.” Emma was going to answer but she didn’t get the chance as he picked up his case and grabbed her hand. “Come with me,” he instructed.

“What? Where are we going?” she demanded, barely managing to grab her instrument as she was dragged out of the room. Killian didn’t answer. Instead, he made his way down the hall, stopping at David's room and pounding twice. “Liam and Belle’s room. Five minutes! Bring your kit!” he called through the door. Then he moved on and repeated the same action at Graham’s door, then Ruby’s and then Mary Margaret’s. Finally they reached Liam and Belle’s room and Killian pounded on their door too. 

“Killian,” she said and he looked at her for the first time since they’d left his hotel room. “What are we doing?” she demanded.

He shot her a smile. “Just trust me, Swan.”

“Bloody hell, Killian,” Liam complained when he opened the door. “We’re going to get complaints.” Killian ignored him, pushing his way into the suite and dragging an unwitting Emma behind him. 

“Get your stuff,” he told his brother. “We’re having a riff-off.”

Emma watched as Liam’s face changed from scorn to amusement, and finally to excitement. She didn’t think she’d ever seen Liam excited. It was weird. 

“What is a riff-off?” Emma asked, knowing she probably wouldn’t get an answer. Killian seemed to be in a cryptic mood today. She was proven right when all the answer he gave her was a mysterious ‘you’ll see’. 

As their friends started to trickle into the room, carrying their instruments and looking equal amounts annoyed and confused - and a little rumpled in the case of Graham and Ruby - Liam returned with his guitar, Belle following behind him looking extremely pleased. Emma was surprised to see that she was carrying a ukulele. She had no idea Belle played.

Killian evaded all their questions, corralling them all into the middle of the room. David and Mary Margaret didn’t have their entire drum sets obviously but Mary Margaret had brought her sticks and a smaller drum from the set. David had brought goddamn bongos.  

“You mind telling us what we’re doing here?” Graham insisted, sounding very put-out. Probably at being interrupted, Emma mused trying to hide her smile. 

“Seriously,” Emma demanded now. “What the hell is a riff-off?” 

Her question set off a world of excitement and confusion as the boys suddenly perked up ‘we’re having a riff-off?’ and the girls tried to get a straight answer as to what the hell it was. 

“Who’s got writer’s block?” David teased. Before Emma could answer, her cheeks flushing pink, Killian spoke.

“I do. Now are you going to help me out or are you going to be an ass about it?”

David put his hands up in surrender. 

“Will someone please explain what the hell is going on?” Ruby demanded.

“It’s a game we play,” David started. “When one of us is having trouble writing. Or just for fun sometimes,” he smiled. Emma hesitated. She realised then what Killian was doing. He was still trying to get her to write. She didn’t think she liked this. This was songwriting with an audience. She shot him a look and he returned it with another one of those unspoken ‘trust me’s’.

“How does it work?” Mary Margaret asked. Killian answered this time.

“Well, for starters we all have to sit in a circle, so let’s go.” As everyone started shuffling around, moving some furniture to make room and finding a spot on the floor, Emma noticed that there seemed to be some strategy at play that she didn’t understand. David for example, made a point to sit on Graham’s right, something the latter seemed displeased with. Liam did the same to Killian. Emma spotted some room between Mary Margaret and Belle and was going to squeeze in when Killian caught her wrist. 

“Come on, Swan. You’re next to me for this round,” he told her. She hesitated for a second but he only gave her a bright smile and an encouraging nod. She sighed and sat next to him. When they were all settled, Killian explained the rules. “Right. This game is part challenge, part make it up as you go.” He received blank looks from all three newbies. 

“The rules are pretty straight forward,” Belle piped up. “One person starts by playing something on their instrument. It has to be original. They give the person on their left a topic. That person has to make up lyrics based on that topic and sing along to the melody that is given to them. If you falter, hesitate, or plagiarize, you lose and you’re out of the circle. We play to the last man - or woman - standing.”

“A whole song?” Mary Margaret asked, sounding nervous.

“No, only a little verse or something,” David assured her, putting a comforting hand on her knee. She flushed.

“But it has to end intentionally, not because you’ve run out of ideas,” Liam explained. 

“Graham managed a haiku once,” Killian pointed out. Graham gave a showy little bow - as best he could sitting cross-legged on the carpet. 

“Right,” Killian said, reaching back and picking up Emma’s guitar. He handed it to her. “Why don’t you start us off, Swan?” She gave him a little glare. At least he wasn’t making her sing. David was to her left. “Give him a topic, play a little tune for him once and then he has to start.” 

Emma took a deep breath. She could do this. There were no words involved in this - yet. Melodies were easier. She looked at David who waited, seeming wary of what topic she might give him. She liked David though, she figured she’d cut him some slack. She looked around at the rest of his bandmates and smiled, remembering all the times they’d mocked the only ‘yank’ in their group. 

“Brits,” she said. David beamed. She’d hardly finished improvising her riff when he started sharing his opinions on some very specific British habits. Killian, Liam, Belle, and Graham all shot him glares at different points. Emma wasn’t sure, but she thought she might have just learned that Killian had a very unhealthy obsession with The Great British Bake Off. The girls were practically in tears by the time he was done and they burst into applause for him. Alright, Emma thought, this game was pretty fun. 

David was next and had Graham to his left. Graham shot daggers at him before he even named his topic. “Cats,” was all he said. That was how Emma learned that Graham had a paralysing fear of all felines, apparently since he’d been taken to see the musical as a small boy. Emma realised now why some of them had chosen their positions strategically. If you had to sing on the spot, you were forced to sing about the first thing that popped into your head, embarrassing as it may be. You didn’t have time to dismiss an idea and come up with a new one. It must have been impossible for Graham to think of anything besides his fear and so he was forced to confess. David had clearly taken advantage of that. 

“I’ll get you back you bastard,” Graham warned. Ruby was red in the face from trying to contain her laughter. He picked up his bass. Belle was beside him. He smirked. “Your first kiss.” Belle groaned and was forced to sing about the fact that her first kiss had, in fact, been Graham himself. The game went on like that. All of them taking turns to poke fun at each other. Ruby, thanks to Mary Margaret, begrudgingly admitted to believing she was a werewolf for an entire month when she was twelve. Liam made Killian tell them all about how he got the scar on his face - by trying to shave, just like his big brother. That one made Emma smile. 

When it came to her turn, Emma expected Killian to make her sing about something real. But he didn’t. He didn’t the second time around either, or the third. Instead he gave her light topics, things that were fun and easy to sing about. She was honestly impressed with herself when she managed to rise to the challenge of ‘pirates’ which he threw at her out of left field. Slowly, one after the other, their friends were eliminated. Graham, as he stumbled near the end of what was turning out to be a fairly endearing love song prompted by the word ‘red’, Belle, as she blanked on anything having to do with Star Wars, Liam when he flipped Ruby off for saying ‘love letters’. 

They all booed but then cheered as David was the next eliminated, trying and failing to manage a rap to the topic of ‘prom night’. Emma played for Mary Margaret who stumbled on ‘talking birds’, turning bright red and refusing to admit to the year she was convinced she had super powers. But Ruby succeeded through Emma’s challenge to sing about Leonardo DiCaprio, her first love. 

It was Ruby’s turn to play for Killian now. She looked at Killian with a challenge in her eye. “Secrets,” she said and he stumbled for a second but managed to recover by the time it was his turn to sing. It was the weakest of his verses yet but he didn’t falter. Nobody else seemed to have noticed the exchange and Emma felt her heart flutter in her chest, wondering if Ruby knew - about them. 

Ruby gave him a congratulatory nod. It was her turn now, she could feel the adrenaline in her veins, the excited kind of anxiousness as she awaited her topic, a smile already on her face.

“Kids,” Killian said and she didn’t even have a chance to be surprised before he started playing a tune she recognized, the one they’d composed earlier. He hadn’t asked her specifically about her childhood, hadn’t insisted she sing about being a kid herself, but that was all that came to mind, the way she had felt free then, like nothing she did had consequences, but only for a little while. She’d learned young that the world could bite and that if you didn’t bite back, protect yourself, it would eat you alive. And so that’s what she sang about. The words came out of her, poured out of her as quickly as she could think of them, there was no time for questioning or self-doubt, only to sing. 

The song went on longer than any of the others had. But nobody complained. Killian didn’t stop playing. He didn’t falter, only looking at her encouragingly, a small smile creeping over his face as she went on, laying everything out, speaking her truth, no matter how gritty. She stared at him as she finished. He’d done it again. Somehow he’d managed to find a way to find what was inside of her, what was hiding in the darkness, and bring it to the light. He’d found a way to make her feel comfortable enough to do it. She was a little bit in awe.

“Holy shit,” Liam whispered and that broke the silence that had engulfed the room. 

“Emma, that was fucking awesome!” Ruby cheered. “Please tell me someone got that down!”

Belle held up her phone. “I always record these. It’s where all the best stuff comes out.” 

“No kidding!” David agreed. 

Emma and Killian were still staring at one another. Emma couldn’t help herself. The way he was looking at her, the soft smile on his face, he looked proud of her and it was unsettling how much she liked it. She was proud of herself. He’d helped her get there. He’d known what she needed and he’d given it to her. Not for the first time, it scared her how well he seemed to know her. What scared her more was that she was starting to want him to know her. And, she realised, she wanted to know him too. 

She cleared her throat, unable to hold his gaze any longer. “Game’s not over,” she reminded them. She turned to Ruby, only the three of them were left. 

Emma was eliminated next, faltering over ‘wine Wednesdays’ and turning red remembering the time Ruby had to get a bouncer she knew to throw Emma over his shoulder so they could get her in the cab. It was down to Ruby and Killian now. Ruby just barely managed to make it through a verse about ‘Irishmen’, pointedly not looking at Graham the whole time. But there was an amused sort of fire in her eyes that warned that Killian did not want to go toe to toe with her. She looked him in the eye and smirked. 

“Blondes.”

Ruby won. Killain stuttered, eyes casting far too conspicuously to Emma and then even more conspicuously at anywhere else. It would seem in his desperation to keep their secret, he blanked on anything else to sing about. He admitted defeat gracefully and Ruby less-gracefully threw her hands in the air, letting out a ‘whoop’. She was surrounded by congradulations.

“What’s my prize?” she asked.

Killian considered it. “How about you get to choose what we do tonight with our first night off?”

They agreed this was fair and Ruby immediately looked to Mary Margaret who brightened up. Emma knew where they were going before she said it. 

“Get your stuff!” she ordered before heading straight for the door. “Meet us downstairs in five!” 

Everyone seemed to be okay with just following along with whatever Ruby wanted, even Liam let Belle drag him out of the living area and into the bedroom without question. Killian hung back, waiting for her, looking confused.

“Where are we going?” 

Emma smirked a little. “We’re going to the fair.” 

“The fair?” he looked even more confused and a little nervous. 

“Mhm. I saw the signs advertising it when we first got here. I knew she’d make us go - her or Mary Margaret. They love fairs - amusement parks too. Anything with rides really. Every summer we try find a new one to go to.” She paused, taking in his expression. “Why do you look so freaked out?” 

He looked like he’d really put up a good fight against the blush on his face. She couldn’t tell if he looked more red with embarrassment or white with nerves. He rubbed at the back of his neck before letting his head fall back and confessing. “I hate rides.” 

She felt the smile tugging at the corner of her lips, remembering his reaction to flying. She stepped forward, grabbing the front of his shirt and giving him a little tug until he looked at her. “Come on, you big baby. There are games too, you know. Let’s go and I’ll win you a teddy bear.” 

Killian tried to hide his amusement, determined to only appear annoyed at her teasing but the little upward twitch of his lips gave him away. Finally he lost the battle, offering her a mirthful smile, brows raised. “Promise?”

She nodded. “I’m amazing at carnival games,” she bragged. 

“I don’t doubt it,” he said, suddenly seeming to realise how close she was standing and taking advantage. He slipped his arm around her waist, drew her a little further into him. “Will you win me a big one?”

She raised a brow. “A big one?”

“Aye. I want one of those giant bears that are bigger than me.” His free hand came up to toy with the ends of her hair and Emma let her arms slide up around his shoulders. “I want all the other boys at the fair to be jealous.” 

She laughed. She noticed she’d been doing that a lot more lately. “Alright then, a giant bear it is.” 

He grinned, his arm tightening around her middle as his head bowed, his next words spoken somewhere near her jaw. “How on earth will I possibly thank you?” he asked. She could feel the roughness of his cheek against her own and his breath on her neck and her stomach gave a little flip. She smiled, practically giggling as his lips pressed against her throat. 

They heard the bedroom door open and jumped apart, doing their absolute best to look casual. They were standing way too close. She knew they were because as Liam and Belle stepped out, they hesitated, giving them slightly questioning looks. 

“What are you still doing here?” Liam asked. Emma floundered for a second as Killian stood there completely useless.

“Ruby's making us go to the fair. I'm trying to convince your brother to go on the pendulum ride with me,” she lied. 

Liam barked out a laugh. “Fat chance,” he told her. “I couldn’t even get him to try bumper cars until he was sixteen.” 

“Oy, let’s not make up lies now,” Killian protested, looking annoyed and just embarrassed enough that Emma was pretty sure it wasn’t a lie at all. She smirked. 

As the brothers bickered, Emma turned to Belle, hoping to share in the amusement of watching two grown men acting like children. But Belle was already looking at her, her expression far too knowing and definitely far too pleased. Her gaze flickered to Killian. Emma shifted uncomfortably then cleared her throat, announcing that she would meet them downstairs. That had been way too close.

They decided to walk there since the weather was nice. It wasn’t far, only a few miles and David, apparently annoyingly healthy, active David, had insisted they needed the exercise after so many days sitting on a bus. Emma had thought about protesting but Mary Margaret and Ruby had looped their arms through hers and practically carried her down the street with them.

“I’m so glad we’re still gonna get to do this this summer,” Mary Margaret exclaimed happily.

“Me too,” Ruby agreed. “I thought the tour would mess with our tradition.”

“What tradition is that?” Emma smirked. “You whooping my ass at the balloon pop and Snow eating so much cotton candy that she pukes?”

“Don’t call me that! And I didn’t puke.” She stuck out her tongue at Emma.

“Yes, exactly that tradition,” Ruby smiled a little nostalgically. 

She got it. Ruby wasn’t the sentimental type but the summer that Granny found Emma and Mary Margaret had been a rocky one to say the least. Both of them were teenage girls who didn’t trust easy. They’d moped most of the season until finally, Granny had forced them out of their rooms and out to the small town county fair. Despite their best efforts, the girls hadn’t been able to have a bad time - largely due to Ruby. She was hard not to like. Granny had introduced them to everyone as her kids with no further explanation. It was the first time the three of them had felt like a family and so, sentimental or not, Ruby liked tradition. 

“Do you think they’ll have a tea cup ride?” Mary Margaret asked excitedly. 

“They shouldn’t be allowed to call themselves a fair if they don’t,” Ruby answered. 

“As long as there’s a ferris wheel, I’m happy,” Emma said. 

“You are the most boring person ever,” Ruby teased.

“What? I like ferris wheels!” Emma insisted. Ruby rolled her eyes. She looked over at Killian and Belle who were walking a few paces ahead. She smirked.

“Maybe you’ll find someone to go on it with you,” she hinted suggestively. 

“What do you mean?” Emma asked, heart racing. Shit. Did she know? She couldn’t know. They’d been careful. Maybe not careful enough.

“Nothing. Just, you know, ferris wheels can be awfully romantic.” She winked before looking pointedly at the pair ahead of them again. Emma’s mouth dropped open as she searched for something to say. “Might be nice to have something pretty to look at while you’re on it.” 

“Ruby,” she said seriously, a hint of a smile on her lips. “Belle is married.” 

Ruby threw her head back laughing. She dropped it after that. 

They reached the fair and her friends practically raced off to the ticket booth, coming back with armfulls of tickets. 

Liam looked at them skeptically. “How long are we planning to stay here?”

“Please,” Mary Margaret said. “These will last us an hour if we’re lucky.” 

Liam looked helplessly at Emma. She shrugged. “They take their fair visits very seriously. Blame your brother.” 

“Oy!” Killian called from somewhere behind her. She smirked. 

“What first?” David asked, looking nearly as excited as Mary Margaret to be here. Or maybe he was just excited to be here with her. It was kind of cute actually. 

“Games?” Emma suggested. She definitely didn’t suggest it so that Killian wouldn’t feel left out. She wasn’t that considerate. She caught him smiling softly and she looked away. 

“Yes!” Ruby agreed. She grabbed Graham’s hand. “Come on!” 

The others followed. But Emma caught hold of Killian’s arm. He held back.

“What is it?”

“We need to be more careful. I think Ruby suspects something and your brother almost caught us back at the hotel.” 

He cocked his head. “Is that so bad,” he asked. Of course it was bad, she wanted to say, but he continued. “It’s just sex right? What does it matter if they know. We’re both adults.” 

Emma tried to ignore the way his words affected her. It’s just sex. They were her words, he was merely saying them back to her. Then why did it feel like he’d dumped a bucket of cold water on her? She could feel something prickling under her skin and she didn’t like it. She shook out her hands a little, trying to clear it. 

“Swan?” he asked, looking concerned now. 

“No, you’re right. It’s just… I know my friends. They’ll make a big deal out of it and I don’t want to deal with that right now.” It was the truth, but it felt heavy and wrong on her tongue. It’s just sex, she repeated to herself. What the hell is wrong with you? 

“Understood,” he nodded. “I’ll be more careful.”

“Thank you.” 

They headed off after their group, realising that hanging back alone was a little too conspicuous. They had nearly caught up when Killian grabbed her, pulling her behind a booth. 

“What are you -” 

He took hold of her face with both hands and pressed his lips to hers. She was shocked for a moment - how the hell was this in keeping with their ‘be more discreet’ agreement? - but then his mouth opened over hers and she reacted instinctively, grabbing hold of his hips and finding his tongue with her own. He only kissed her for a second, pulling back and leaving her standing there with her mouth open, gaping like an idiot. He was grinning from ear to ear, looking way too smug for her liking.

“Killian!” Her voice was higher and a little rougher than she’d intended. “What the hell was -” 

“Shh,” he hushed, bringing a finger to his lips. “It’s a secret. We don’t want the others to hear.” He winked and then backed away, heading back after the group. “Don’t follow right away. We wouldn’t want them to get suspicious.” She stared at him in disbelief - at how boyish and giddy he looked. 

“Oh fucking hell,” she groaned. “I just gave you a challenge didn’t I?” He walked away, shooting her a goofy smile, eyebrows waggling. She definitely didn’t feel as annoyed as she wanted to. 

They played a few games, the ring toss and balloon pop (Ruby did, in fact, whoop Emma’s ass again), and skeeball. The entire time Killian made a point to continue this secrecy challenge. Twice she felt his hand on her ass while they were playing a game or chatting with the others, only to look up and find him looking very invested in what someone was saying, the picture of innocence. She’d created a monster. 

Killian was surprisingly good at all of the games and it was really starting to get on Emma’s nerves. Particularly because she was playing so poorly - which was entirely due to her opponent's wandering hands. She missed the balloon completely when she felt his fingers brush at the skin of her hip bone.  She hadn’t beat him at a single one yet. The dirty cheater. He was getting really cocky about it too. 

Belle and Liam had gone off to see what kind of show was going on at the stage and David had taken Mary Margaret away to feed her when Emma spotted it: a shooting game. It was one of those dinky little things where you were given a pellet gun and had to knock down as many moving targets as possible. Emma smirked. Time to knock the cocky grin right off of Killian’s face. 

“Okay show-off, think you can hold your own at this one?” She was trying to provoke him. 

He eyed it. “Absolutely,” he answered confidently. “Prepare to have your ass handed to you, Swan.” 

She caught Ruby’s eye and the two exchanged grins. “Really?” Emma asked. “Care to put a little wager on that?” 

He smirked. “What did you have in mind?”

Emma gave the man in the booth her tickets. “If you win, I will admit, on stage at the next show, that you’re far superior at all games than I am.” He looked happy with that offer. “If I win, you have to go on whatever ride I pick.”

He didn’t even think about it. “Deal. You do remember I was in the navy, don’t you?” he said, the arrogance heavy in his voice. He was handed his pellet gun and took his turn. He hit seven out of the ten targets. He looked very pleased with himself. “I very much look forward to our next show.” 

Emma only smiled as she was handed her own pellet gun. “You’ve been out of the navy for what, ten years?” She could feel Ruby smiling behind her, could hear Graham asking her what was up, wanting to be let in on the joke. Killian nodded. She shot him a cunning grin. “I never told you what I do for a living, did I?” And with that, Emma whirled on the targets and shot down all ten of them in as many rapid shots. 

She didn’t bother to hide her smugness as she turned back to her friends, resting the fake rifle on her hip. Killian was staring at the targets with wide eyes, his mouth slack-jawed. He looked at her with wonder and amazement and maybe a tiny bit of fear. Graham was laughing so hard he was doubled over, clutching at his stomach.

“What the bloody hell do you do for a living?” Emma only smiled as she was handed the giant teddy bear, the one that was bigger than Killian. 

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” She handed him the bear. He was still standing there dumbfounded. Graham was still laughing.

Graham was more than happy to recall the entire story to the rest of their friends when they met up for hotdogs and fries a little later, making a point to include Killian’s paralyzing fear of carnival rides. Liam teased the hell out of his brother, accusing him of forgetting everything he’d taught him but backing down when Killian challenged him to the game. Emma didn’t participate much in the conversation. She was too distracted by the feeling of Killian’s fingers on her inner thigh under the table, which had been boldy creeping higher and higher since they sat down. They were nearly at the seam of her jeans when someone called her name. It sounded like it wasn’t the first time they’d said it.

“Sorry, what?” His hand squeezed her thigh.

“I was just asking what ride you were going to take Killian on,” Belle said eagerly. 

“I don’t know,” Emma mused. “Maybe something easy like the teacups,” she said, but then his hand creeped up higher, making it difficult for her to keep her breath steady. She glared at him. “Or maybe he wants to try the Gravitron.” His hand dropped back to her knee. 

“Yes! You should definitely take him on the Gravitron!” Mary Margaret exclaimed. “That’s the best ride in the park!”

“I love that one!” David agreed, already hyped up. There was a consensus around the table. 

“I think it’s time we went on some rides,” Ruby decreed. “Come on, let’s pop Killian’s zero-gravity cherry.” Killian’s hand tightened on her knee then, and she was pretty sure this time it was out of fear rather than an attempt to drive her insane. She looked at him, he looked nervous. He’d been an ass but she took pity on him. 

“Nah, you guys go ahead. I think I’ll start him off on something a little tamer. I don’t want him puking on me,” she said. This time the squeeze was a thank you. The others headed off towards the braver rides and Emma and Killian set off to find something easier, Killian towing his giant pink bear along with them. 

“You know, you’re not making this whole secret thing easy,” she pointed out.

He turned wide, innocent eyes on her. “What do you mean? I’ve been the picture of discreet. Nobody suspects a thing.” He leaned down then, his breath hot on her ear as they walked. “Besides, it’s been quite fun watching you get flustered all night.” 

The asshole, she thought. She knew he’d been doing it on purpose but to hear him admit it made her feel annoyed and angry and… wanting. She wanted him. A lot. Right now. But mostly, it made her want revenge. They’d wandered near the edge of the booths which backed up into a small wooded area and Emma saw her chance. She put her hands on his chest and pushed him back, away from the lights of the carnival and into the cluster of trees where the neon glow was barely a suggestion. He stumbled back, questioning sounds leaving his lips until his back collided with a tree trunk and she pressed herself against him. 

“Swan, what -” 

She cut him off, slanting her lips over his and grabbing hold of the loops in the back of his jeans, pulling his hips into her own. His startled groan turned into a dirty growl as his arms came up around her back, trapping her within them and tilting her head back so he could explore her mouth deeper. Emma nearly allowed herself to get lost in it. He was such a goddamn good kisser and the way his hips were grinding into her own, his hand sliding down to her ass, grabbing hold of it to pull her almost harshly against him sent heat shooting through every fiber of her body. Ugh - she wanted him. But she wanted to make him to pay more.  

The feel of his growing erection pressed against her stomach reminded her of her goal and she moved her lips to his neck, nipping and licking at his jaw as she wormed her hand down between them. She heard the gasp that caught in his throat as she palmed him through his jeans. His head fell back against the bark and his hands dropped to her sides, giving her room to continue. He let out desperate noises as she stroked him a few times, waiting until she could feel how painfully hard he must be before stepping back. 

The look of pure shock and dismay on his face as he watched her back away, back towards the carnival made the ache in her stomach and between her legs worth it. Gotcha. She smirked. 

“Swan, what…” He couldn’t even string a sentence together and it made her feel way, way too smug. It was nice to know, she thought, that she apparently had the same effect on him as he had on her. 

“Don't play with fire unless you’re willing to get your fingers burnt,” she taunted, practically giddy with female pride and at getting him back for all his teasing. 

She turned around and headed for the bright lights as though nothing had happened. She didn’t get far, hadn’t left the cover of the trees before his arm snaked around her belly, pulling her back against him. She could still feel his hardness pressed against her back. His hand slid up to her breast, fingers finding her nipple through the fabric of her shirt and she forgot she was annoyed with him for a second, her head falling back against his shoulder. An embarrassing sound left her. 

“That’s bad form, Emma,” he told her, his voice raspy against her ear. “Leaving a man like that.” His hips pushed up against her back and she forced herself to remember exactly how intentionally riled up he’d gotten her for his own amusement. 

“Worse form than spending the whole night getting a girl - what did you call it, flustered? - with no follow through?” 

He hummed in her ear. “You’re right, Swan, that was very wrong of me.” His teeth scraped at her ear, pulling the lobe into his mouth. His thumb didn’t stop its assault on her breast. “Allow me to make it up to you.” His other hand started inching its way towards the waistband of her jeans and Emma was pretty sure she was about to let him fuck her right here in the woods when the were interrupted by a giggle and some branches snapping. Someone spoke. They froze, desire turning to adrenaline as she prayed that nobody would see them. It was a second before Emma recognized the voice. 

“Shh, someone will hear us,” Mary Margaret said. It sounded like she was dragging an equally giddy David into the woods with her to do… well, exactly what she and Killian had been trying to do. Killian released her then. Apparently, knowing that their friends were getting it on a few yards away had the same effect on him as it had on her. She turned to him and he had a funny grin on his face when she met his eyes. It was a little awkward between them for a moment but then they heard what sounded a lot like a moan and they burst out laughing, both doing their best to muffle their laughter and not give themselves away. Killian tilted his head towards the fair and Emma nodded, the two heading back towards the crowds as silently as possible. Killian didn’t forget his bear.

“So, what have you chosen as my punishment?” he asked as they reached the rides. He looked a little nervous but also resigned to his fate. She decided to be kind. He had, after all, helped her find her way back to writing today.

“Think you can handle the ferris wheel?” she asked, with a raised brow. 

He looked relieved. “Aye. That I can do.” 

They reached the attraction and handed over their tickets. Killian nearly got into an argument with the teenager operating the ride about whether or not he could take his bear with them. 

“It sits three!” he insisted. He won eventually, settling in the seat with Emma to his left and the giant pink monstrosity to his right. 

“Are you really going to carry that thing with you all night?” 

“Of course I am. I told you, Swan, I want to be the envy of every man here.” 

Emma rolled her eyes and the bench gave a little lurch as the ride started. Emma loved the ferris wheel. She loved being so high up, getting to see so much of the town around her all at once. For someone who had never gone much further west, north, or south than New York, it felt like she had the whole world at her fingertips. The ride stopped, leaving them stuck near the very top. She loved it when it did that. It was her favorite part. She looked out at the horizon, a happy smile on her face.

“What are you thinking?” Killian asked, his voice soft beside her. She didn’t want to tell him. He’d seen so much of the world and she felt small and boring for having been so confined to one place - so stuck. She knew he wouldn’t judge her, but she still wanted him to… she didn’t know. Find her interesting? She didn’t know how to handle that feeling. She’d never wanted anything from any man. Never cared what they thought of her. But she cared what Killian thought. 

She gave him a wry smile, deciding on a white lie. “I was thinking that I can’t believe David and Mary Margaret are banging in the woods right now.” 

He laughed. “I can’t say I’m surprised. Those two have been all over each other.” 

“I am!” she countered. “You don’t know Mary Margaret like I do. Sex in the woods is not her style. Casual sex in general isn’t really her style.” She smiled a little thinking of her glacial moving friend who insisted on love before sex. “That’s more the kind of thing I’d have expected from Ruby and Graham.” 

Killian’s eyes widened. “What?” 

“Ruby and Graham,” she repeated. “They’re like ‘together’ I think. You must have noticed.” 

He seemed genuinely surprised. “I didn’t know it was serious! I thought that was just her personality.” She quirked an eyebrow. “The flirting I mean. She flirted with me!” Emma bit back her smile. Every man in the world thought Ruby flirted with them. 

“Sure she did,” she teased. 

“She did!” he insisted. “Poor Graham,” he said then, shaking his head. “She’s gonna eat him alive.” Emma nearly laughed, remembering having that exact thought.

“I dunno,” she said honestly. “I think she really likes him. I haven’t seen her like this since…” she paused, a frown crossing her brow as she tried to remember Ruby being this infatuated, this happy. “Actually I don’t think I’ve ever seen her like this.”

“She might be good for him,” he said thoughtfully. “The last woman he was with nearly ripped out his heart. Ruby seems kind, protective.” 

Killian smiled and Emma took a minute to just think about her friends, time to enjoy the contentedness and the peace it brought her to see them so happy. It was then that Emma realised something. She was happy. It came as a surprise. She hadn’t been particularly unhappy before. She’d been comfortable with her life, satisfied for the most part and resigned to the fact that this was all she was going to get. But there had been something missing. Music had been missing, adventure had been missing, fun had been missing. 

She realised then that the person who had brought all of those things back into her life was sitting next to her now, holding a stupid, monsterous bear. It hit her like a blow to the chest, but rather than knock her back, rather than scare her, she felt it spread through her limbs, into her fingers and warm her from the inside as she turned to look at him. He was staring out at the city below them with a slight sort of amazement in his eyes and she wondered for a moment, not for the first time, if maybe he understood her more than she thought. She put her hand over his where it rested on the safety bar. He looked up at her. 

“I never said thank you. For helping me today.”

He gave her a half smile. “Think nothing of it,” he said. He leaned in a bit, his next words coming out with plain honesty. “I like helping you, Emma. I like writing with you, spending time with you.” He paused then and something crossed his face, something soft and a little vulnerable. “I like y-” she cut him off, pressing her lips to his. Please don’t say it. She couldn’t hear it. If he said it… if he said it then this would be over. Their rules were clear and if he - she didn’t want it to be over. 

For a moment she thought he would protest but then he brought his hand to her cheek and kissed her back, letting her silence him. Thank you, she wanted to say again. The ride started once more, giving a slight jerk and Killian pulled back quickly. She was a little disappointed until he smiled deviously at her. 

“Well now every man here is definitely jealous of me.” He pulled the bear from where it was sitting beside him and propped it in his lap, it’s stupidly massive size effectively hiding their faces from any onlookers. “Can’t be too careful,” he reminded her before pressing his lips to hers again. 

She smiled. Idiot. 

[probably-writing-x]

Somebody else

SHAWN MENDES

You should've told him you didn't like surprises. Oh wait.. You did! This boy just found it hard to listen.

"Come on, it will be fun!" Kieran encourages, tugging on your arm as the two of you walk through the car park.

"Who's even on tonight?" You sigh, fixing the denim jacket over your form.

"It's Adam Sandler and Shawn Mendes," Your boyfriend of four months responds and notices as you completely stop in your tracks.

"I'm sorry?!"

"I know how much you love his music, you're always listening to it when I see your Spotify," He chuckles, "Let's go!"

Oh shit...

You definitely didn't like this surprise. You and Shawn had dated for about two years, breaking up only a year ago - it was a beautiful relationship with a bitter end. And it was one you were definitely not completely over just yet. Definitely not. And you hadn't seen that boy since you left...

~~~

You feel even more nauseated when Kieran guides the two of you to your seats, directly in eye sight of the stage and not far enough back. He was a perfectly lovely guy with typical flaws. Like how he didn't really listen to the little things you said or how he would always do things that he wanted instead of what both of you decided on. And he got a little possessive in the wrong situations and he checked up on your social media a lot - evident in how he checks your listening activity on Spotify!

The show comes to a vicious beginning and, eventually, you watch as Shawn steps out on stage, your fists balling into your jacket at the sight.

~~

He steps in front of the microphone and you hear the beginning of his new song, one you knew too well was about you and one that killed you to listen to.

And then his eyes dusted over the crowd, falling on one audience member particularly. The young woman five rows back with a little too much fear in her eyes and a little too much pressure being placed on her pursed lips. And then how she tenses when an arm falls around her.

No...

That couldn't be her and she couldn't be with him. Shawn refused to let himself believe it. She'd found someone else?!

He swallows the lump in his throat and starts singing, feeling a little too personal singing this in front of his muse. Shawn focuses solely on the song, trying to forget about everything else but the microphone and the guitar in his hands.

His eyes flick back up to her and see how she takes out her phone, wanting to distract herself from the memorable sight and he's trying his best to look through her but it's impossible to do. Had she really moved on?

He pictured her sitting there simply beaming with pride at his performance. No. He imagined her waiting backstage for him to finish, running to wrap her arms around him and mumble something incoherent about her pride and adoration. He imagined running his warm hands down her sides and thinks about the million ways he could touch her skin, hold her body. He didn't want her back, but he hated the idea of her with anyone else.

~~

"Damn, he's good, isn't he?" Kieran mumbles beside you and you find yourself tensing once again.

"Yeah, yeah, he was," You reply, unsure as to whether you're talking about his performance or his qualities as a boyfriend.

Your boyfriend frowns at you but you brush it off.

"I'm just going to the toilet," You mutter, pushing yourself up and trying to squeeze through the people beside you.

The air in that studio felt sickingly claustrophobic now, somehow hot and heavy on your skin and you could feel it coursing through your veins.

Before you know it, you've got yourself lost in the corridors outside, having no recollection of the path you had taken.

"What are you doing here?"

The words are cold and make your heart sink. You wait until it shatters to the floor before you turn around.

"It wasn't my idea," You state simply, eyes trained to the floor.

He lets out a harsh scoff, "I figured. You hate things like this. And you prefer watching me perform from backstage,"

Your eyes look up and you sigh at the sight - the glimmer of sweat washing his forehead, his hair in slight disarray, those goddamn hands.

"Looks like you've found someone to take my place," He cocks a brow but you hear the pain in his words, "Who is he?"

"My, my mum set us up," You stumble, "His name's Kieran, we've only been dating for a couple months,"

"He sat on the left of you, you prefer when they sit on the right," Shawn points out, his feet somehow shuffling a little closer.

"No, I preferred when you did," You mutter, "He's not replacing you,"

"Really?! Because that's not what it seemed like to me," Shawn exclaims and the raise in his volume makes you flinch.

"What do you want me to do, Shawn?" You question in response, gathering your confidence in small ounces, "When we ended things, that was it for you. You could move on and you could go and do all this stuff that you do. Me? I have to see your face everywhere. I have to hear your voice and see these billboards and I have to pretend that you still don't completely kill me, Mendes,"

It's him who is silent now.

And, somehow, Shawn has it in him to make you tear up again.

"Come on, baby," He sighs in wincing pain, taking the last step closer to you, "Don't cry, don't cry,"

"He's not replacing you, Shawn. He's just there to prove that I can learn to live without you," Your voice cracks and you swipe the tears from your cheeks.

"And? Can you?"

"God no," You say as a whisper, "But we're just going to keep doing this, aren't we?"

He sighs and takes your fingers into his hands, "I can't promise you my life, I can't promise you all of my time or my soul or whatever. We all know that I don't have that. I'm rarely home and, when I am, I try to find any reason not to be,"

You're losing hope now - hating yourself for ever letting Kieran bring you here. Hating yourself for ever being with Kieran in the first place.

"But I can give you my heart, god you've already got it," He chuckles a little, "And, if that's even remotely enough for you, I'm asking you to leave that guy. I know you deserve the world, and I can't offer that. Maybe somebody else can and maybe that's what you need. But, I can't picture you with anyone else. I can't imagine anyone loving you like I do, holding you like I do, knowing every inch of you like I do. I can't give you the world, but I can make you mine,"

"I don't what somebody else, Shawn," You shake your head.

With that, his hand comes up to your cheek, thumb caressing the skin like he needed to know you weren't slipping away, "Nobody else, darling," He mumbles through trembling lips before they latch onto yours, pouring every emotion into it like he was desperate to make up for those lost few months.

And, boy, nobody else could compare.

Tags: @imarypayne @sunshine112 @bringmethehorizonandpizza @supernatural-girl97 @vibhati123 @butithasntkilledyouyet @faefictions @carisi-sonny @trap-house-homiecide @spiderrpcrker @tommydaspidey @oneblckcoffee @darlingtholland @fanficparker @xxtomxo

[silvensei]

In This Mad Machinery

A human and an android swap bodies, resulting in identity crises, existentialism, philosophy with the boys, and fun!

Detroit: Become Human | gen | 20k | rated T | introspective comedy/sci-fi

Chapter 3 (2.5k words) | [AO3 link] | [first] | < prev | next >

- - - - - - - - - -

A bell chimed above the door as it swung open. A portly woman turned around from the counter, a practiced yet warm smile and greeting at the ready. When she noticed who her new patrons were, she paused and propped a hand on her hip. “Well, look what the cat dragged in!” she teased amicably. “Hank Anderson! Haven’t seen your face ‘round here in ages!”

“Sorry, Bel. You know how life gets in the way,” Connor said, parroting Hank’s briefing from the car. “Is the usual still on the menu?”

“Aw, hon,” she laughed, “joshing as always!”

Connor smiled. He had no idea what that meant.

Fortunately, she turned her attention to the other member of his party. “As much as it’s good to see an old favorite, new faces keep the business going. Name’s Ysabel.”

Hank waved. “Connor.”

“Well, Connor, want a menu? It’s just your typical array of diner classics, but with enough pizzazz to knock your socks off, guaranteed!”

“Oh, no, thanks, ma’am, just a coffee for now.”

“Two cuppa joe and a patty with the fixin’s.” She waved them off and adjusted her apron. “You boys go make yourselves comfortable, y’hear?”

She left for the kitchen. Hank ushered Connor into the diner proper, over to the rows of red booths with black and white marbled tables. With windows on two sides, natural light filled the space. Only a handful of other tables were occupied, people chattering amongst themselves. It wasn’t terribly spacious, but in the way that it felt cozy rather than claustrophobic.

Hank settled in a corner booth, his back to the wall. “She seems nice,” Connor commented, sitting across from him.

“Bel? She’s more than nice. She’s probably the closest thing to an angel I’ve got.” His head turned to look out the window, letting Connor notice a momentary bout of erratic flickering in his LED. “It doesn’t matter who you are or where you’re from, but she still makes this place seem like a mother’s kitchen. Just home recipes abound. And to top it all off? She don’t take shit from no one.

“One time—” he laughed, “—One time, ages ago, Jeffrey and I came by for lunch just pissed off. An easy drug bust flipped right around and left us with nothing, sending us right back to the drawing board. One officer was so furious she quit that morning. So we came in here, fuming, cussing up a storm, just miserable bastards looking to drown our frustrations in some good ol’ comfort food; it was too early for booze, but hell, did we come close. Bel came over with absolutely not the right thing, like soup and salad or something. I’ll admit, I was a bit of a hotheaded prick back then—”

“‘Back then’?”

“Watch it, boy,” Hank warned with a grin. “Anyway, I snapped at her, saying I wasn’t in the mood to deal with this, we didn’t want this, how hard was it to grill a fucking burger, I didn’t even have my coffee yet, and so on, and she shut me up by throwing a glass of water in my face. It was nearly empty already and didn’t have ice, but it was enough to do the trick. Then she said, ‘If starting over is so easy, why don’t you kids stop bitching and suck it up?’ Then she walked away.” Hank rested his chin in his hand, the smile still on his face. “It was the literal smack to the head that I needed. She gave us the soup n’ salads on the house as an attempt to get us to eat healthier. The coffee was free, too, but it was mostly hot sauce to get back at me for yelling at her.

Connor’s own smile had only grown. He wasn’t entirely sure why; it seemed like an involuntary response. “If that’s not the definition of a guardian angel, then I don’t know what is.”

“What can I say? You really do need a friend around who’s not afraid to knock some sense into you.”

Connor leaned back, sinking into the red cushions. This was comfortable. Natural light diffusing through the windows; fun conversation with the white noise of other discussions over quiet music he couldn’t place; the ever-present aroma of a kitchen hard at work; a pleasant warmth from the sunlight (without the radiation). He would like to come here again.

With such fond memories, though, why hadn’t they come here before in the six months Connor had known him? He decided to ask.

Hank continued looking out the window. His expression shifted into something Connor couldn’t interpret, but the brief red light gave him some clues. “It just seemed a bit boring to bring an android to a restaurant, y’know? You don’t really eat and all….”

“You boys gossiping over here?” joked Bel, sliding two mugs of coffee onto the table. Connor jumped; he hadn’t heard her approach. Or maybe his ears did, but his attention was focused elsewhere. Bel laughed. “Late nights at the bar making you jumpy?”

“Ah… not so much anymore,” Connor improvised. “Some late nights on the job, if anything.”

“Oh, I’d bet. Between homicide and android rights cases, you two are probably set on work for the next couple years.” She fished around in the pocket of her apron.

“Where did you hear about our casework?” asked Hank.

Bel found her target and deposited a couple small cups of thirium into the bowl of half-and-half creamers. “All over the news, hon! You’re really paving the way for androids in the work force. Setting the bar pretty high, too, while you’re at it.” She smiled before whisking off to other tables.

“As nice as ever, that Bel,” Hank commented. He inspected one of the thirium cups and asked, “How is this compared to plain old creamers?”

Connor’s hands hovered around his mug. He lacked his infrared temperature sensor, his unfamiliar tactile senses only told him ‘hot,’ and he couldn’t even remember what a fourth-order differential to estimate heat loss through radiation looked like. He’ll just give it a minute or two to cool. “I’m sure thirium doesn’t taste pleasant, but because the android program recognizes it as essential to mechanical function, it won’t register the taste. It’s just used like a nutritional benefit.”

Hank’s nose scrunched for a moment as he regarded tainting his sacred drink. Then he shrugged, poured one in with a stir and downed a gulp. He stared past Connor, eyes narrowed as he critiqued the taste. There was a smattering of yellow in his LED. “Mmmmm,” he soon hummed. “0.12 calories.”

A snort of laughter caught in Connor’s nose, which turned into a short bout of coughs. The tickle it left in his nasal cavity was completely alien. “Shit,” he choked out. Hank was much better at containing his reaction to just a smirk. “I don’t like how involuntary that was.”

“Hah. Welcome to the club.”

“And hot off the presses!” Bel swept over to them once again, setting a platter in the middle of the tabletop. “Did the onions myself! It was such a treat to break out the cheddar patties again, too; they just go to waste when you’re not around.”

Connor sat mesmerized. He and Hank had gone to many—if not most—burger joints in and around Detroit, but the hamburger in front of him was the tallest, most layered sandwich he had ever seen. Two burgers, flecks of cheddar dripping from them, overflowing with caramelized onions, roasted peppers, mushrooms, slices of some other cheese, lettuce, pickles—is that macaroni? A sharp kick to the shin snapped him from his trance long enough to thank Bel and send her off. “Lieutenant!” he hissed. He leaned forward to keep his voice down, regretting the full whiff of that savory, melty scent he got. “Do you know how many calories are in this?!”

“With this head of yours, I do now, yeah. And no way am I telling you, impulsive programming be damned!” Hank set a devious grin in his borrowed expression; this mischievous image of his doppelgänger made Connor uncomfortable. “Give it a try. I can guarantee it’s delicious.”

He knew he shouldn’t. It was unhealthy, grease-laden, and caloric. As if the burger wasn’t enough, the bed of beer batter waffle fries that coated the plate with accompanying cups of barbecue sauce could’ve been a meal on its own. It also smelled incredible.

It was technically a command from Hank, he realized, but without a HUD of objectives, it was nothing more than words. Nothing binding about it.

But it smelled so good.

He picked up the burger, leaving in the steak knife skewer holding it together. Before he could second-guess himself, he took a bite. There was a crunch from the brioche, a different crunch of the onions, then too many to distinguish, each with its own flavor that he had no previous reference on which to base any categorization, but together, it was splendid.

His instinct was to isolate and analyze each individual component, but without his tech, it was just a bombardment of information. By the time the taste stopped overwhelming his senses, half of the burger was gone.

Hank was swirling the coffee around in his mug, expression dripping in ‘told ya so.’ “A goddamn culinary masterpiece, right?”

Connor took another quick bite (getting mostly onions and macaroni) before he replaced it on the plate. He wiped off his hands on a paper napkin to buy processing time. “Lieutenant,” he said. “Hank. I still disapprove. But I understand now.”

“Fuckin’-A right!” Hank took a bite out of a waffle fry. “Listen, I get that you guys don’t need to eat, but it wouldn’t kill ya every now and then. CyberLife at least could’ve built in better taste buds. All I’m getting is calorie count and salt content, not any of the finesse.”

Trying a fry for himself, he noted the tang that he deduced as saltiness. Though not the main dish, they were also quite good. He took another. “It’s not vital to androids’ function—”

“And it’s not ‘vital’ to come and eat out like this. It’s just fuckin’ delightful.”

That is true. Much of his existence these days isn’t spent out of necessity. He didn’t have to pet Sumo, but it made him happy to do so. Munching on a third fry, he realized that humans were the same, except with more of a sensory benefit, like the fluffiness of Sumo’s fur. Why weren’t they the ones with compulsive programming? It seemed like they would need it more, what with all these distractions that can physically affect their mental state. “Ohh…,” he realized, “no wonder addictions are such an issue.”

“Now— hold on, now, how’d you jump to that conclusion? Like, yeah, but—” Hank’s LED began blinking. He flinched from something before raising his eyebrows. “A call from Jeffrey. Now this’ll be interesting.” He hesitated before he looked around the room. “I, ah, should probably take this elsewhere, ‘case it’s on the down low.”

“Tap the temple to answer,” Connor advised as Hank slid out of the booth and went to the door.

Connor crunched another fry, one that was extra crunchy. He should probably pay Bel soon and get a box for the rest, should they have to leave in a hurry. If only he knew how much two coffees and a—shit.

He picked up the untouched coffee. It was barely warm now. Unhelpful one-track human brain. Can’t even set a reminder in the background. He took a sip. It didn’t warm him or anything, but it tingled his tongue in a sort of dry, sharp way. Coffee was bitter, right? He didn’t think it would be this bitter, but Hank did like his coffee black. Despite complaining he couldn’t taste much, Hank’s mug was completely drained.

He spotted Bel this time as she approached. “Could I get a box for the rest of this? It sounds like we might have to leave soon.”

“Always off to save the city, you two are. I’ll get this all wrapped up in a jiffy!”

“And how much do I owe you?” Connor asked before she left with his plate. He was pretty sure Hank’s wallet was in his left pocket.

Bel cocked a grin. “Hon, has it really been so long you don’t remember?”

He paused. “Got two coffees this time.”

“Oh, silly me, that’s true! How’s an even ten bucks sound, then?”

Connor couldn’t help a small frown. “That seems a bit low….”

“Nah, call it a ‘welcome back’ discount.” Her expression lost its teasing edge, becoming something warm. “It’s good to see you again, Hank.”

While he liked the woman, if the conversation was going to turn sentimental, he wasn’t sure how well he was going to keep up his act. “It’s good to see you, too, Bel,” he replied before bringing his cold mug to his lips, hoping to end it there.

“And I hope you kept your talent for parenting.”

Connor almost choked. “What?”

“You were always a good father.” Bel was looking over his shoulder, off down memory lane. “Cole was the brightest kid in the county. But while more tragedy has befallen you than I would wish on anybody, I still hope Connor’s lucky enough to be in the same kind of care.”

“No, sorry, Connor’s not my son, he’s a detective—my coworker—not to mention an android.”

“Which means he might need it most, eh, sugar?” She shifted her weight and her gaze, looking back at him. “Sure, he looks what, twenty-five? Thirty? But isn’t he a new model? He probably ain’t even three yet, and he’s been deviant for way less than that. A father figure to show him the societal ropes sounds perfect to me.”

He felt like a process or ten had stalled. Fortunately, Hank returned to the table, so Bel took his plate and left with no more than a wink.

“Jeffrey wants us at the office today,” Hank said. Connor blinked and took a breath, trying to not focus on Bel’s inanity. (RK800 androids were the most advanced—hot off the production line immediately—he didn’t need—)

“Specifically, he wants me,” continued Hank, “so technically, he wants you. Said it shouldn’t take long.”

Connor cleared his throat. “So why didn’t he call me directly?”

“He did. A few times.”

Startled, Connor quickly dug out Hank’s phone. The screen lit to two missed calls, one new voicemail, and some new emails. “Oh….”

“Not so easy when it doesn’t directly invade your brain, huh? Now can you forgive me for not texting immediately?”

“I thought we were supposed to be unraveling the secrets of existence, Lieutenant, not dissecting your communication and dietary habits.”

Hank laughed. In Connor’s opinion, it didn’t sound right with his voice, but it made him smile nonetheless. “So, are we both going or just me?” he asked.

“I dunno, what else am I gonna do?”

Connor hummed. “It’s Saturday, right? Markus might be home.”

“Markus? As in rA9 Markus?”

“If CyberLife keeps this up, he’s bound to hear about it sooner or later, so why not tell him now? He usually checks in on his human on the weekends.”

Hank shrugged. “Might as well, I guess. Gives me something different to do. Where’s he live?”

“Around. Don’t ask me, you’re the one with the GPS today.”

Bel returned once more and set a cardboard box on the table. “Well, boys, it was my pleasure!” she boomed. “Y’all better come back soon, alright?”

“Thank you, ma’am,” Hank said with a smile as he stood. “Wonderful coffee.”

“Aw, c’mere!” She pulled him into a hug, something that didn’t fluster Hank at all. When the embrace broke, she held him by both shoulders and said, “Oh, Hank, he hugs like you already!”

The real Hank’s eyebrow twitched. “What…does that mean?”

“Nothing, nothing!”

Connor avoided their eyes until he found a ten and some ones in his wallet and handed them to Bel. He picked up the box and used his free arm to give her a quick hug. It was warm. Nice. “Thanks, Bel.”

“Anytime!”

[next >]

[phinnsyreads]

(use headphones/earbuds for best listening experience)

This was stupid. It was a stupid idea, thought up by stupid people, in stupid, safe offices. Agent Two looked around slowly, letting his flashlight play over the walls, one of the only items the Agents were allowed to carry inside SCP-015. Agents Six and Lon were standing just behind him, doing the same. The idle chatter and joking had died off about thirty seconds ago, each Agent slowly realizing that this was no simple little milk-run. Go in, find the observation unit, pull the data and recover the unit. Cake. They'd laughed, Lon asking if she should find a Mario hat to wear, them being plumbers now and all. Now, however…seeing the dim, cramped tunnel yawning before them, the only joke was them being there at all.

Two stepped forward, slowly, fixing his flashlight on the ground. It was a hard mat of pipes, more or less level with the floor. A few small tubes stuck up here and there, snaking around like tree roots, or suddenly turning up in the middle of the floor like a pillar. The walls, the ceiling, every inch of the original structure was coated in pipes. Some researcher who led them up to the main door said that there wasn't anything left of the old warehouse really, except for the outer shell. He pushed away that whole line of thought, pointedly following the pre-mapped course they'd had to memorize, stepping around a pillar of tightly woven hair, the glossy surface steaming gently.

Six plodded along, taking the rear and keeping a close eye on Two and Lon. Skittish kids. Lon was jumping at every sound, and Two looked like he was ready to drop and run if he saw so much as a mouse. Kids. He sniffed in the dark, playing his light forward, smelling heat, sewage, and God knows what else. They needed a good military hand to lead them, but damned if Six was going to mollycoddle grown adults who were going to jump at shadows. They were going to get this goddamn job done, and get the hell back out. Fuck that bullshit SCP slip, they were just security blankets for eggheads and flakes. “Semi-sentient” my ass, they just didn't want people denting their pet horrors. He wanted out of this dripping nightmare. He was going to get this mission done with or without them.

Lon tiptoed over a thick, thorny mass of pipe, the surface like braided thistles, trying not to whimper. She kept close to Two, keeping the light at her feet so she wouldn't step on anything nasty. She hadn't wanted to seem like the little, weak girl…but she had a terrible fear of tight spaces…and this place was like walking around in someone's slowly closing arteries. Lon shook her head, hard, breaking off that whole train of thought. She was the tech, Six and Two were the safety. All she had to do was stick by them, pull the data cards out of the MRV, and then leave. She tried hard not to look back at the sealed doors in the distance behind them. Only a couple turns to the MRV, a little work, and then out. In and out, simple as pie. She ignored a softly throbbing pipe of leathery flesh near her arm with a focus that was almost physical.

They found the MRV after what felt like an hour of walking. It was hard to keep your bearings. The rampant growth of the pipes had cramped some areas down to crawlways, and snarled others in to random, claustrophobic mazes. Six had nearly gotten stuck twice, and had looked like he was about to murder Lon when she made a comment relating to Winnie the Pooh. Lon was talking again, at least…but it was brittle, whistle in front of the graveyard chatter. Two kept trying to follow the directions…but even with them being less than a week old, they were little more than a guideline. When they'd finally found the MRV, it'd been a momentary relief. At least they were at the half way point. Then they'd looked at it in the light.

It had been speared, for lack of a better term. Pinned against a pipe of some kind of dense fabric, a smooth, black pipe had docked itself to the camera lens of the observation vehicle. It wasn't smashed or damaged, it just…connected, as if it was made for it. It had lifted the little treaded robot nearly a foot off the ground, and it looked like other, smaller pipes had started to connect to other open spaces on the vehicle. It just sat there, the wheels slowly turning as the battery died, like a bug on a nest of pins. Some clear, foul-smelling fluid was dripping softly from the camera housing.

“Well.”

Two's voice echoed in the dark, a monument to pointless speech. They all stood, for a few moments, then Lon started to, carefully, look over the MRV. Six was looking around with an increasing restlessness, starting to mutter quietly. Lon was reaching for the data cards, before stopping, looking over at Two.

“Um…Two…since it's grown in to the MRV, do you think it…counts?”

“What do you mean counts?” Two kept the light on her and the machine, a hiss of steam behind him making him flinch.

“I mean as damaging 015. If I take out the data cards, do you think it will…react?”

Two looked around slowly, shining his light along the floor, a pipe as wide as a car and seemingly made of compacted lint.

“…this suddenly seems like a bad-”

“Oh shut the fuck up.”

Both Agents turned to stare at Six. He'd stepped up to the MRV, flexing his hands and reaching in to his coat with one hand. The other pushed Lon away none too softly.

“Move it. Reaction, for fuck's sake…they just say that shit to fuck with people and keep their toys safe. It's a bunch of weird pipes. Beginning and end, there. Maybe it grows or whatever, but the damn thing sure as shit isn't going to take offense to people. I'm grabbing this goddamn thing, and we're getting out of here.”

As he spoke, he stepped forward, flipping open the dataport cover. More of the clear, scummy liquid had pooled inside. The other two Agents froze, staring in shock a moment…and the building seemed to do so as well, the whispered sounds of venting steam, sliding materials, and soft pinging had all stopped. The heartbeat in Lon's ears sounded like gunshots. Two started forward, reaching for Six.

“Jesus, Six, what the fuck are-”

Six ignored him, slipping out the thin data cards. It felt like old, nasty water over them…bad, but they were built to resist it. He slipped them out, then put the bundle in his pocket. He prodded around the edge of the camera lense, shifting the MRV a bit, trying to see if it would work free as Two and Lon backed away, slowly, the silence around them seeming to crush inward. Six gave up, turning away from the helplessly trapped MRV and shining his light on the two white-faced Agents.

“Fucking kids. I don't know how you guys survive.”

The pipe under him opened with the soft sound of tearing felt.

Two and Lon didn't even have time to react, before he slid in to the widening gap up to his armpits, and started screaming horribly. Six's flashlight went tumbling away as the two Agents, galvanized by the big man's wretched screaming, ran to help him. A blast of heat and light was pouring up from under the man, as the two Agents grabbed his arms and looked down. He was submerged in a mass of thickly flowing molten glass. His clothes had already started to smolder and burn, the stench of seared flesh almost more overpowering than the reverberating screams. They pulled, and dragged up half of a man, with a ruined, seared mass of flesh and cloth where his lower body should have been.

They panted, trying to drag him, Lon starting to scream along with Six, Two's eyes wide and fixed on some point far away from there. There was a horrible swell of sound rising all around them, pinging, hissing, clicking, cracking, a pipe to their side bulging alarmingly and causing them to nearly fall. They regained their footing just as a wooden pipe above them burst open in a spray of splinters and clear, stinging dust.

Two and Lon spun away, gagging and choking, Two spitting out a sudden mass of blood. Glass. It was powdered glass. It poured over Six, muffling his screams, shifting as he struggled a few moments, then stopped, the glass quickly covering the body and spreading. Lon blinked, eyes red and puffy, looking over at Two. He nodded, and they bolted down the hall, trying to ignore the rising cacophony of sound, sounding like an approaching subway train. A mass of oily, reeking chemicals boiled up behind them, a jetting surge of rose thorns nearly cutting off their forward progress, forcing them to crawl along a bone pipe that was shuddering like an old man in the cold.

They ran, keeping just ahead of…whatever it was, hearing splintering explosions and shivering cracks all around them. They finally came to a snarled crawlway, barely a few feet wide, that was the only way forward. Two dived in, doing a low crawl, trying to will himself forward like a snake, knowing the passage was only about fifteen feet long, easy, wouldn't take any time. Lon hesitated, that tiny, black gap looking like a mouth, before a sudden burst of steam behind her sent her shrieking forward, sobbing as she started to crawl, calling after Two.

Two ignored the growing vibration all around him, the creaking ping near his head, and slid free of the opening, he turned…and saw nothing. No Lon, no sudden bursting…just the empty hole. He looked around, hands twitching, thinking, then slid back inside, trying to find Lon and physically drag her out. He could hear her, muffled, probably behind the next turn…and his flashlight revealed a solid wall of three thick, flaking white pipes. This was it, he was sure of it, the tunnel was right here…and then he heard the pitiful scream behind them. Lon begging, pleading, screaming for him. Two stared, eyes wide, then slammed his flashlight against the pipe. It burst, sending a reeking, corrosive slime over his hand, making him reel back down the crawlway, screaming as it ate in to his flesh. He stood outside the opening, holding his steaming hand away from him, trying not to look at the exposed bone.

“Oh…oh Jesus…Lon…Lon, I'm sorry, I'll get help, I'll get someone, just sit tight, I swear…”

He bolted down the hall, his flashing seeming to dim in time to the rising sound.

Lon panted, screaming for Two, hearing the hard bang on the other side of the pipe and his sudden, shrieking retreat. She sobbed, her whole body shaking, and slowly started to work her way backward, crawling on her belly, crying as she muttered some half-remembered prayer.

When her feet pushed against a sold wall of pipe, she couldn't even muster a fresh scream.

She was trapped, the space not much bigger than a coffin, helpless. She sobbed, face on the ground of warm, fuzzy pipes…and noticed the silence. Aside from her cries, there was nothing. No pinging, no cracks or explosions…nothing. She raised her head in the barely illuminated dark, looking around. She was alive. It was calming down. They'd come for her, Two would get help. She was getting out of here. She fought back her growing claustrophobia, looking along the walls. She noticed a small gap at the ceiling, and started shifting to get a better look, twisting back…and finding only the open end of a pipe. Lon sagged back, closing her eyes, tears leaking down her face.

The first sticky drips she simply assumed were the same tears. Then one fell on her mouth…and it was sweet. She opened her eyes, and saw a thick, quivering mass of amber goo splatter from the mouth of the pipe, coating her and the floor as it surged out. She coughed, shifting back…it was honey. Honey, or something like it. At least it wasn't molten lead or acid…then she saw the level rising. It wasn't draining. The pipes were packed too close. She looked around her tiny chamber with horror rising much faster than the honey oozing up her sides. Lon beat on the walls the floor, the ceiling, trying to block the pipe with her hands, heedless of provoking the thing more…as the honey rose and rose, as cloying sweet as a school age lover.

Her last, gasping breath was sweet and stale with honey and screams.

Two ran, totally lost now, his flashlight dimming by the moment, the sound of cracking and bursting pipes starting to trail off. Maybe it was done, finally. 015 was protective, but it didn't seem vengeful. People had gotten hurt before, and gotten out fine. It happened. They'd find a way to get Lon out too. She might even be out already, just found another way to get around the blockage. That was probably it, she was out of this stupid place. Six was a shame…but why had that lunatic opened the case? What the hell had possessed him?

He was still musing on this when he tripped over an unseen pipe in the dark around his feet.

He pitched forward, yelping a half-surprised, half-terrified bark as he went sprawling. Or he should have went sprawling. Instead, he fell past the floor, in to a yawning, open pit of a pipe, the slick, oozing sides plunging down at a sharp angle. He screamed, trying to grab something to stop or slow himself, but the walls were oozing and thick, his downward slide gaining speed. His dimming flashlight showing a seemingly endless tunnel stretching off below him. He slid, and slid, a scum of stinking, smooth ooze sticking to his clothes and skin.

The tube twisted, banging him against the wall as he followed it, his flashlight jittering and starting to flicker. Panic slammed down like a fist, Two grabbing the light and trying to keep it still, pleading with it, staring at the lamp bulb as it dimmed more and more. It surged a moment, then flickered out, the darkness pressing to his eyes like cloth, the Agent slipping down faster and faster, screaming until he was hoarse, screaming until his throat bled, screaming even as he passed well beyond the physical boundaries of that tangled web of pipes.

Days later, when his skin started to shred off, it was almost welcome.

SCP-015 Recovery Report

Agent Two: MIA Agent Six: MIA Agent Lon: MIA MRV-889236 Status: Unrecovered

Data deemed non-vital in light of lost staff. SCP-015 classification level review suggested.

[artificialqueens]

Pretty Mess Chapter 6 (Chiona)

A/N: here’s chapter 6, fuckers. i told y'all i was gonna update more frequently. I ended up talking a bit about Adore’s fans in this chapter because I recently met her and I’m still incredibly soft and happy about it. Also, a couple of weeks ago she tweeted “I’d be dead without them” in regards to her fans and it gave me a bit of inspo. But anyway, I hope you enjoy!

T/W for s*lf h*rm / blood

Danny didn’t think he’d ever been this scared before. Hastily, he splashed his face with water and looked up at his reflection in the mirror, the leftover water dripping from his chin. The light in the bathroom dimly illuminated the room, and he noticed it was slightly flickering. He sighed and ran his hands through his scruffy black hair, sinking down to the ground and resting his back against the wall. 5 minutes earlier, he had woken up on the couch with a start. He had obviously had a bad dream, because he was in a cold sweat and was breathing heavy, but he couldn’t remember what it was about. Then, he saw a sleeping Roy’s arm draped around his waist and then he remembered where he was, and fragments of the dream came back to him. Roy had walked in on him cutting himself, but that was the least of his worries. Roy had grabbed the blade from his hand and was hurling insults at him, yelling straight in his face that he was frail, and pathetic and lazy, all while using the blade to cut at Danny’s thighs himself, and in the dream Danny could only watch as pools of blood stained the floor. The thought of the dream sent a shiver down his spine, and he suddenly felt incredibly claustrophobic next to Roy. So, he carefully unwrapped himself from Roy’s arms and now, here he was in the bathroom, struggling to breathe. The dream had been so vivid, and he could still see Roy’s enraged face screaming at him.

He buried his head in his hands, feeling just about ready to tear his hair out. Maybe this was he’s mind’s way of warning him against kissing Roy again, warning him against potentially becoming more than friends? The dream was only part of the reason why he was scared; the other part of it was what Roy was going to say when he woke up. Danny didn’t even know where he wanted their relationship to stand, but he knew that Roy would dismiss the events of the night before like he did last time they kissed, blaming it on the beer, or the atmosphere. And even though he was confused as to his feelings for the older man, for some reason the thought of his potential dismissal made him heartbroken. Part of him just wanted to avoid the whole situation, leave a note and leave, and then ghost Roy until the whole situation was forgotten. But then he remembered he was at his own damn house, and kicked himself. His head was spinning, going back and forth from his dream to his feelings for Roy with each passing second. He could hardly breathe as he thought about everything, thinking about how even if he did like Roy, there was no way Roy would like him back. Thoughts of self-deprecation filled his head, thinking of how he was weak, selfish and stupid he was, how he was too pathetic for Roy to even consider a relationship with him. Was that even what Danny wanted? A relationship? The comments he received on the main stage during All Stars filled his head, and he felt like the voices were screaming at him. Everything the judges had said were right.

Tears filled his eyes. He couldn’t take it anymore, and with shaking hands he opened the bathroom cabinet and loosely grasped the silver blade he kept there. Danny felt like he had blacked out for a second, and when he regained sense of what was happening around him he noticed the fresh cuts on his thighs, blood pooling from them, and small cuts along his wrists, a place he’d never brought the blade to before. With wide eyes, his hands trembled, and he dropped the blade. A small ‘clang’ noise echoed through the room, as Danny brought his legs up to his chest and sobbed into his knees, tears mixing with blood.

-

Danny wasn’t there when Roy woke up. The sun was peeking out through the blinds, stinging Roy’s eyes as he sat up on the couch. The TV was still on, muted, and the house was eerily quiet. The only sign of Danny was his phone placed on the coffee table, his ‘sick sad world’ phone case facing upwards. Roy grabbed his own phone from the coffee table, checking his social media, hoping to hear a sign of movement in the house. 10 minutes passed, and still the only noise he could hear was the sound of his own breathing. Confused, he put his phone in his pocket, looking around the house.

“Danny?” he called out, in a hoarse voice. No response. With a sigh, he stood up and walked down the hallway.

“Dan?” again, no response. He gently opened the door to the bedroom; surprisingly, the bed was made, and obviously hadn’t been touched in a while. When he walked into the room he saw what he expected Danny’s room to be; messy as hell, with clothes strewn about everywhere, letters and drawings from fans on the walls. With a soft smile, he walked over to a cluster of them on the wall next to his bed, scanning some of the letters. He really did mean so much to so many people, and all of the messages were so heartfelt. Danny treated all of his fans with so much love. Shaking the thoughts from his head and remembering what he was doing, he called out for Danny one last time. Still nothing. He checked the ensuite and Danny’s music room, but still nothing. The last place he could be was the spare bathroom. Roy went to open the door, but it wouldn’t budge. Locked. He looked down at the ground and noticed the faintest light billowing out from underneath the door. Gently, he knocked.

“Danny, are you in there?”

The only reply he received was silence. Hesitantly, Roy knocked again. No movement could be heard, at all.

“Danny, don’t make me knock this goddamn door down, I’m too old for that shit” he joked, in an attempt to lighten the mood.

“J….just go away, Roy” he heard Danny reply. The voice shocked him. He could tell that Danny had been crying. After a moment, Roy sat down with his back against the door.

“You know I’m not gonna do that, Dan. What’s wrong?” he persisted, his head turned to the side so it rested against the door.

“Please, Roy” came the broken voice from behind the door “I’m fine, just leave me alone”. Danny tried to sound like he was bitter, angry even, to give Roy the message to back off, but he just ended up sounding whiny and sad.

“Danny, you’re not fine…I can tell” Roy responded. Danny didn’t say anything. “If you let me in, you don’t have to say anything. I just want to see you, and comfort you, and make sure you’re okay. Can you let me do that?”

Danny had never really heard Roy speak like that before. So kindly, so…softly. Roy heard movement; a cupboard closing, water running. And then the sound of the lock on the door turning. He stood up and pushed the door open. He was greeted with sunken, bloodshot green eyes and wet cheeks.

“Danny…” his breath hitched at the sight of the younger boy. Tentatively, he wrapped his arms around Danny’s neck and hugged him tightly. Danny responded by loosely wrapping his arms around Roy’s waist and resting his head on his shoulder. Roy rubbed his back soothingly. Danny’s body shook violently as he tried to stifle his tears.

“Shh…” Roy whispered into his ear, squeezing him tight “Everything’s okay. I’ve got you”

Danny was taken aback by Roy’s behaviour. He’d never been this, well… soft before. Normally if Danny felt like shit Roy would just hug him, and tell sarcastic jokes to lighten the mood. But now he was acting tender and caring, and it was a completely different side of him.

When they pulled apart, Danny stumbled and grabbed onto the doorframe for support, in a sudden rush of lightheadedness. He went starry eyed for a second, and he swore he was about to black out, but Roy held him up.

“Are you alright?” he asked urgently.

“I…I need some water” Danny announced, starting towards the kitchen.

“No,” Roy stopped him in his tracks “I’ll get it. Just…wait here”

Roy quickly walked over to the kitchen and poured a glass of water, as well as grabbing a half empty bag of Ruffles (Danny’s favourite) from the pantry for good measure. He grabbed Danny’s phone for him on the way out, as well. When he returned to the hallway, Danny was no longer there. Roy could still see him, though; at the end of the hall he could see him sitting on his bed, looking through a book. There were a pile of papers next to him as well. Roy slowly approached him, and as he got closer, he smiled sadly as he realised they were all letters from fans. Danny looked up and grabbed the water from Roy, gulping it down as though he’d just spent months stranded in the desert.

“Thanks” he said, in a small voice, before running his hands over the page of the book he held in his hands. Roy could now see it was a little sketchbook, filled with messy scrawl. Slowly, he sat down on the bed, careful not to disrupt the pile of papers next to Danny. Before Roy could speak, Danny broke the silence.

“Whenever I feel like shit, I look through all this stuff” he croaked, turning the page as his mouth contorted into a smile that honestly looked more like a grimace “They keep me going” he admitted. Roy smiled at him, placing a hand on his knee.

“You keep them going” he responded, causing Danny to nod and quickly wipe a tear from his cheek “So many people love you”

“No…they love Adore”

“You’re Adore, aren’t you?”

Danny paused.

“Yeah… I guess” he agreed. Recently, he’d been incorporating more of Danny into his drag persona, and it made him feel so much more confident. Danny and Adore had kind of become one.

“Who’s that from?” Roy asked, gesturing to the book Danny held in his hands. The younger boy’s face lit up as he told the story of an underage fan he met outside the venue at a show, flicking through the pages of the sketchbook and showing him all the drawings and messages the fan had left him. Then, he moved onto the next letter, in the pile, and the next one, telling Roy countless stories about some of the lovely experiences he’d had with fans, talking of his “favourite babies”, as he referred to some of them. Roy could tell that his spirits had instantly been lifted, as the only tears that fell were happy ones.

“I don’t deserve them” Danny bit his lip, shaking his head.

“Of course you do. You deserve the world, Danny” Roy looked him dead in the eye, and Danny felt a shiver down his spine. He reached over for Roy’s hand and grabbed it, giving it a small squeeze.

“I love you” he mustered, his chest tight with fear of how Roy was going to respond. He’d told him he loved him before, but this time, after the events of the night before and all the thoughts running through his head about their relationship, it felt different.

“I love you, chola” Roy responded, with a wink. Danny smiled weakly in response.

“I think I’m gonna try and get some sleep” he said, rubbing at his eyes to emphasise how tired he had suddenly become.

“That’s probably a good idea” Roy agreed, letting go of Danny’s hand and standing up “I might get going now”

Danny’s shoulders dropped slightly, but not enough for Roy to notice.

“I’ll walk you to the door-“ Danny attempted to get up, but Roy held his hand out.

“I’m fine, just get some sleep, Dan”

“Alright” Danny smiled up at him while he tied his long black hair up into a bun on the top of his head. Roy’s heart melted; he looked adorable.

“Bye, pussyfart” he leant down to hug him.

“Bye, my love” Danny responded, breaking away from the hug slightly to look at Roy. Time seemed to stand still for a second, as they looked at each other. Danny slowly leaned forward and pressed his lips against Roy’s, butterflies in his stomach. All the tension in his body released when Roy kissed back, and Danny was the one to break the kiss. He smiled up at the older man and bit his lip, unloosing his hands from his waist and shuffling towards his pillows.

“Bye, Danny” Roy said softly, swiftly exiting the room as Danny snuggled under the covers and grabbed his phone. He heard the door close as he unlocked his phone and opened twitter. After scrolling through some of his mentions and replying to DM’s, he started to write a tweet, pressing send with a smile on his face.

It read “I love you all so, so much”. Instantly, hundreds of likes and replies came through, and his heart warmed. Danny fell asleep with a smile on his face.

-

DANNY: I have a show tonight, you wanna come watch? I might just buy you a drink ;)

Roy smiled down at his phone screen. Nearly a week had passed since they last saw each other, and they hadn’t really had any other form of communication since then other than liking or commenting on each other’s instagram photos, but apart from that, nothing. So, seeing a text from Danny lightened his mood a little bit.

ROY: Of course I do, bitch. You know I’m your number 1 fan

DANNY: fuckin cool

Roy scoffed slightly at the response, taking a screenshot when Danny sent him the details for the venue. He was not only excited to see Danny, but also Adore. He hadn’t seen Adore perform in a very long time. She was a natural born performer, and she always had the widest smile on her face while on stage that made Roy so happy. He was also excited to possibly see the products of his ‘creative rush’ that made him go MIA for two weeks. When it came to music, Danny knew what the fuck he was doing, and was arguably the best drag musician out there. It made Roy so proud to see Adore receive the success she deserved. His phone buzzing dragged him out of his thoughts, and he looked down to see a twitter notification. He ignored it, standing up and walking over to his room to get changed. He realised that he’d spent the past week catching himself in the middle of deep thought about Danny. Roy didn’t know what is was; he just couldn’t seem to stop thinking about him, and the kisses they shared. Part of him loved it, and he would constantly think back to the blissful feeling of them cuddled up on the couch together. And then his mind would wander back to the night they first kissed, when Danny had pulled away so suddenly, almost as if he had been burnt by something. The thought of that night honestly made him feel sick. Roy was just baffled as to where their relationship stood, as neither of them really had the balls to discuss it properly. But maybe tonight, when they had a couple of drinks in them to boost their confidence, they would talk about shit. Roy didn’t understand why he even had an urge to talk about it in the first place; he didn’t even know what he wanted, what he thought about what had happened between them, and he was tempted to just avoid the whole situation. But, knowing what Danny was like after a few drinks, it wasn’t really something he could avoid. Roy couldn’t get his brain to shut up. This was going to be an interesting night.

[joseyfeli1-blog]

I must not be

The only being

That can't hold this

Life slipping away and the only way

I can feel alive

Is to feed into deep depression

Cope by reminding me when I'm happy, that this is curing

It isn't and I lie to myself more than what I remember than before

Beforehand I would have to remember that I've got a hand and the minute hand is handing out change

And I can change after dropping my trousers

After a spurt of distraction come crashing into my life,

Live for the day to grab a life

Reach into to grab and Pepsi

And find that you found a life

Hold it

Grab it and put it

In a headlock

Suffercate it

And put it through the suffering that it

Put you through and then it'll

Feel like how you did and shove it

Over a cliff and take a bite out of it.

Apologize, it will

And claw and scratch your walls

then find out your walls

Are surrounding and aren't infinite and will

Cause you to get claustrophobic

Scream, cry, tear your eyes out, yell, claw at the will

To live and figure that nothing in life you were told doesn't matter

And all you think of doesn't matter

Thoughts will grab your matter and shake you like a baby crying

And that's where you find yourself prying

Out of this grasp gasping

For air and jumping

at how people make jokes out of what you want to do on a Tuesday morning

Everyday goes by and consequences be fucked cause not seen one since I don't care

And this should be a good day

But instead I'm wrapped in my head

Wondering how I can escape

Not having motivation to even cope

Drape myself through a world that says they don't care

I should have been caring since the get go

Maybe that's why people get up and go

And leave me when they realise I never grow

Up and I just bottle up

What I think I shouldn't and all goes up

To the days like this, and blows up

In my face

I'm not made for someone how could I pay for such happiness when I'm broke

And think happiness can be paid

All I want is true love and

A small loan

Without the debt

No I don't need the anxious wait

For a shark to bust me and

Eat me flesh and bone

Where do these lyrics and tasteless words come from

Well half trauma and

Flaws, insecurities, despair and

No wanting for a repair, even

With a coloration run into the ground

All those quiet speeches adlnd private rants

Just decided to be put use after shooting and

Here they are come around after going around

My life isn't even shit

And I still create with an endless bucket of creativity

So that's how to create

Half parts traumatic other half passion to run with it instead of heal

Or is this healing

What is it in feeling?

Could I be anymore revealing

Pasturize what I've been through and type it down

No need for a paper and pen

Now that my eyes hurt with this screen

I deserve to suffer from what I've created

Cause people earn what they've put themselves through and I have nothing on my card

Vouchers to hell can't be seen

Cause I make my own up in heaven

With my head in the clouds staring into the sun

This buildings crashing all down

Skylines busting

Glass cuts the skin

Bruised nose with crashed lips

and all I have to say is that

Goddamn

Am I all this hate,

Could I get through this

Should I heal when

People carrying twice my shit have half the bag

All I hold is these words pouring out and never end

Have I ate?

Course I have enough for three courses is all I hear as loud grumbling settles down

The people I hate

Couldn't be made without compare

And the most important

Villian can be seen everywhere

And heard by me 24/7.

Why do I hate myself

Is it a problem if it makes such a short

Story and gets itself published

Still hurting

This song is one of the most free flowing ones I’ve made, enough words to flood the Nile and I hope people are healing, cause I can do today is remind myself that I am clearly not fixing cause I’m toxic enough to scream at myself to say that I haven’t made a chance to be happy and fight myself, cause thats exhausting, thank you whoever is fighting a war like mine, cause the world won’t get that these are harder, tho our life is feasibly easier than others, it then becomes ammunition to shoot motivation down and our head stays down and we can’t tell anyone because they will all run, we aren’t wanted and fuck does that hurt us and fuck us all up. I’m sorry and I’m not healing, not now, and I don’t know if possess the power to hold that and strike me, instead imma pretend that I hurt and upload something that may hit close to home, promise me that if you get the way I’m in because you’ve read this that you will live on, instead of wasting time with me, spend some change on yourself and clean, do as I say and advertise not what I spend and sell. Thank you for being alive, your life is valued limitless and you yourself have fucked up the economics, thanks.

[joseyfeli1-blog]

I must not be

The only being

That can't hold this

Life slipping away and the only way

I can feel alive

Is to feed into deep depression

Cope by reminding me when I'm happy, that this is curing

It isn't and I lie to myself more than what I remember than before

Beforehand I would have to remember that I've got a hand and the minute hand is handing out change

And I can change after dropping my trousers

After a spurt of distraction come crashing into my life,

Live for the day to grab a life

Reach into to grab and Pepsi

And find that you found a life

Hold it

Grab it and put it

In a headlock

Suffercate it

And put it through the suffering that it

Put you through and then it'll

Feel like how you did and shove it

Over a cliff and take a bite out of it.

Apologize, it will

And claw and scratch your walls

then find out your walls

Are surrounding and aren't infinite and will

Cause you to get claustrophobic

Scream, cry, tear your eyes out, yell, claw at the will

To live and figure that nothing in life you were told doesn't matter

And all you think of doesn't matter

Thoughts will grab your matter and shake you like a baby crying

And that's where you find yourself prying

Out of this grasp gasping

For air and jumping

at how people make jokes out of what you want to do on a Tuesday morning

Everyday goes by and consequences be fucked cause not seen one since I don't care

And this should be a good day

But instead I'm wrapped in my head

Wondering how I can escape

Not having motivation to even cope

Drape myself through a world that says they don't care

I should have been caring since the get go

Maybe that's why people get up and go

And leave me when they realise I never grow

Up and I just bottle up

What I think I shouldn't and all goes up

To the days like this, and blows up

In my face

I'm not made for someone how could I pay for such happiness when I'm broke

And think happiness can be paid

All I want is true love and

A small loan

Without the debt

No I don't need the anxious wait

For a shark to bust me and

Eat me flesh and bone

Where do these lyrics and tasteless words come from

Well half trauma and

Flaws, insecurities, despair and

No wanting for a repair, even

With a coloration run into the ground

All those quiet speeches adlnd private rants

Just decided to be put use after shooting and

Here they are come around after going around

My life isn't even shit

And I still create with an endless bucket of creativity

So that's how to create

Half parts traumatic other half passion to run with it instead of heal

Or is this healing

What is it in feeling?

Could I be anymore revealing

Pasturize what I've been through and type it down

No need for a paper and pen

Now that my eyes hurt with this screen

I deserve to suffer from what I've created

Cause people earn what they've put themselves through and I have nothing on my card

Vouchers to hell can't be seen

Cause I make my own up in heaven

With my head in the clouds staring into the sun

This buildings crashing all down

Skylines busting

Glass cuts the skin

Bruised nose with crashed lips

and all I have to say is that

Goddamn

Am I all this hate,

Could I get through this

Should I heal when

People carrying twice my shit have half the bag

All I hold is these words pouring out and never end

Have I ate?

Course I have enough for three courses is all I hear as loud grumbling settles down

The people I hate

Couldn't be made without compare

And the most important

Villian can be seen everywhere

And heard by me 24/7.

Why do I hate myself

Is it a problem if it makes such a short

Story and gets itself published

Still hurting

This song is one of the most free flowing ones I’ve made, enough words to flood the Nile and I hope people are healing, cause I can do today is remind myself that I am clearly not fixing cause I’m toxic enough to scream at myself to say that I haven’t made a chance to be happy and fight myself, cause thats exhausting, thank you whoever is fighting a war like mine, cause the world won’t get that these are harder, tho our life is feasibly easier than others, it then becomes ammunition to shoot motivation down and our head stays down and we can’t tell anyone because they will all run, we aren’t wanted and fuck does that hurt us and fuck us all up. I’m sorry and I’m not healing, not now, and I don’t know if possess the power to hold that and strike me, instead imma pretend that I hurt and upload something that may hit close to home, promise me that if you get the way I’m in because you’ve read this that you will live on, instead of wasting time with me, spend some change on yourself and clean, do as I say and advertise not what I spend and sell. Thank you for being alive, your life is valued limitless and you yourself have fucked up the economics, thanks.