#i think i would rather be homeless and sleep on a park bench

[jentlemahae]

-

[dee-writes-angst]

What Once Crumbled, Will Be Rebuilt Ten Times Stronger

SUMMARY Tenko Shimera was your best friend, the fire in his eyes fueling your days, until he was gone.

CONTENT WARNINGS death, depictions of homeless children, mentions of abuse, loss, and grief. For the sake of the series (and my conscience), all characters are aged up while still following the plot of MHA. In other words, think of UA as a college rather a high school.

AUTHORS NOTE my love for My Hero Academia is something that I have kept carefully hidden from this platform considering the amount of toxicity surrounding the fandom, but this story idea has swept me up and I really want to share it with you guys. So, I have decided to say fuck it and post it. Happy new series, my darlings! I hope you’ll stick around and get swept up with me.

SERIES MASTERLIST

You had known Tenko Shimura since you were a child, a bond that had grown unbreakable over the years. He was your childhood best friend, the quiet and reserved boy who seemed out of place among the more boisterous children. Yet, beneath that calm exterior, you saw a fire in him, a burning intensity that mirrored your own. His fire was one of hate and anger, a raging storm that contrasted sharply with the deep, unsettling fear that fueled your own ambitions.

Despite his quiet demeanor, Tenko had a unique ability to reassure you. In his presence, you found a strange sense of comfort, as if his anger could temporarily quell your fears. Those moments, fleeting as they were, provided a brief respite from the anxieties that plagued you. Yet, no matter how comforting those moments were, they always ended the same way: Tenko being dragged back home, leaving you to face your fears alone. 

Your memories of those warm summer days are vivid, filled with dreams and schemes of a brighter future. You and Tenko would sit for hours, plotting and fantasizing about the day you both might become heroes. You envisioned yourselves changing the world, making a real impact. Those dreams were your escape, a shared vision that kept you both going through the challenges of your childhood. 

In those days, the world was a place of infinite possibilities. The future was a canvas, and you and Tenko were determined to paint it with your dreams. You believed that together, you could overcome anything, that your combined strength and resolve would be enough to conquer any obstacle. The bond you shared was more than just friendship; it was a partnership forged in the fires of ambition and fueled by the desire to make a difference. 

As you both grew older, Tenko’s fire only grew brighter and harsher. He renounced the world that caused him so much torment and pain, his dreams slowly shifting from idealistic visions of change to fantasies of destruction. Tenko wanted to burn everything down and revel in the screams of suffering, his anger turning into a desire for vengeance against a world that had wronged him. 

Your path, however, took a different turn. Despite the hardships you faced, you clung to your dreams, even on those cold nights spent sleeping on benches in parks or hidden behind disgusting dumpsters in alleyways. In the shadows of the city, you found strength in your vulnerability. Every harsh experience, every cold night, and every moment of loneliness forged you into someone determined to make a difference. You saw the world’s cruelty firsthand and vowed to fight against it, not by destroying it, but by changing it from within.

Comfort was a foreign concept to you. You had never felt the gentle caress of a mother or heard the deep belly laughter from playing with a father. Your life began in an alleyway that looked like any other dark alleyway in the city—cold, ruthless, and haunting. 

You had met Tenko when he dared to run away from home one fateful day. He found you on a playground bench, shaking you awake with a mixture of curiosity and concern, asking if you were dead. When you confirmed that you were alive, he smiled at you—genuinely smiled—a rare warmth that you hadn’t experienced before. He tugged you off the bench and into the playground, where the bark chips bit into your bare feet. You had outgrown your only shoes years ago, and each step left small streaks of blood behind, but you ignored the pain. 

Tenko was animated, talking excitedly about a game he wanted to play. His energy and enthusiasm were infectious, a stark contrast to the indifference you were used to from others. No one had ever noticed you before; they simply went about their day, oblivious to the child shivering on a park bench. But Tenko saw you. He acknowledged you, pulled you into his world, and gave you a taste of what it felt like to be seen and valued. 

It was that day, amid the bark chips and bleeding feet, that Tenko Shimura became more than just a boy who ran away from home. He became your best friend and your hero. His smile, his warmth, and his willingness to reach out to you forged a bond that would shape your life in ways you couldn't yet comprehend. From that moment on, Tenko was a beacon of hope and companionship in your otherwise harsh and lonely existence. 

Everything had changed one cold night in October. By this time, you and Tenko were inseparable. His itching had worsened over the months, but what truly bothered him wasn’t the itching itself. It was his mother smothering him in cream and offering false sincerities. He had tried many times to get his mother to let you stay after he was found and forced home, but once bruises started appearing on his skin, he refused to ask again. The dark marks marring his soft skin grew more frequent, a silent testament to his hidden suffering. You tried to ask him about it once, but he became very quiet, and his itching grew so intense that he started to bleed. Since then, you assumed he wasn’t ready to share and let it drop. 

It was a particularly harsh night when you lost your best friend. You stayed close to his house, having set up your makeshift home in an alleyway about two blocks away, curled tightly under a thin sleeping bag to ward off the cold. In the middle of the night, a loud crash was quickly followed by the ground shaking beneath you. Despite the maturity you had been forced to develop in your time alone, you were still a child, so you ran to Tenko’s home seeking comfort. But all you found was rubble. The ear-splitting crash and the shaking ground were caused by his home collapsing. Your small hands pushed and pulled at the debris, desperately trying to save your friend, sobbing and heaving as you searched all night long. You were too weak, too young to make any impact on the devastating collapse. 

That night, amidst the tears and cries of agony as you cut your small hands and knees on the rubble, you vowed to become a hero. No matter what it took, you would not allow another person to lose a best friend the way you had. The memory of Tenko, the boy who had seen you, acknowledged you, and become your hero, fueled your determination. His smile, his warmth, and the bond you shared would forever be the driving force behind your quest to make a difference in a world that had taken so much from you. 

[justanothergeek77]

how to solve everything

stop punishing the homeless and let them sleep in peace

better yet, give them a roof over their heads, a shelter at least

but the rent is too high. most homeless people have jobs, you know. but minimum wage can't cover rent, these days

we need legislation. we need rent control. lower rents, raise minimum wage, make this country livable again

rent used to be 1/4 of your income, including utilities

can we have that again?

punish the landlords and real estate companies

seize all the AirBnB's

ignore all the NIMBY's

make a livable city

stop putting cars on the streets where we walk

tax gas, build EV infrastructure

improve public transit

the formerly-homeless can take the train to work,

or to the library,

or the open square with public seating and restrooms and plenty of shade

you do have those, right?

with people sleeping on benches, not because they have nowhere else to sleep, but because it's a beautiful day and they wanted a nap

listening to people milling around them, talking and laughing

sitting together, eating or playing

or alone, reading, listening to music, watching people go by

surrounded by green foliage and white concrete and wooden furniture

shaded by large, old trees

trolley tracks running down the street

bikes going by,

the occasional car, too

did you think they would vanish?

there are people who need cars, you know

but now they're electric, quiet and smooth

and the roads are more clear

for when an ambulance comes through

public spaces are a given, aren't they?

and benches along sidewalks and at every bus stop

public bathrooms in every square

libraries and community centers

and parks for all ages

wouldn't that be nice?

but then, what about the rest?

the world outside the city-

the highways, the rail lines, the small towns and farmland

what do they have, and what do they need?

highways nearly empty, no longer stinking of exhaust

rail lines running along each one,

diverging into the far-off country

to small towns surrounded by farms

to pick up produce to move ten, twenty, a hundred miles

but not much further

public spaces out here, too

funding and insurance, a safety net for all

fields no longer monoculture, but rather filled with endless variety

covered in pollinators and some unwanted bugs,

a small price to pay for biodiversity

maybe the chickens can eat them, or the mint could keep them away

it matters less, now, if some crop is lost;

you can't lose your home, won't go hungry, won't lose water or power

not so long as we have anything to say about it

it's a pretty ideal, isn't it?

I'm rambling a bit here, but

this is the world I want to live in

I want to fix everything

I'm not sure how

but maybe I can start with something small

a basil plant in my window

and a vote sent in the mail

[stilltrails]

Inherited Wealth

Being evicted was nothing new to Hal. It was to be expected when he spent months on end in space without paying his bills. Hell, sleeping on a park bench was second nature to him by now. But the tall, handsome billionaire offering to give him a place to stay for the night? That's new.

~

At least, this time, there hadn't been much to throw out. Because had that been the case, Hal would have had to haul everything he owned behind him as he began his walk of shame downton to the park. He’d learned to pack light since becoming a Green Lantern. Better for when the inevitable eviction notice came.

The night was cold,   fridging to the bone. Aside from his Father’s old jacket, a thin blanket,  sweat pants and a worn t-shirt, Hal didn’t have much to keep him warm. Not even his ring could help him now. He didn’t have much juice left, and he usually reserved his ring for self-defense on nights like this one. On top of that, his battery was in his work locker.

He did consider calling Carol, but it was her sister’s birthday and he didn’t think she’d be willing to let him couch surf on today of all days. Or she would, but he really, really didn’t want to deal with her berating and pity. Not tonight.

Coincidentally, Ollie and Dinah were at one of those uppity rich banquets in Coast City,  and even though Ollie always bragged about being “a phone call away”, Hal’s pride wouldn’t let him ask his billionaire friend to lend him a spot on the couch, not anymore. He couldn’t stand Ollie’s patronizing and Dinah’s constant worrying.

So there he was, arms wrapped around his broad shoulders, scouring through the park for a decent looking place to hunker down for the night.

The metal bench he picked for himself was cold to the touch, and had this been Hal’s first time homeless, he would’ve winced as his skin made contact. But long nights in space usually left a trail of unpaid bills and eviction notices. This was not his first rodeo.

So with his father’s jacket balled up underneath his head, Hal let himself drift off to sleep.

-

“Damnit Hal!”

“Ollie, stop, yelling at him–”

“Does this happen often?”

“He usually gets behind on bills when he goes offworld, but he never lets me pay his bills for him.”

“Can you put him on automatic payments?”

Hal did not expect his sleep to be interrupted by an argument, and he certainly didn’t expect the offended party to consist of Ollie, Dinah, and some incredibly handsome looking, vaguely familiar, guy staring down at him.  Dinah’s brows were knitted in that frustrated way like always, concern bleeding off of her like the mother he never had.

She brought a warm hand to his forehead, wincing at the coolness.

“Din..ah?”  Immediately Hal tugged at the corners of the thin blanket as he shook from the stupor of sleep. Dinah was right, it was freezing. Somehow, Dinah’s plush feather boa had snaked its way around his body, and had served as a rather itchy lasso as she tugged Hal into a sitting position.

Dianna would be proud. But Hal absolutely wasn’t. This was humiliating.

“What are you doing here, I thought you were at some rich people's banquet.”

“It ended like two hours ago and since we’re in the area, we wanted to pick you up to go eating. Only your landlord said you were evicted and probably went to either the homeless shelter or the park. A small part of me thought you’d be smart enough to go to the shelter, at least. Or to one of the places I have here in Coast City, but like always you decide to make things unnecessarily complicated.”

Ollie was angry. Angrier than Hal had seen him in a while. It made sense, they were close, and the last time Hal had hunkered down on a bench, he’d gotten robbed and beaten. But Hal didn’t want to go to the homeless shelter, not when there were actual homeless people who needed the beds.

“Ollie, it’s fine. I’ve got my ring at like 2%, I could take anyone who tried to get me.”

“Hal, please shut the fuck up. You could’ve called you know. You know I would’ve dropped everything for you, right?”  Ollie groaned, “I want you to call me, this shouldn’t be happening again. Just—you know what, let me just call Barry, because I don’t think I can take you to my place anymore without losing my shit.”

“Wait, please, it’s really not that bad! I’m fine.”

“Ollie, calm down. Hal, you should have called,” Dianh reprimanded them both, “I know it’s difficult to ask for help, but we’re your friends. That’s why we’re here.”

You’re just a burden, they just pity you. They don’t really care.

“It’s fine, I’ll be fine. I’ll go to the shelter,” Hal relented, “Just please, don’t call Barry.”

He wasn’t ready to confront Barry tonight. Ollie he could handle. But Barry’s pity would utterly break him.

“I’m walking with you.” Dinah said, “If you won’t come with us, let’s just make sure you actually get to the shelter.”

“I’ll take him.” The tall handsome stranger with the pale blue eyes spoke, and Hal’s head jolted towards him. He’d forgotten he was there, as he’d blended so well into the darkness like some sort of shadow.

Spooky.

“Um…Thanks, but I don’t know who you are. I’m not going to be your charity case.”

“Who said you’d be my charity case? I’ll let you stay at my place for the night. In return, you wash my car, dishes, and vacuum the place.”

“Don’t you have like a servant for that shit?”

“I left my butler in Gotham, and the penthouse tends to get a bit dirty without him.”

“Then hire someone, I’m not your damn  maid.” He didn’t mean to sound so snappy, but he had little tolerance for rich assholes who thought they could look down on him.

Yet despite his tone, the dark haired man only smirked.

“Fix my private jet then?” Suggested the man, smugly, “It got a bit damaged when I left Gotham and I gave my pilot the week off.”

Fixing an airplane for a warm place to stay, he could get behind that. He still didn’t like the implication that he was some idiot off the street that anyone could hire for no reason, but at least it wasn’t cleaning. And Hal knew how to bargain.

“Sounds like a plan to me.” He answered just as he would to any business deal.

“Great, we’ll check it out first thing in the morning. For now, let’s go to the penthouse.”

“Unbelievable,” Ollie muttered, crossing his arms.

“Hey, at least he’s going with someone, that’s a win, right.” Dinah offered, “maybe next time you can just hire Hal and he’ll come stay with us.”

Ollie rolled his eyes and said his goodbyes, not before embracing Hal and tossing him his woolen coat, “Keep it. But if you sell it you can get like….$1500.”

“Thanks Ollie, I’ll keep that in mind,” Hal called after his friend, “and thanks again, Dinah.”

Dinah smiled sadly, giving Hal the, we’re going to need to talk about this later, look. And Ollie pulled him into a tight hug, “Please Hal, don’t let this happen again.” He whispered into his ear.

Hal nodded, a twinge of guilt sparking in his gut.

“Take good care of him Bruce.” Ollie called as he wrapped an arm around Dinah’s waist, “I’ll come check on him in the morning.”

“I’m not a baby Ollie.” Hal called over.

“Yeah Hal, whatever you say.”

__

As they walked to the mysterious man’s car, Hal couldn’t help but feel uneasy about him. Not because he was some random stranger that had offered to take him home (he was with Ollie, and despite Ollie’s reputation, he wouldn’t let Hal walk away with someone who was dangerous), but because he seemed so utterly familiar.

Even through the jokes and the friendly banter, something seemed off about him. m

Regardless, Hal appreciated that he didn’t hound him on being poor, nor did he infantilize him like Ollie and Dinah unintentionally did (not that he blamed Dinah much. She’d hit rock bottom too before).

Though he did hold the door open for him, gesturing for him to get in, “You’re my guest, after you.”

“What, you don’t have a chauffeur so you have to practice yourself.” Hal jokes. The man only smiled, closing the door behind Hal and moving to the otherside of the car.

It wasn’t until Hal slid into the passenger seat of the man’s very expensive car did his entire demeanor change.

“Asking for help isn’t a weakness, Hal.” He turned towards him, a scowl etched into his features, “You could have been hurt. We need you on the team, you’re an important asset. Your recklessness…”

As the man continued with his random rant, Hal began to piece two and two together.

The name Bruce, the pale blue eyes, the voice…

“Oh my gooooddddd.”

[twsupernaturalimagine]

Title: Never In Fact Homeless

Author: Abby (amorluzymelodia)

Summary: Imagine being homeless and meeting TFW 

Warnings: homelessness, attempted rape, wounded reader, swearing

Word Count: 2,162

Fic:

“Alright, freeloader time to move it along.” Something hard poked you in the side. “C’mon girl you can’t sleep here.” The cop shoved his nightstick deeper into your side and you rolled over, shielding your eyes against the sunlight.

“Okay, okay.” You grumbled, getting off the bench. The cop watched to make sure you got to the outskirts of the park and continued on his way.

You huddled inside your grimy flannel shirt, grateful for the sliver of warmth it provided. You’d acquired it when a particularly righteous Christian mother had given it to you rather than sell it in a yard sale or give it to GoodWill. Of course she probably bought herself a brand new coat from Burlington to celebrate her good deed, leaving you thankful but freezing nonetheless. 

You’d been homeless for about three and a half years now, and were used to the looks people gave you when they handed you something. Their intentions were usually good but hidden by pity and disgust, their skin crawling for every moment they talked to you. So you were used to the second glances people gave you, or the way their eyes skipped over you completely.

You made your way out of the park and into the rush of the city, hoping to find somewhere to get at least a free bottle of water or some leftovers from some of the shops downtown. It was getting closer to winter and you were already freezing, having barely any body fat to keep you warm. You felt the judgmental, pity-filled glances thrown your way and bowed your head, your hair ruffled by the wind.

“Oh excuse me miss, I’m sorry I didn’t see you.” A man bumped into you, his trench coat flying about in the wind. “Are you okay?” He asked and you were shocked to see concern in his eyes.

Most people ignored you or yelled if you bumped into them but he was checking to make sure you were alright, and looking like he meant it. You nodded. “I’m fine,” you said and he nodded seriously.

“Well, take care.” He said in his gravelly voice and smiled at you, and kept walking. As you watched him go you noticed he’d dropped something when he’d run into you; his wallet. 

Now, you knew how to pickpocket, in fact you were pretty damn good at it. But in this rare instance you running into him was a complete accident. Had he dropped the wallet on purpose to see if you’d take it? Did he really not notice it was gone? You picked it up and peeked inside. No driver’s license, no credit card, only a few hundred dollars in twenties and a picture of him with a woman and young girl–presumably his wife and daughter. Why would he keep that in his wallet but no driver’s license? 

You hesitated. If he had really dropped it on accident then it would be a while before he realized it was gone, and you’d be long gone by then. Even if he gave your description to the cops there were so many places you could be and one stolen wallet would hardly turn a cops head. You could take it and finally eat, buy a coat or pair of shoes, rent a room for a night maybe. The possibilities were tantalizing.

But something stopped you. This man had been kind to you, had asked if you were alright, looked you in the eyes–which no one had done in God knows how long. This man had something so inherently good about him, and you hadn’t seen that in anyone before. It was like there was literally a light coming off of him, pulling you in. He hadn’t looked at you like a homeless girl or a tramp, but as a person; a human being. And that right there made your mind up for you.

“Hey!” You called, running to catch up with him. “Sir wait! You dropped something!” He turned as you got to him and you held out the wallet. “I think this is yours.” You said breathlessly and he crinkled his eyes, taking it from you.

“Oh yes,” he mused. “Why you all insist on carrying these around baffles me, but Dean assures me it’s normal.”

You didn’t understand what he was saying but nodded anyway. “Well uh, there you go anyway.“ 

As you made to turn around he grabbed your shoulder and spun you around. “Wait,” he said and you wondered if he knew his voice was that deep, and seemed to draw the attention of everyone within earshot. “Here,” he opened the wallet and handed you three twenty dollar bills. “For food. I understand humans need quite a lot of it and you look as though you’ve skipped a few meals.”

He was speaking in riddles again but you didn’t care. All you cared about was the money in your hand and the kindness of this stranger. 

“Um, thanks uh…” You paused and he said nothing. “Usually when someone pauses like that they’re waiting for you to say your name.”

He nodded seriously. “I am Castiel.”

“Well thanks, Castiel.” You said and after a moment of penetrating stare he nodded and turned, leaving you standing there in shock. 

With the money he’d given you you bought a man’s army coat from an army surplus shop, a used pair of chuck Taylor’s that at least didn’t have holes in the sole, and a sandwich and water bottle from the local deli. You put the rest of the cash in your pocket and walked around the park, trying to find somewhere to sleep that the cops wouldn’t kick you out of.

As you wandered around you felt someone following you and turned, seeing a man in his thirties dressed in a cheap suit and large coat, obviously having just gotten off work.

“Hey darlin,” he called and you rolled your eyes. “Going my way?”

“Nope,” you spat and continued on your way.

“Okay well how much would it take to make you say yes?” He asked, catching up with you and taking hold of your arm.

“Not anything you have, mate.” You hissed but he held tight.

“C'mon babe I know you could use the money. I’ll be in and out, no muss, no fuss.” He slurred and you shoved his arm.

“I don’t need it that bad.” You hissed, making to walk away but he grabbed you, whipping you around forcefully. 

“Hey!” He growled. “I don’t take no for an answer." 

"Learn to.” You hissed.

You saw the look in his eyes and knew you had seconds. So you kneed him in the stomach and took off running. Unfortunately you hadn’t eaten more than a sandwich in a few days so you were slow. He caught up with you quickly and grabbed the back of your jacket. He pulled you so your back was against his chest and you felt the blade of a knife press against your side.

“You can make this easy or hard,” he hissed. “But I’m not paying, not now."

"Hey!” You heard a gruff voice yell. “Let her go!” Your captor turned and you took your chance.

You stomped on his foot hard and he loosened his grip, making it easy for you to slip out of the jacket sleeves and take off running. His knife grazed your side as you took off but you kept running. You heard him chasing after you, but you knew this park well and slipped underneath a few bushes where the sewer lines ran. You were small enough–what with being malnourished–that you could fit between the grate easily. You heard him calling but eventually he seemed to realize the chase wasn’t worth it and he stomped off. 

You sat in the filth, catching your breath and waited. You heard another set of footsteps come and go but then it was silent. You huddled and reveled in the fact that not only had you lost your new jacket but also the rest of the money and the water bottle. Your side hurt and you felt the blood loss starting to affect you. After about ten minutes you crawled out and dusted yourself off, making your way towards the local dive, shivering without your jacket.

The bar wasn’t extravagant or well known but you knew the bartender and he always treated you kindly. He’d even offered to get you a job but the owner said under no circumstances would he allow someone like you to work in his establishment. Not that he was ever there but you didn’t want Colten to lose his job because of you.

The bell rang over the door as you entered and you noted the lack of patrons, which wasn’t unusual. There was old Flint Hurley who came in twice a week, a few tourists who were obviously in the wrong place, a heavily made up woman and her businessman “friend” and a pair of attractive men in cheap suits near the back.

Colten greeted you as you came in and slid a beer down your way. You thanked him and held your side, feeling the hot sticky blood seep through your clothes.

“I’m gonna need something stronger than this.” You whispered and his eyes got wide.

“Shit.” He hissed and called for the ______ to take over while he helped you into the back room.

As he got out a needle and dental floss–which he kept on hand when you’d come in with lacerations more than a few times–you opened a bottle of whiskey and took a hearty swig.

“Hey watch it,” he warned. “I’ve got patrons I need to serve that to.”

You huffed a laugh, ignoring the pain. “Oh I’m sorry is there another bar you’re running? Because far as I can see I’m the only one who actually gives a damn about this shithole."

He smiled and lifted up your shirt. "Well that might be true but without this shithole who would take you?”

He’d meant it as a joke but his words hit home and your grin fell. He noticed and immediately looked down.

“Sorry Y/N,” he said quietly. “You know I didn’t mean it like that.”

You shrugged and motioned to your side. “How’s it look?”

“It’ll only need a few stitches, you should be fine. What happened this time?”

“Some asshole didn’t know the meaning of no.” You winced as he poured some whiskey over the wound and began sewing it up. 

“You’ve gotta be careful, Y/N.” He said seriously. “I mean what if something worse happens? I care about you but I’m not always gonna be here to patch you up.”

“I know, Colt.” You murmured and decided to change the subject. “How is Sylvia?”

A smile lit his face at the mention of his wife. “She’s good. Eight months along and still going strong.” He paused. “We started marriage counseling a few months ago." 

"Colt that’s great! Does that mean she knows–?”

He shook his head. “I told her nothing happened.”

“Good because nothing did. We got drunk, I told you my pathetic life story. You felt bad for me and kissed me, you stopped it. That’s it."

Colt shrugged, looking awkward. "I still feel guilty.”

“Don’t,” you assured him. “Sylvia is amazing, and you’ve got a baby on the way. Don’t let some tramp ruin that.”

He looked up at you, smiling sadly as he finished the stitches. “You’re not a tramp.”

“Tramp, whore, bum, addict. They’re all the same, take your pick. Long story short I’m a homeless mess." 

Colt patted you on the shoulder and looked like he wanted to say something else so you quickly pulled your shirt down and hopped off the table.

"Thanks for patching me up.” You told him. “I hope everything goes well with Sylvia." 

"I’ll keep you posted,” Colt said and gave you a hug, handing you a water bottle and some weird pasty thing that would at least keep you from starving. “Stay safe.”

You nodded and made your way out of the back room, waving to Colt before leaving the bar. The wind had picked up and now that the sun was down it had dropped almost ten degrees. You huddled in your flannel and walked around the park, trying to find a place to sleep. Just as you passed the bench you’d been kicked off of that morning you noticed a lump sitting on it. Upon closer inspection you recognized your old army coat. Hesitantly you approached, wondering if the pervert from before was playing some game with you, but there was no one in sight. Instead there was a piece of paper pinned to the coat and in very elegant handwriting was a note, with four twenties attached.

*You returned my wallet, so I’m returning your coat, and the money you lost. Stay safe. -Castiel*

[shu-sakamaki]

I thought of a scenario that I wanted to share because it's so cute (a lil bit sad at the end but cute)

We know Shuu is precious with animals, probably with kids too but what about an old and lonely grandma. I've noticed in most of the mangas (during Shuu's chapter) that he tends to isolates himself and sometimes leave the manor to just chill in the city or lie in a bench where he can sleep. How about a grandma that often see him there and just assume that he's probably homeless and/or left an abusive family and starts talking to him. It starts off with "good evening young man" or "are you not cold in this weather, it is freezing" and one day she brings him a hand-knitted scarf and then she starts bringing him meals because she lives alone and she can finally eat with someone and Shuu...just goes along with it because it's not like he care but he slowly starts to like those moments with the old lady because she's really sweet. Shuu also doubt her kindness a lot because "what type of person would just help a stranger without wanting anything in return ?" And she answers by "I don't have much time left on this earth young man, I rather do something nice for someone than die alone in my flat." And Shuu would probably be surprised by it but will definitely starts to enjoy the lady's company as she sit next to him to talk about her dead husband, feeding the birds or just eating in silence. But one day, she stops coming. Shuu doesn't really understand but try to not worry too much because "he don't care", granny can do whatever she wants. What was one day turns into two then a week and then a month, Shuu is still sitting in the same spot and starts to feel...odd, where's granny at ? And as he's sitting here, an old lady come next to him but thats not the usual one, she smiles at him and basically said that she often walk in this park and was used to seeing him with the other old lady, she then proceed to tell him that,sadly, the old lady died alone in her apartment last month, the woman also tells him in which cemetery she's buried,right next to her husband, in case he want to visit her. (iwasfeelingemotionalgoodnightnow)

Time for humans, the life is ever flickering, isn't it...

[*Sits down facing the grave*]

... Are you finally happy you got to meet your husband, grandma...? The way you spoke of him, and how you called him your lilypad -, the one thing to keep floating above waters, no matter what; he kept you floating past all the pain in the world, right?

You know, I never felt a motherly love, and I never got to tell you who and what I really am, but even after so many lies... I'd like to ask you if you'd be okay if I were to introduce you to my own lilypad when I finally meet her... Introduce you to her as my granny... As the kind lady to always smile at me no matter what...

[*Watching the stone and reading her name over and over again*]

... No more lies, granny...

I'm... I'm older than you, older than your husband... I am probably older than your own grandparents. I'm a vampire and the heir of a mansion and a throne, and I hate this so much.

The memories you gave me as a common boy, the sweets you'd so stubbornly bring to me, all those are memories I'm holding with me... We had little to no time at all, but... I'm glad I was there for you -, even if I think your grandchildren should be the ones there for you; you said you didn't care back'em, told me you're fine and that "everyone has their own lives", Granny... I told you all the truth. Now, you tell me... Admit you missed'em, even when you forced a smile...

[*feels it has started to rain*] [*look up at the skies*]

... You're crying, Granny...?

[*small smile*]

I'm glad you can take it off of your chest... You see, here in the cemetery there is a small lake, and I see from here that the lilypads are still floating above your tears, grandma. Safely.

[*sigh*]

I'll be the lilypad for someone, keep their head floating above freezing waters, be there to support them through daring times, like how you told me your husband did for you...

[*lean my face against my hand, thoughtful*]

Thank you, grandma, for everything...

[jishyucks]

And They Were Roommates ‣ ldh

‣ genre: fluff, enemies-to-lovers, slow burn (?)

‣ wc: 10.7k

‣ summary: “It was unbearable living beneath you and now living with you? No thanks.” ; alternatively where Donghyuck needs a place to stay and you’re the only option left

‣ tw: mentions of a fire happening and its aftermath (nothing drastic and super detailed)

requested by anonymous

a/n: I’m not the best at writing slow burn type of fics so pls forgive me if it seems rushed! Enjoy!

i.

You would have never thought you’d be wishing for some expensive sound proof headphones at four in the morning.  Not when you remembered the building owner saying that the place was peaceful and perfect for a university student like you. But because of your upstairs neighbour, Lee Donghyuck, it was bluntly known to those who lived around him that this detail no longer exists with him around.

You suddenly remembered the first night after he had moved in. You were ecstatic to have someone your age in the building. It was a good change from the small families and aging elderly. The idea of making a new friend that lived so close to you brought a deep sense of excitement. But all those thoughts were cleared from your head once you had realized that Donghyuck was going to be that type of neighbour.

He seemed to save graveyard hours for his gaming, not being shy to shout out strings of profanities and shouts of victory with his entire chest. The floors were nearly as thin as paper and everything that spewed from his mouth had gone dead straight into your ears. It was if he was sitting in your living room.

Groaning deeply, you push yourself off of your bed and run your fingers roughly through your hair, preparing yourself to face the devil himself. You slammed a fist into one of your many pillows and stood up, sliding your feet into your slippers in the process. All this energy wasted and sleep lost for one irritating boy that didn’t know when to shut the fuck up.

“No,” Donghyuck smirked, “I’m not going to kindly shut the fuck up.” He leaned against the doorframe and scoffed, “Especially since you asked me.” You could barely see his eyes as his bangs covered them like drapes. In his hand he held his headphones, one of those fancy ones that lit up.

“Don’t make me tape your mouth shut,” you threatened and rolled your eyes, “When are you going to learn?”

The smirk on his face deepened as he leaned closer to you, “Oh I did. But I choose not to apply that knowledge.” He returned to his previous pose, tapping his foot impatiently.

Breathing fire, you scowled and let an angry sound erupt from your chest. You knew it wasn’t going to do anything yet you let it out out of pure frustration.

“Are you done now? I need to get back to gaming,”  he stuck a lip out as if he were begging you to leave, but it made you cringe so hard that that alone would have had you willingly fleeing from his floor and back to yours without question.

“No, I’m not done,” you retorted through gritted teeth, “Can you do your fucking–”

“Can you two please keep it down?” Donghyuck’s neighbour had poked her head out her own door, eyes unable to keep open. She was wrapped tightly in a robe and was probably half asleep. You felt bad. You knew how she felt. It was unfortunate that she lived next to a human air horn.

“Yeah, keep it down,” Donghyuck sniggered, directing all fault to you, “I’m sorry, Mrs. Seo but Y/N here is being quite an irritating little rat. Goodnight, Mrs. Seo.” Without a second thought nor glance, Donghyuck closed the door in your face, making sure to laugh out loud in the process.

You shot him one last glare at him through the door, hoping he’d somehow unconsciously feel the heat from your eyes and flipped him off all before turning sharply towards the stairs.

ii.

Donghyuck wasn’t one to have his moods change quickly. Often he’d spend an entire day in a good mood and if not, a terrible mood. And today, after meeting up with his friends across town, he could sense that this day could not go wrong.

It was about mid-afternoon when he arrived back at the building. From the bus’ view, he had spotted a fire truck parked along the fire lane in front of the apartment building. Off to the side, he could see familiar faces anxiously waiting to get back into their building.

“Mrs. Seo?” Donghyuck was puzzled at the scene. It was as if he’d walked into a movie theatre in the middle of its showing. There was no context provided and he was desperately curious.

“Donghyuck, it’s your room,” she hadn’t held back any information, “I heard Lisa and the twins arriving home from school and they knocked on my door and pointed at smoke leaking from underneath your door… we called the fire department and–“

“Who is the owner of apartment six-jay?” A firefighter slipped through the crowd, voice with great clarity in order for everyone to hear. Donghyuck has raised his hand. Everyone was soon led back into the building, being directed towards the stairs instead of the elevator as they had been shut off.

The firefighters led Donghyuck to his room once everyone had finally gotten to their own apartments. Donghyuck hadn’t completely processed the fact that his home was almost probably all ash. He needed to see it to believe it.

The door had been kicked to the ground, basically demolished. What used to be his kitchen was nothing but darkened wood and his living room was almost unrecognizable. Donghyuck’s mind runs back to all the previous belongings he had that were probably lost in the fire. He felt his shoulders grow heavy and his posture worsened by the second.

“The fire started from your room and it quickly spread throughout the apartment. It’s a wonder how the fire didn’t spread throughout the entire building, but everyone’s lucky that your neighbour had noticed smoke,” the firefighter explained, “The source of the fire was from all of the wires in your room…”

“Is there anything that wasn’t burned?” Donghyuck had finally processed everything. He felt his heart drop to the pit of his stomach. Everything was gone.

“You can see so for yourself,” the man had handed Donghyuck some safety gear and a box, “In these conditions, please be aware that there might not be anything left but it is still good to make sure.”

After rummaging through what looked like dirt, Donghyuck soon had come to the realization that the fireman was right. Not even his bed was in good condition. The fire had consumed nearly every single thing that belonged to him, aside from some clothes encased in his closet.

Before the firemen needed to leave, the last one out turned to Donghyuck, “Do you have any place to stay in for the meantime?”

He shrugged, “I’m not entirely sure, but I’ll figure it out… thank you.”

Nearly losing his entire ability to think straight, he found himself sitting on the rusting bench right outside the building. He only had his wallet, his phone, his charger, and the box of clothes that was safe from the flames.

He dialed Renjun first. He lived the closest and the hustle wouldn’t be as bad as going to Jeno’s or Jaemin’s.

“Hyuck? What’s up?” By the sound of it, Renjun was chewing on something crunchy, words muffled by the food.

“Hey, my… home burnt down…” Donghyuck wasn’t quite sure how he should break the news. He was still numb from the realization that he was basically homeless right now.

Renjun choked on his snack, “Your apartment? Like it’s all gone?” He was as shocked as he was when he got the news, “Is everything fine?”

“Yeah it is… except for the fact that I have nowhere to go while they fix it,” he sighed through the line, “T-that’s why I called you… I was wondering if I could possibly stay with you?” Donghyuck kicked his foot against the deteriorating pavement, feeling a slight bit embarrassed. Renjun was silent at the other end, probably thinking up ways this could happen. As the silence grew longer, Donghyuck started to wonder whether or not it was a good or bad thing. Maybe he was already getting stuff ready, or maybe he was trying to think of an easy way to let him down.

“Hyuck?” The tone was bad.

“Yeah?”

“I’m not sure I can let you stay here… you know I live with Yangyang and Chenle so it’s a bit crowded?” Renjun explained, “You already know I’d let you if there was free space…I’m really sorry.”

“It’s okay, Jun. I still have one option left so it’s not like you’re my last chance,” trying to brighten the mood, he forced out a small chuckle before he decided that ending the call was the best for him and Renjun, “I’ll see you, tomorrow?”

“I will! Good luck. I hope you find a place to stay.”

“Thanks, Junnie.” And the call ended.

Donghyuck scrolled through his contacts and straight to the J’s. He pressed on ‘Jeno/Jaemin’ as it was the landline and listened to it ring once before Jaemin picked up, “Donghyuckie! What’s up?”

He went through the same process as Renjun, only wishing that their answer was at the opposite of Renjun’s.

“It’s not that we don’t want you to stay with us… but it’s just that we don’t have space and it’ll be embarrassing if we let you stay with us… we’d feel bad for you.”

“You guys are my last chance,” he huffed out, “Where else can I go?”

“Maybe they have extra room on campus?” Jeno rang in, “I heard they have extra rooms in case a random student comes in.”

“I’ll try that… thanks guys.”

“We’re sorry!”

“It’s fine… bye.”

Donghyuck slumped in his seat, straightening his legs underneath him. He would rather not want to pay for an over expensive room at the university… but if that was his only choice, then so be it.

You hopped out of the bus, thanking the driver as you did. It caught Donghyuck’s attention almost immediately, head shooting at your direction. You were completely aware of Donghyuck’s glare and presence, firing back your own well planned glare. The hell was his problem? Quickening your pace, you yanked the door open and practically teleported inside and onto the elevator.

A small grin was soon plastered on Donghyuck’s face. An idea had popped into his head. But he wasn’t quite sure if it was a good one.

-

A heavy knock at your door had startled you. You were halfway to sleep, a nap calling you helplessly as you stared blankly at the Netflix screen. Whoever stood on the other side of that door didn’t know how to wait. It sounded like this person had a countless number of hands as the knocking didn’t dare stop until you unlocked your door.

You swung the door open to find Donghyuck standing in front of you. The way he held his body didn’t radiate the energy he usually held. It was actually quite depressing to see. It was like for once, Donghyuck wasn’t the vain and rambunctious boy that lived above you. He had his hands deep in his hoodie pockets and he wore a natural pout on his lips.

“What are you doing here?” It was surprisingly natural how the tone in your voice had sounded irritated. You were just used to speaking to him in such a way.

“I’m not here to piss you off,” he mumbled seriously.

You were thrown off at his reply, “Huh?”

“Can I come in?” If you weren’t looking at him as he spoke, you could probably hear his frown, “Please?” The sincerity in his eyes really proved that he was desperate about something and you weren’t quite sure what.

You wearily shuffled behind your door and let him through. Closing the door behind him, you turn around and see him rocking back and forth in place. It was weird seeing him in your home, “Okay… speak.”

“My entire apartment was burned. There’s basically nothing left,” he explained, “They said it was some type of electrical mishap because of my gaming stuff.”

If it was the right moment, you’d make fun of him for it. But you held yourself back as you sensed that the Donghyuck in front of you was not in the mood for pestering. How did you not know that the apartment directly above you had basically vanished from flames? “Oh… I’m sorry to hear that… and why are you telling me this?”

It took awhile for him to reply. He stared down at your feet, unable to string the right words together. It was a weird type of silence.

“I’m telling you this because I have a proposition.”

You sit down on your couch, “A proposition?”

“You know, like a proposal…”

“I know what a fucking proposition is, dumbass. What is it?” Donghyuck has never failed to provoke you.

“You let me stay here until they fix my place… and once I move back, I won’t make a single peep after one o’clock,” a sheepish expression surfaced on his face. He rubbed the back of his neck with his hand.

“Don’t you have friends?” you held back a laugh.

“I do, but none of them can take me in… you’re literally my only hope right now.”

“No. It was unbearable living beneath you and now living with you? No thanks,” you stood up and approached your door. Sure you felt kind of bad for him, but there was no way you were going to let this clown live with you.

He stopped your hand from turning the knob before he fell to his knees. He begged, “Please~ Please, Y/N! I’ll try not to keep you awake, I just need a place to sleep and eat and…” His bottom lip jutted out like a little toddler who was dying to play games on your phone.

You push him lightly out your door and sighed, “Look I’m really not looking for a roommate right now.” And it was true. There was a reason that you were still living alone after months of starting university.

“Please?” He sounded desperate now.

“No, Donghyuck,” you answered, “How about beg one of your friends?”

“I’m going to sit out here until you let me in,” he threatened.

“Do I look like I care? Because I don’t,” you say bluntly. You closed the door and went back to the nap you were ever so craving. If Donghyuck really was going to sit outside of your apartment, then let him. He was going to give up anyway.

The echoing sound of your empty stomach woke you up from your nap. The sunset being framed by your window indicated that it was inching closer to dinner time. A reminder had popped into your head that your kitchen held no groceries for dinner, meaning that you had to eat out and buy groceries. Which was perfectly fine with you.

Opening your apartment door, you feel a somewhat heavy object fall abruptly onto your feet. You shut your eyes tight, afraid that if you looked down you’d see something straight out of a horror film. It took a prolonged moment for you to actually build up the courage to open your eyes and look down.

Once you had reached the minimum amount of courage, you looked to your feet and found Donghyuck holding his head. He continued to curse under his breath, looking up at you, obviously irritated about what had just happened.

“Donghyuck, what the fuck?” You hit him with your purse, mostly because of how frightened you had been, “What the hell are you doing there?”

“I told you. I’m sitting out here until you let me stay with you,” he stood up and dusted off his pants, “I fell asleep.”

You gave him a dead look, not having it with him. This was the most you had conversed with him in one day and you really had to admit that talking to someone like Donghyuck was rather tiresome. Your door locked behind you as you pushed past him, ignoring the way he stood up with the built up energy he had in his body.

“Where are you going?” he followed you willingly. “Dinner. Groceries,” you mumbled. You were praying for the elevator to come faster.

“I’m coming with you,” he stated, standing at your side.

“No you’re not.”

As if the film had cut to the next scene, you found yourself sitting across from Donghyuck at a nearby McDonald’s. He was munching on his nth chicken nugget, cold drink in the other, as he blinked at whatever car drove past the building. The silence was awkward, but you’d rather it be awkward than hear his voice for at least the entirety of your stay at the restaurant. With his backpack sitting next to him, he looked like one of those kids you’d baby sit right after school.

Once you finished, you threw your garbage on the way out and started to walk to the grocery store right across the street. It wasn’t a surprise to you when you hear the nearing footsteps of Donghyuck. He didn’t say anything, he sort of just floated next to you.

Upon entering the store, you were actually relieved to see that Donghyuck had gone his own way. At first you thought about packing your cart with all that you needed and leaving him. But then you realized that there was seriously no use because he knew where you lived. At this realization, you decided that taking time was better on your energy level.

About ten minutes into the shopping trip, you were bent down in the ramen aisle, eyeing down which spice level you should get. Often, you’d get mild, but you found yourself needing more than what the package provided. The only thing holding you back was what if the ultra spicy was too spicy? Then it’d be a waste of ramen.

“Oh there you are,” Donghyuck had slipped into the aisle with his own basket full of goods, “I thought you left me or something.”

You glare at him before giving up and throwing both flavours into your cart, “You better be paying for your own stuff.” You start to roll it down to the front of the store and to self checkout.

“Of course I am,” he dropped his own basket to the checkout next to yours and started doing his own thing.

There was still a bit of hope in you that maybe, hopefully, one of Donghyuck’s friends would offer him a nice place to stay in instead of yours. But when you still felt the boy’s presence behind you as you left your apartment building’s elevator, you knew damn well that he really wasn’t going anywhere.

You groaned and turned around to face him. You noticed that you had startled him by the way his eyes widened and how he jumped back a bit, “You’re really not going to leave me alone, are you?” At this point, your fingers were grazing your door’s handle.

You thought about it on the way up. If you did let Donghyuck stay with you, you could tell him what to do and what not to do. It would be amusing. If he ever refused, you could tell him that he would have to find another place to stay. You could use it to your advantage.

Shaking his head, Donghyuck straightened his back, “Nope. Not at all.” His determination said it all. It was weaved with hints of desperation and you knew how easy it would be to persuade the boy into doing anything.

“Okay then…” you unlocked your door and gently pushed it open, “I’ll let you stay with me.” Before he could rejoice, you stopped him, “But on a few conditions.”

He nodded, “Anything.”

“Keep up your end of the bargain, the one you said earlier,” you started, “You can’t make any noise when I say so. Boundaries are important. No long showers. Remember that you’re a guest under my roof.”

“As long as I have a place to stay, then I’ll follow your rules,” he stated seriously. You weren’t sure if you could trust him or not. After all, it was Donghyuck. Not even 24 hours ago, his noise had woken you up from your sleep.

You motioned for him to enter first since you still needed to take your home key out. As he approached the interior end of your apartment, he beamed brightly at you. Donghyuck, who has lost control of himself due to the wave of relief he was feeling, brought himself to give you a short hug of gratitude. His arms had wrapped tightly over your shoulders. You froze at the contact.

“Shit, sorry,” he muttered. He took a few steps back and smiled sheepishly at you, “W-where should I put my stuff?”

Still in shock from contact with Donghyuck, you couldn’t answer or think straight. You waddled to your kitchen counter and dropped your bags after you had closed and locked the door, “There’s a room down the… hall and to the right. That’s the extra room.”

“Thanks.” He smiled again and you were genuinely taken aback by how this boy, who was usually obnoxious and annoying, was acting. You blinked back at him and watched as he disappeared the deeper he had gone down the hall.

His duality was scary. It was unpredictable. It was the reason why you didn’t know what you were getting yourself into.

iii.

When Donghyuck said he’d follow your rules, you didn’t have any hopes in him actually following them. You knew how Donghyuck was. He’d lie to someone in order to get something he’d want in return. And this is one of those occasions.

Donghyuck gladly followed your ‘boundaries’ rule which at first seemed a bit rude as he didn’t even greet you in the mornings or evenings. You were letting him stay with you and you figured that that was probably better than nothing. After a bit of thinking, avoiding convos with Donghyuck would probably be a lot better than bickering that would probably wear you out over the period of his stay.

The only time these said ‘avoided’ convos would happen would be when Donghyuck couldn’t find the appropriate time to make noise and he would not listen when you told him to shut up. It was like you were practically babysitting a toddler, maybe even six of them, and they all would not listen to you.

It wasn’t often that you would physically go to the guest bedroom to tell him to shut up. Usually, you’d be the bigger person and try to mind your own business, but when you remembered that this was your home and not his, you decided to actually put a stop to it before you lost it.

You knocked twice on the door, hearing Donghyuck’s reply not even a moment after, “Come in!” He goes back to yelling at whoever he was playing with on the phone. When you had actually entered, you found him slumped against the headboard, headphones sitting ungracefully on his head.

“Can you… quiet down?” You put on a customer service-esque voice, “Please.”

Donghyuck didn’t let his eyes leave his screen, fingers going crazy on it’s touchscreen, “Nope.” You scowled at him, brows furrowing at the audacity this boy had.

“It’s almost one in the morning,” you pointed out.

“Didn’t know you were some kind of human clock,” he mumbled. The majority of his attention was still pinned on the screen, eyes darting towards you to see if you had gone and left the room.

You feel the expression on your face intensify. Walking up to the side of the bed, you grabbed his phone.

“What the hell?” He sat up and grabbed his phone back from you, “I’m not even that loud, quit being sensitive.” He quickly finished his game and shut his phone off, focusing on this situation with you.

“How about I kick you out by tomorrow morning?” you say as if you were bargaining. You knew that this was one way to get Donghyuck to shut the fuck up. Judging by how desperate he was before, you knew he had no other choice but to listen to you.

At this mention, he shut his mouth and frowned, “The fuck? Just because this once?”

“Quit being sensitive,” you mocked, “If you wanna stay in this room until your apartment is finished, you really need to watch how loud you’re being.” Seeing how much Donghyuck’s mood changed, you smirked. It worked.

“Fine…” He retorted, “Whatever.”

You huffed and turned to leave, the smirk reappearing on your face.

Y/N: 1

Donghyuck: 0

-

Leaving the apartment to Donghyuck for a weekend wasn’t something that you were quite in favour of. You, along with Yeji and Lia, had planned an entire weekend trip for the long weekend, and of course you were excited for it, but that was when Donghyuck’s apartment was still intact. Now that you knew we were leaving your beloved haven with Donghyuck, you were hesitant to actually go on said trip. But (no) thanks to Lia, she convinced you to come after hours of persuasion.

Upon returning, your heart dropped at the idea that Donghyuck might’ve burnt down your own apartment as well. But seeing that the door was still standing, you feel a slight wave of relief wash over.

“Thank goodness,” you mumbled.

Slowly, you unlocked your door and nudged it open. That was when you knew you had spoken too soon. What once was your nice and cozy, neat home had turned into some kind of new rat’s hole. It wasn’t too messy, but it just wasn’t something you were used to nor expecting. The coffee was filled with used dishes, the carpet had bits of crumbs everywhere, wrappers scattered on your previous couch, and the kitchen was littered with groceries that weren’t put back in its place. What made everything else worse was that you could hear Donghyuck yelling in the back, playing games instead of cleaning up his mess.

“Son of a bitch.”

You dropped your bags and made a beeline to the guest room, opening it without knocking, “The fucking audacity you have, Lee Donghyuck.”

“There’s something called knocking,” he scoffed.

“Clean my apartment,” you ordered, “I left this place clean.” You were fuming. This was the main reason why you didn’t want to leave, “I’m letting you stay here, as a guest, and you choose to treat it like it’s your own house. At least clean up after yourself.”

“I was, I just thought you were coming back tomorrow, not today,” he shrugged. Donghyuck redirected his focus to his phone, corner of his mouth angling up.

“Lee Donghyuck I swear if you’re starting another game, I’m kicking you out,” you warned. It was the same reason as before, only this time you were dead serious. This time you weren’t treating it as some sort of way to control him.

“If that’s what you want,” he stands up and bows, “Madame.” Donghyuck walks around you, hands in his pockets as he pokes the inside of his cheek with his tongue. He knows he’s pissing you off and he’s enjoying it. What the hell is wrong with him?

You leave his room and grab your bags before dragging yourself into your room. Two strikes… three and he’s out.

-

You believed that home cooked meals were a lot more healthier than most of the affordable food you could get when you eat out. Which is why you opted to cook your own meals for half or possibly more than half of the week. Though they were often just simple recipes either your mom had taught you or ones you’ve seen on tv or youtube, you still took a lot of pride in those meals.

Trekking into the kitchen, you scrolled through the many possible recipes you could complete on your phone, mentally noting the ingredients. You pulled open the fridge, rummaging through its contents trying to find the specific items, which you clearly remembered you bought not even a week ago. Muttering underneath your breath, your mind wanders over to the other living being in your home. There was no way that those groceries could have magically disappeared, not in this universe at least.

Closing the fridge, you make your way to the pantry, still puzzled on the missing groceries, “I swear I bought a whole pack just last weekend.” But after scavenging the pantry, none of the ingredients you needed were sitting there waiting to be used.

“Lee Donghyuck!” you called.

Said boy appeared in the kitchen moments later, posture reflecting the fact that he did not want to be there, “What do you want now?” It was like you were living with a teenager.

“Did you eat all the food I bought?” usually you wouldn’t just accuse one of something, but knowing you hadn’t touched those groceries, Donghyuck was the only possible culprit for the missing food.

“Yes, and?”

“You do know those groceries were for our meals, right?” You walked past him and crouched down to the snack cabinet, opening it, “This is literally empty! Those were all my snacks! Who said you could eat whatever was in there?”

“I was hungry? I’m a guest, I should be able to do so.”

You wonder why Donghyuck would even be acting like he was if he knew that a place to stay was at stake, “You’re a guest, but not like that…” Again you change locations, “Where the hell are your manners? You sure as hell know that I hesitated letting you live with me and you choose to test me almost every other day! A one year old toddler knows better than you! Dumb shit, why did I even agree to you staying here?”

“One year olds can’t even complete an entire sentence,” he jokingly argued, “Isn’t that a bit too far?”

“Me? Too far? You’re taking it too far! You have no idea when to stop being immature!” The volume in your voice was increasing, “You’re twenty fucking years old, Donghyuck. You should be able to know when it’s good and when it’s bad to mess around.”

Simultaneously, he stands up and gives you an expression of hurt and anger, all in one. You could tell that you’ve actually, for once, offended him just by the look in his eyes. He muttered something underneath his breath before he started walking towards your door. Swiftly, he unlocked it, slipping out and shutting it without another peep.

Stunned, you blinked at the door, confused as to what had just happened. The silence that replaced the prior argument seemed to be louder than the argument itself… and you didn’t like that.

You leaned against the kitchen counter and sighed. Where would he go? He didn’t have another place to stay and he left basically all his stuff in his room. Where would he go?

You dismissed the feelings of worry and guilt, shaking it all off before you locked the door and made your way to your room. You lost your appetite. You’ll just eat later.

In between your songs, the banging at your door caused your heart rate to escalate. You rolled over in your bed, almost falling off and straight onto your face, and ran to the door, not even thinking of looking through the peephole. Right as you threw the door open, Donghyuck pushed past you and straight to the kitchen.

“Donghyuck?” It was then you noticed he was holding bags of groceries, both of his hands white from the weight. He put them down softly beside the kitchen counter, stretching his back from relief.

“Fuck the grocery store and not letting me take the cart home,” he rested his upper body on the counter and took a quick breather, as if he had ran a 12k marathon.

“What is all this?” It was obviously clear to you what it was; bags filled with groceries, most of which were the ones he used up. The question was more specifically directed towards him and his sudden act of kindness.

“Groceries,” he replied. Even when exhausted, Donghyuck’s wit outshone.

“Well no shit…” you say, “I mean why.”

“I… thought about what you said,” he exhaled deeply. Donghyuck was irritated at how he was letting you win, “And you’re right. I’ve been acting like a dumbass. Especially since you’re letting me stay here.” To avoid the awkward eye contact, he decided to start sorting out the groceries, “I’m… really sorry. It didn’t occur to me how I was acting. From now on, I’ll actually act my age to make it up to you. I’ll act like a proper guest.”

You feel a small smile creep up onto your lips, “Donghyuck?” He hummed. “I forgive you.” You paused for a moment, “And I’m sorry for earlier… my emotions took control of me. I couldn’t hold myself back.” He chuckles lightly, turning to you, “It’s okay, it’s understandable…” He hears his own stomach growl. “Y/N?”

“Yeah?”

“Can you make dinner now? I’m starving.”

iv.

You glared at Donghyuck at the corner of your eyes as it sounded like he was purposely turning up the volume of his game. The background music, character voices, weapons slashing, and shooting, they all started to drown out the show you decided to put on the tv. You decided not to point it out at first because of a goal you had made to not seem like such a buzzkill all the time.

“This is the best weapon in the game,” he grinned proudly, “It’s my baby. My pride and joy.” The tv screen in front of you was suddenly blocked by Donghyuck’s phone screen. At the same time, the couch had dipped down slightly as he shifted over to you. He held the device there for longer than you cared, hand shaking as seconds passed. It almost made you laugh.

“Mmhmm,” you hum monotony, trying your best to keep your eyes on the screen, “That’s really cool.”

Donghyuck sat back in his spot, “You know I’m not stupid enough to not hear the sarcasm in your voice.” He tapped a few buttons to join the queue of the game.

“I know… I just don’t care,” you finally turned to face him, “Why don’t you just play that in your room? I’m trying to watch and all I hear are shooting sounds.” And at that you turned the volume up by two.

“It’s… quiet in my room,” he says quietly, “I’ll just turn my volume down.” Staying with you had caused Donghyuck to realize how lonely it actually was just staying in a single room the entire night with his eyes not leaving the screen. He figured that maybe, when you were planted on the couch, he’d hang around you for a nice change.

Keeping your gaze forward. Though it was hopefully not obvious on the outside, you were thrown off by  Donghyuck’s compliance. Turning ever-so-slightly, you peered at the boy. His head was bowed in order to look at his phone screen but, even so, you could see the tip of his tongue peek out between his lips. He looked so focused that you almost laughed out loud. Never did you think that a boy as garish as Hyuck would ever reach a state like that. He looked… cute.

You forced your eyes back to the television and knocked the thought out of your head like with a mental baseball bat. There’s no way you just thought that Donghyuck was cute. No way.

-

It hadn’t occurred to Donghyuck that you weren’t awake to leave in time for the bus until he already turned the front door’s knob halfway and his eyes had fallen on the only pair of shoes you would wear. He let go of the doorknob and kicked his own sneakers off of his feet, letting out a low groan only for him to hear. He knows that you probably worked on school work until late, which he found stupid since you could not, for the life of you, wake up later on to go to school.

Donghyuck knocked twice and waited for a reply, letting himself in when he hadn’t heard one. He snuck his head through the gap he made and set his eyes on your bed. He snorted at the sight of your passed out figure, leg sticking out from underneath the blanket and hanging off of your bed. Your mouth was wide open, freely giving flies a good place to hang out. Your textbooks and notes were scattered at the foot of your bed, your other foot leaving creases in them.

“Y/N, wake up you’re late,” he shook your shoulder, bending down a tad bit closer, “Wake up!”

Groaning, you shifted and grabbed his hand from your shoulder to push it away, “Donghyuck, can you please shut the fuck up?” You were unable to open your eyelids and your throat was still dry. Donghyuck continued to force his hand to your shoulder to shake you again, but you countered it with your own elbow strength.

“Hey the bus comes in a few minutes and you’re barely awake,” Donghyuck noted, “Hey wake up.”

For some reason, you hadn’t processed what he was saying. You genuinely believed he was only in there to irritate you at such an early hour. Refusing to retract his elbow, he applied a bit more pressure down onto you.

“Stop it!” you blindly swung an arm at his inner elbow which caused it to bend at contact. Donghyuck fell forward and onto you, all of it happening so fast that he couldn’t save himself. His face was only inches from yours, though you hadn’t noticed until your eyes had shot open from the sudden realization of the collision. The both of you laid there for a brief moment, staring at each other with wide eyes. It was all purely out of shock, like deer in headlights.

When you had processed it all, you rolled over, “Get out of my room!” It was then that you were suddenly aware of the situation. Classes started in less than an hour, the bus leaves in two minutes, and you were still not dressed. Curse the psychology homework you left until last minute.

Donghyuck pushes himself up, “I’m only here to help you!” He argued, “You know what? Why did I even try? I should’ve just left you here and let you miss your classes.” And at that, Donghyuck turned and exited your room, leaving your door open.

He jogged out of the apartment, slipping his nikes on as if they were crocs, creasing them carelessly. If you were the reason why he could be late, he wouldn’t know how he’d react. He just knew that he wouldn’t want that.

Donghyuck was just in time for the bus, greeting the driver quickly before finding a place to sit on the bus. He placed himself near the back at a window seat, leaning his head against the glass after he finally took the time to tuck his heels properly into his shoes. He let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding in. His heart was beating faster than normal, adrenaline running through his body, only he wasn’t sure if it was from the thought of being late to class or because of what just happened between him and you.

-

You always set aside Friday nights for self care and movie nights. You’d put on a cheap drugstore face mask, dump a whole bag of your favourite chips into a bowl, pour yourself a cold drink, and pick out whatever movie that looked appealing. It was rather an ordinary routine, but you liked to think of it as something special.

Resting against the couch, you decided to pull up To All the Boys I’ve Loved Before, hoping to watch the first and second movie even though you already watched both when they were initially released.

“Hey Y/N, have you– oh hey, it’s that Noah dude that’s in every Netflix movie,” Donghyuck has emerged from his room, the first time since you both arrived from school. He leaned over the back of the couch and took in whatever scene was playing on the screen, “What are you watching?”

You turn around, face covered in an unnatural shade of purple, making Donghyuck jump a bit, “To all the boys I’ve loved before.”

“That sounds really dumb,” he snorted, but nonetheless he sits down on the cushion next to you.

You questioned his actions, glaring at him, “If you think it’s stupid, why does it look like you’re here to watch it.”

“I have nothing better to do. None of my friends are online,” he shrugged. Reaching over, he grabs a can of pop from the coffee table, snapping it open before taking a purposefully loud sip, “So why not?”

“I’ll only let you watch if you shut up,” you turn the volume up by one, “Okay?” He nods understandingly as he mirrors your resting figure on the couch. After what seemed like five minutes, he stretches his arm out to grab a handful of chips before throwing them all into his mouth at once.

“So… he’s only pretending to date her to make the blonde girl jealous?” It was astonishing to you how you actually understood everything he said through his mouth full of chips. He didn’t even try speaking loudly either.

“Basically,” you hummed in response.

“Does it work though?” He questioned after swallowing.

“Shhh, Donghyuck, just watch,” you flick his knee, directing an unamused look at his direction, “You’ll see.”

For a good portion of the movie, Donghyuck chose to keep comments to himself. Every time he would want to say something, he’d hold himself back, silently reacting to the rather dramatic parts of the film. It was admittedly a cute movie. He hadn’t seen anything like it in a while.

“Wait! It’s just a misunderstanding!” Donghyuck gasped. His legs were crossed underneath him, eyes planted semi-permanently on the screen, “She took that scrunched from him! He didn’t give it to her! Just when everything seemed fine.” You snickered at how into the movie he was. You didn’t react like he was when you first watched the movie.

“It’s so obvious that Gen did it,” He muttered, “Who the hell else would do it? She’s jealous as hell. Can she stop please?” From the corner of your eye, you could see that Donghyuck was close to throwing one of your throw pillows.

“I mean, at least Peter’s plan worked,” you responded quietly, sinking back into the couch, “It’s just that now it doesn’t really matter if it worked or not.”

“She’s acting like they’re still a thing,” Donghyuck scoffed, “They’re not.” He was one hundred percent for Lara Jean and Peter and it was actually pretty amusing in a cute way. But you weren’t saying that out loud, you’ll gladly keep it to yourself.

The movie slowly came to the end, wrapping up like it did in the books. “Why does she walk like that though,” he laughed, “Who walks like that normally?” He lays back against the couch and grins, “That was actually a good film…”

He was so immersed in the film that he hadn’t noticed that you had fallen asleep by the end, head falling in a strange way against the armrest of the couch. The way your chest had risen and fallen in such a calm and constant rhythm indicated to Donghyuck that you were having a good slumber. He didn’t want to wake you up. Not when you seemed so peaceful.

His eyes shifted to the thin blanket you already brought with you, clutched in your hand, then back to your face. He couldn’t help but trace your features with his eyes. There was no other time that he would be able to do this. When you were awake, you were too aware about everything he did, or what went on around you, but in this state, you were the complete opposite. He smiled softly at your serene figure, quickly shaking his head at the sudden change in image you had created in his head for that brief moment. As if it was something he’d do often, he easily laid your blanket over you, making sure it covered you chest down. I just need sleep, he thought, “Goodnight, Y/N.”

v.

Mutualistic (symbiotic) relationships in nature worked as so: both organisms in the relationship would both completely benefit from the other. It was funny to think that such relationships were always so dynamic. Who would have thought that an animal as large as a crocodile would benefit from a bird as tiny as the plover. It was interesting how it worked like that.

As weeks had passed with Donghyuck still living in your guest room, the both of you had noticed that having each other as temporary roommates actually wasn’t that bad. A parasitic relationship had slowly evolved into a mutual one and you wondered if something like this could actually happen out in nature.

You noted this shift when Donghyuck had arrived home from a study group with bags filled with groceries. Sure it wasn’t the first time he’d taken the action to do so, knowing how much you struggled with carrying bags home, but this time was different.

It was nothing drastic or overly significant, but it was something that caught your eye immediately and you couldn’t help feel your chest warm up a bit. Donghyuck had bought all of your favourite snacks and candies. Even the ones you couldn’t usually find in the grocery store you’d usually shop at. They were all bunched into one separate bag, indicating that this was in no case a coincidence. And at that thought you smiled and looked up at him, only he didn’t catch you looking. He was far too busy sorting the rest of the groceries into their respective spots.

“Thanks Donghyuck,” you say, quietly. Though it sounded like you were thanking him for doing another round of grocery shopping, this time, it was directed more towards his little deed.

“It’s no problem,” he offered a tight lipped smile before scrunching the bags into messy balls, stuffing them into a small bin with others. He turned back to the counter, realizing that he hadn’t unpacked the bag filled with your favourites, “You can do those right?” It wasn’t like he couldn’t do them himself. It was just that those were all meant for you.

You nodded, “Did you do this on purpose?” You started to take the snacks out of the bag, “These are my favourites.”

Donghyuck’s eyes widened out of panic of being exposed but you weren’t aware of his mood change as he quickly fixed his composure, “No? I mean… they just looked good so I got them.”

He was lying and you knew, “Mmhmm… that grocery store I shop at doesn’t even sell these.” You held up a flavourful bag of gummy bears.

“I passed by a corner store and got them.” Lying again. But this time you just hummed.

“Whatever you say, Hyuck.” The nickname had slipped out of your mouth so naturally that you didn’t catch yourself saying it. Donghyuck was obviously thrown off by the name, feeling his heart skip a beat for the second time in five minutes, “Thank you.”

He scoffed, trying to tap back into his usual self, “For buying food for me? Ah, you’re welcome.” Before you could say anything else, he rushed to his room, making up some lame excuse just to get out of the conversation.

It was funny because that wasn’t the last time he bought your favourites.

Donghyuck noticed this shift himself when he came home one day with his clothes neatly folded on his bed. The last time he’s seen his clothes, they were all piled at the corner of the room, dirty with sweat or generally smelling like it’s been soaking up the sun.

He dropped his bag by the room’s door, curiosity taking hold of him as he walked up to the folded clothes. They were clean. He smiled, sorting them out so they were organized the way he wanted them to be.

He could recall how he had told you he had no time to do laundry. From school and extra shifts at work, he was growing frustrated with everything that’s been piling up, finding no time to take care of himself at home. He had been re-wearing the clothes that seemed clean enough just to get through his day.

Leaving his room with a bit of pep in his step, he enters the kitchen where you had been working on some assignment. You didn’t look up, even with the hint of his presence, too indulged in your work.

“Y/N,” He strayed towards the dishwasher, grabbing a cup as if he was only there to grab water. Glancing at you from the corner of his eyes, waiting for your reply.

“What, Donghyuck?” you muttered. You weren’t trying to come off as rude but you didn’t want to lose the focus you had built up in the last 30 minutes. You typed away, ears perked up in order to hear the nonsense that could be coming out his mouth any second now.

“Thanks for doing my laundry,” he says sincerely. He chugged down the water that he poured into his glass and quickly washed the cup, “It doesn’t seem like a lot but it truly is.”

You finally look up at him, fingers pausing abruptly. Your eyebrows were raised, shocked at the tone in Donghyuck’s voice, “It’s no problem. I know that you’ve been busy. And you still buy groceries even when you’re running low on time.” And it was true. In a way it was your only way of giving back aside from letting him stay at your place.

Donghyuck couldn’t do anything but smile. He bowed his head slightly to reply wordlessly to you before retreating back slowly to his room.

-

Your thumb switched between the right arrow button and the down arrow button, scrolling through the selection of movies shown on the screen. The past half an hour, you had been trying to settle with a film that suited your mood, but since the movies seem quite uninteresting, time was being wasted.

Mentally, you kept a list of movies that stood out more than others, only not finally deciding because you opted to choose more options. The third Harry Potter film was among those, and honestly, looking at the rest of the movies, you really were leaning towards rewatching it instead of taking a risk and watching a one star film.

Double checking if you had everything you needed, you pressed a button to start it, the warner bros logo appearing after a dark screen. There was a hint of background music playing and a house appears after the logo. Then, you hear a door open and close, followed by light footsteps. You sit unbothered, already knowing what was about to happen.

“Oh, a movie?” Donghyuck’s voice bounced around the room and over the movie’s soundtrack, “I didn’t know you were watching a movie.” His footsteps grew softer indicating that he was on his way to the kitchen just a few feet from the couch. You stifle a laugh and shake your head slightly. Of course. It wasn’t the first time Donghyuck had coincidentally walked in right when you started a movie. It happened last week and the night ended up with him sleeping with the lights on. You knew that he started to like these unspoken movie nights. And you did too.

You keep quiet as you preferred to listen to the film than reply to the curious boy, already knowing he was getting ready to take his usual seat next to you.

“Is this Harry Potter?” And as you predicted, the right side of the couch dips down slightly under Donghyuck’s weight. He sets down his own cup of pop and a movie snack in front of him.

“Yeah, the third one,” you blinked at the screen, “It’s probably my favourite one.”

“I’ve only seen the first one,” he states, “So you have to catch me up a bit.”

You sighed, “It’s okay, it’s easy to understand.”

Donghyuck takes a slight glance in your direction. You were slumped, cross legged, underneath your blanket, bag of chips sitting on your lap and a can of pop in your left hand. You looked cuddly. You didn’t know it. And Donghyuck didn’t know this until he had the sudden urge to scoot over to your side in order to feel completely comfortable.

Subtly, Donghyuck shifts his weight from one side to the other, crossing his legs. His knee sat rather closely to yours. A part of him did it on purpose, leaving the rest stunned at the close interaction. You didn’t move away, mostly because your knee was covered with your blanket. You couldn’t tell the difference between the blanket and Donghyuck’s knee.

Again he took a peek at you unconsciously, brain and muscle control seemingly working separately. He admitted it to himself he liked these movie nights. Even if you both unspokenly only had three. It was different from how he’d usually spend nights alone. It was a good different.

His phone buzzed, Jeno’s name popping up on the screen: Sick again? Feel better :)

Quickly unlocking his phone, he had texted back a ‘thanks Jeno’ before setting it back down in the crack of the couch. He had declined an invite from Jeno to go see a movie in the theatres in an hour, but the idea of spending the night just on the couch seemed much more appealing than having to go out and get ready to do the same thing.

One more time, in the corner of his eye he took in your figure. Whether he stayed home because he was too lazy to get ready or because he secretly wanted to spend time with you… we’ll never know.

vi.

“Thank you so much for the update.”

You had walked in after an energy draining shift to Donghyuck getting off the phone. The way he smiled caused him to embody happiness, radiating sunshine as he beamed at you.

“You look fucking stupid,” you say to break the silence creeping up on both of you. In reality he didn’t look stupid, he looked like a cute little kid being told news he was going on a fun family trip.

“My apartment’s done in a week!” He did a small dance to express what he was feeling, his smile not faltering one bit.

Your heart dropped a bit, the feeling of disappointment overtaking it. You brushed it aside, “That’s great to hear! Now I can kick you out for good.” You let out a small laugh to indicate it was a harmless joke before you make your way to your room, this conversation being something you want to avoid.

You had grown used to Donghyuck. His noise, his presence on the Friday movie nights, the never-empty fridge and pantry due to his constant visits to the grocery store. It was weird thinking that that’d be all gone by next week. You would have never thought you’d want him to stay…?

The hell? I want him to stay?

You flicked your own forehead before shaking it as if water had gone into your ear. You shake it to get rid of those thoughts you were ever so scared of confronting.

You sat down on your bed and sighed. Funny how over a month ago you strongly yearned for Donghyuck to leave. You wanted nothing to do with him, threatening to kick him out everytime he ever so slightly crossed the line. But now, you wouldn’t think twice seeing the boy passed out on the couch. You wouldn’t mind him taking up time in the washroom or yelling at ungodly hours at night. It was clear that he had grown on you. And instead of being thrilled that you’d get your apartment back to yourself, you were secretly hoping that time would move a bit slower just so Donghyuck wouldn’t move back any sooner.

Donghyuck made his way back to the guest room, a bittersweet feeling lingering in his chest. The news he had just gotten was great. It was information he had been waiting for for the past few weeks. But he had such a good time staying with you… he wondered if your guys’ relationship would be the same as it is now when he does move back. It’s not like he was leaving the city. He was literally only moving a floor up. If you both stood directly in the same spot in your apartments, you would be closer to each other than you would be staying in the same apartment and different rooms.

Would it be weird to ask you if you would still be friends? Maybe a little bit. But if Donghyuck had to do it, to ensure the growing worry in himself, then he’d do it.

-

Symbiotic relationships were easy to understand. It was grade seven level science after all. But something that wasn’t as simple to understand was the fact that you were actually going to miss Lee Donghyuck once he moved back to his apartment.

There was still that little voice inside of you that was telling you to quit it. That he was moving back tomorrow and after he does move, you probably won’t even have the same relationship as now. It was better to cut those arising feelings short before they actually endure.

Donghyuck has been spending a bit less time in your apartment and in his, making sure everything was good to go once he returned to his man hole. You could hear his voice through the ceiling. It honestly sucked because you wanted to spend the last week just spending time with him.

“How’s everything going?” You questioned as he appeared through the front door. You were on your way to your room, notebook and laptop sitting snugly in your arms. The time was drawing close to eleven and you could feel the residence of the apartment building all going to sleep. You figured it was time for you to go to bed too.

“Almost set,” he replied quietly, “I can finish them tomorrow.” A silence hung in the air as you tapped your fingertips against the edge of your laptop.

“That’s good.” Though it wasn’t obvious to Donghyuck, you had tried to force the content tone blanketing over the mixed emotions, “Well goodnight… will I still you tomorrow?”

You remembered Donghyuck saying he was moving back early morning, but knowing him and his habits, it would probably be postponed till midday.

“Maybe,” he laughed softly, “Maybe not.”

You let a laugh similar to his before backing into your room and shutting the door. Sighing heavily, you dragged yourself to your desk and set your things down. Maybe you should wake up early just to say goodbye.

Donghyuck smiles at your door, before calling it a night himself. Tomorrow he was moving back and tomorrow he wanted to tell you something. Maybe.

-

Surprisingly, Donghyuck had woken up before his alarm which was set to go off at nine in the morning. He sighs and blinks at his door a couple of times before getting up and making the bed, wanting it to look presentable for when you come in to clean it.

After he had followed his usual routine, changing into day clothes, brushing his teeth, washing his face, and fixing his hair, he set his backpack down beside the door beside his shoes. He stood there for a moment, resting his hands on his hips and huffed. Within his chest he could feel that same bittersweet feeling he felt about a week ago when he was told his apartment was finished.

Unconsciously, he turned back towards the hallway and stood in front of your room. Is Y/N sleeping? He questioned himself. Probably, he countered. Though his head was telling him to not bother you, his body had decided that it was a great idea to knock, not once but twice.

“Come in.” Unexpectedly, you had replied, voice sounding like you had been awake for a while. And the truth was, you had been awake since eight, unable to go out and face Donghyuck.

“Can I talk to you?” Donghyuck’s head was barely pushed through the crack he had made, door hiding anything below his eyes.

You were partly laying down in your bed, phone in hand. Sitting up, you nodded, “Yeah of course, what’s up?” You watched Donghyuck swing the door so that his entire body was visible. He had a sheepish smile on his face, eyes unable to sit on you as he glanced around your room.

“I just wanted to say thank you for letting me stay here,” he says seriously, finally bringing himself to look at you, “I really do owe you shit… I owe you so much. So if you need me, then I’ll do anything.”

You couldn’t help but feel the inside of your chest warm up to your temporary roommate. A smile crept up onto your face and you nodded, “I got to be honest, you already know this, but I really didn’t want you staying with me… but I guess it wasn’t that bad at the end. No problem.”

He bows his head gently and turns to leave, only stopping to turn around again, “Oh by the way, I don’t think you’ll hear me causing a ruckus for a bit because I still need to save up for new equipment.”

You laughed and joked, “Sounds good to me.”

“Bye Y/N.” Donghyuck licks his eyes with yours for a prolonged moment, sparkling in yours. Your stomach bursts with butterflies, feeling yourself squeal internally at this type of contact.

“Bye Hyuck.” And at that he leaves.

You were engulfed with a heavy feeling that you weren’t usually familiar with when it came to Donghyuck. Often you’d know if it were hate or annoyance or amusement. But this was different. The flame in your chest was growing stronger and this time you really couldn’t ignore it. You cringe at the butterflies in your stomach that were alive than never before.

Once you heard the door to your apartment close, that was when you finally gave in to that feeling that started to grow slowly and subtly without your knowledge.

You liked Donghyuck… you really liked Donghyuck and there obviously was no running from it now.

Donghyuck enters his apartment and is immediately greeted with silence. Though he’s only stayed at your apartment for about a month, he without a doubt had grown to get used to your presence greeting him at the door. It was just weird now. He should’ve asked you to help him sort his new furniture. Then he could be around you longer for a good reason and that could give him a chance to actually ask you if you guys could still be friends.

He loved your presence. He loved the movie nights you both had and the short yet amusing banters. You two actually complimented each other well despite the fact that at first you two seemed to be polar opposites… but that was it, you guys were opposites but that was why you both went well together. He loved the friendship that you guys had managed to muster up within a month.

Involuntarily, Donghyuck shakes his head at the thought of being just friends. A friendship was far different from what he wanted. And at that conclusion, he made up his mind. He liked you, maybe closer to love than like. He wanted more, and it took him this long to finally admit it.

At that second, someone knocked on his door twice, his head snapping towards that direction. He feels the beat of his heart quicken in pace as he approaches it slowly. Answering it, he remembers when you were there about aa month ago just to tell him off. Donghyuck laughs, “Y/N? Missed me already?”

You rolled your eyes playfully, “Shut up Hyuck… you know how you owe me?” He nods, unable to predict  what was coming up next.

“Well how about you take me out to dinner…” You cringed at how you worded that. It sounded like you were demanding it. This mistake caused you to back up a bit sheepishly.

Donghyuck smiles at your cute behaviour, stepping forward to keep the distance the same, “Like a date?”  It was your turn to nod.

“Then I would love to.”

[all1e23]

Between the Stars [Pt.8]

Pairings:  Past!Steve x Reader, Bucky x  Reader

Series warnings: CHARACTER DEATH. Grief. Overall sadness. Depression. It’s pretty angsty if I’m being honest. Things mellow out as the series goes on. TW: Military/Spouse death.

A/N: **TW: A certain death is finally explained in this chapter. It is the second half of the chapter. It’s not in crazy detail but there is some important plot stuff mixed in.  I decided to post despite someone stealing my work. 😤 Thanks to my beautiful beta @moonbeambucky​​​​ for looking this chapter over for me. Enjoy the sad I guess. If you like it write me a book report, sing me a song or come scream at me.

***My fics are not to be saved or posted on any other sites without my written permission. Reblogs are my jam, though! Thanks!****

Stepping away from music for those ten months turned out to be the best thing you could have done for yourself and your career. Without the small reprieve, you doubted you would have found your way back to teaching, and you loved teaching. Not that it had been intended as a break at the time you walked away. You had every intention of never looking at another sheet of music again, but then Bucky came home and things became more complicated and somehow easier. You doubted that he knew what he was doing, and why should he? It wasn’t as if he had planned on coming home to pick up all your broken pieces so he could help put you back together. He did -- whether he realized it or not -- help you get some of your old life back. The bit that you could take with you into this new one. You even called a few of your former students and asked their parents if they were interested in picking up their lessons. Most said they would love to pick up where you left off, and a few said they found someone new in your absence. You couldn’t blame them. The world had continued while you chose to stand still.

Bucky must have noticed a difference because he told you he liked how pretty you looked when you were smiling. 

Lessons started with the school year, and fall was here before you could blink. You were surprised to find you weren’t dreading the holidays as much as you thought. It would be the first holiday season since you got the call and you had expected it to feel like the rest -- hollow and grim. Along with Easter and Memorial Day, you had skipped celebrating Steve’s birthday. There was a small cake you shared with Bucky, three bites in, and you couldn’t force any more falsities down. You spent the rest of the night in your room. It was one of the rare nights you hadn’t slept next to Bucky since he had been home. You needed the night to yourself, and he understood that. By morning, your wedding ring had found its way from your ring finger to a chain that Steve had given you years ago. It felt strange at first. From the moment Steve slipped it on your finger, it rarely left your skin, and when you did, it always felt like there was a piece of you missing. That feeling didn’t show up this time, but you imagined there weren’t many more pieces of you that could go missing. You didn’t want to make it a big deal, so you kept it tucked inside your shirt. Of course, Bucky noticed the absence right away. He never questioned it. 

It was a step forward (or maybe backward you weren’t sure some days). They were small, slow steps taken, but at least you were moving.  

You’re not sure when it happened, but one morning you woke up and everything didn’t hurt as bad, you guessed it started right around the time Bucky came home. While moving forward was necessary (as everyone continued to remind you), there were days when it felt like a betrayal. You are moving on, and Steve can’t come with you. A little guilt blackens your heart every time you smile on those days; so you falter and take those arduous steps back. It lessens with every laugh and smile Bucky draws out of you, but it’s there under it all, and there’s the fear too. You’re afraid if you move on and keep up with the rest of the world you will forget. You will forget everything you and Steve had, and it will be as if you were never anything at all. Bucky shook his head when you confessed that to him late one night with your forehead pressed firmly against his shoulder, fighting your sleep and the nightmares you were sure would follow. 

“You’re holding on to the past, Y/n. You gotta let it go. I’m not sayin’ you have to stop lovin’ him, but you gotta let go of the part of Steve that’s keeping you from moving on and being happy. Or it’s going to continue to tear at you until there’s nothing left.” 

“And if I forget him?” 

“You won’t, Trouble. You can’t forget a love like that. Trust me, I know.”

Bucky didn’t elaborate, and you didn’t dare ask. He’s never mentioned anything about falling in love in all the years you’ve known him. You’ve never seen him hold onto a woman for longer than a month and the idea of Bucky being in love, holding on to that love all these years without ever getting to know it turns your stomach inside out and shades your heart a bitter green. You’d rather not dwell on those feelings long enough to understand them. 

Neither of you spoke about it again, and you were thankful. You didn’t think you could handle discussing Bucky’s long lost love when you could barely pick out an outfit. You’ve been staring at your clothes for an hour now, and everything either looked awful or felt wrong. Maybe you needed to buy new clothes and start from scratch. Every piece you owned had a memory stitched into the fabric, and you didn’t need to be reminded of things you would never have again. Bucky pulled a grey flannel out of his closet, and you reached across the bed, yanking it right out of his hand to slip over your head. That would have to work for today. Bucky rolled his eyes and turned back to the closet to grab a blue Henley for himself. 

You always did like the way he looked blue. 

“I can go see Sam so you can have some time alone with Tasha and Wanda.” 

You didn’t say anything. Just gave a simple nod of the head, refusing to look up from the pile of clothes on the bed that now needed to be put away. You could leave it. The girls would be here any minute, and with Bucky gone, you could deal with it then. Bucky reached out to wrap his fingers around your wrist and gave a gentle tug, forcing your gaze to follow the motion up to meet his eyes. He ran his thumb over the soft thumping in your wrist and stared at you for a while as if he was working something out. 

“Or,” Bucky suggested gently. “I can stay right here and work on my bike.” 

Your lips curled up in a small smile despite your brain’s wish to keep them in a permanent frown. 

“Okay,” You agreed with an easy smile. You slipped your wrist out of Bucky’s loose hold and made your way towards the door, stopping before you crossed the threshold and looked back at him with a deep frown replacing the pretty smile you were wearing only a second ago. 

“You don’t have to babysit me, y’ know?” 

Bucky’s laughter was followed by an exasperated groan. Of course, that was why you were upset. 

“Yeah, I know. You’re just fine on your own.” 

There was no fighting the grin Bucky’s words caused. “Yes, I am. But… you can hang around if you want to.” 

“I’ve meant to clean up my girl anyway. I’ll hang around today, Trouble.” 

Bucky assurance made your heart rest a little easier and maybe his too because he looked relieved when you nodded. The doorbell broke your silence and forced you to leave his side; you barely made it to the top of the stairs when you heard Bucky mutter, “Pain in my ass.” There was a fondness in his voice that made your heart leap. 

Even though you were back to teaching you made sure not to overwhelm yourself; Tuesdays and Thursdays you worked late into the evening. It was nice to have something to look forward to, and Bucky always had something to eat ready when your last student left around 8:30. That was nice too. 

Natasha had called earlier in the week wanting to come over Thursday night, and you had to explain that you went back to work. There was silence on the other end of the line, and silence was never good with Natasha. She was probably mad you didn’t tell her and that you were keeping things that important hidden, but it wasn’t something you wanted to advertise. Besides, Friday was as good a day as any to have the girls over. No one had to work the next day and took some of the pressure off. Everything felt normal when Natasha and Wanda arrived; you shared a hug or two. Okay, three. Wanda liked to hug, and she showed you the muffins she baked while Natasha held up a bottle of something that looked as if it could melt the glass it came in. You didn’t know what you expected. You hadn’t thought you would feel so excited to see them. Not because you didn’t love them, but having excitement around anyone but Bucky has been rare these last few months.  

Sometimes the unexpected was good. 

You chose to sit on the window bench that happened to overlook the side yard where Bucky had his black and chrome bike parked and was sitting on an old milk crate hard at work. That didn’t go unnoticed by Natasha. Not that anything ever does. 

“So are you two living together now?” 

You slowly draw your gaze up from the wine glass in your hand to look at Natasha and Wanda, who was skillfully avoiding your eyes as she blew on her tea for far longer than necessary.  

“Yes. Is that a problem? It’s not like we talked about it or anything. It just sort of happened.” 

Natasha shrugged in answer to your question and waited for you to go on. She wanted more of an explanation, so you rolled your eyes and explained why Bucky was staying with you. 

“He didn’t have anywhere to go when he came home.” 

Natasha smirked at the suggestion that Bucky would have been homeless if he hadn’t come to live with you, and you knew right away what you said had been a mistake. “Besides his mom’s, right? She lives twenty minutes from here. What about Sam’s? Or at my place with Clint and I? And I’m a hundred percent certain Sarah Rogers would have taken him in if everyone else in his life let him down for some unknown reason.”  

You turned to look back out the window right as Bucky looked up, catching his eye, and you felt the panic in your chest lessen. Bucky gave you that pretty smile and scrunched his nose at you before going back to work. You fought to keep your smile small and lost the battle before it even got started. Wanda’s voice pulled you back into the living room; it was gentle as if she was trying to offset Natasha. 

“I think what Nat was trying to ask is if you are planning on staying here together, or is he going to get his own place eventually?” 

“We haven’t talked about it. I suppose he will at some point, though...” 

You frowned at the thought. Why did that bother you so much? 

“He doesn’t have to do anything, you know?” Wanda added at the sight of your upset. “He might want to stay here.” 

“Maybe, but he has to move on eventually,” you added, dread filling your voice from the mere thought of Bucky leaving you. “He can’t stay here just to keep me from falling apart for the rest of this life.” 

They were right. Bucky will eventually want to get back to his life. He can’t babysit you forever.  There was going to come a time when he will want to date, fall in love, and get married. Maybe even have kids. Do all the things that you were supposed to do with Steve. The thought of Bucky leaving you to have that life with someone else made you sick, and you know it’s selfish. It’s unfair to expect him to stay there with you because you don’t want to lose him to someone else. 

“How are you doing?” Natasha sounded a little softer this time, sensing your unease. “Are you sleeping?”  

“Yeah, I started sleeping in Bucky’s room with him. It seemed to help.” 

They stayed quiet but shared a look. You weren’t fond of whatever that was.

“What?”

“It’s nothing.” Wanda rushed out far too quickly, but Natasha was quick to cut in, and by her tone, you could tell she’s been feeling this way for a while. “I’m just wondering how long you are going to keep punishing yourself?” 

Natasha stared at you and Wanda swore under her breath. They talked about this before coming over. That was clear by the glare Wanda was settling Natasha with. You briefly wondered how often your friends discuss you like that. More often than you approved of, you were sure. 

“I’m not punishing myself. I’m allowed to be sad. My husband died--”

“You’re right. You are allowed to be sad. Just like you’re allowed to find new things that make you happy and start putting your life back together.” 

“I’m fine, Nat. I don’t need anything new. I have our house and my music--” 

“And, Bucky?”

While she was right, you did have Bucky, in a sense. Bucky wasn’t new. You had a feeling what she was suggesting would be very new and not a notion you wanted to entertain.

“Natasha--” 

“It’s okay to be happy again, Y/n. It’s okay to let your heart get put back together and heal. It doesn’t cheapen what you had with Steve. It doesn’t mean you didn’t love him, and it doesn’t mean you are betraying him. You aren’t doing anything wrong by letting yourself find happiness again. Even if that happiness is found with Bucky.” 

You had a feeling what Natasha was hinting at, but hearing it outright like that made you a little queasy. Did people, your friends, talk about you and Bucky like this? Is that what everyone was worried about, who would get you next?  

“What are you talking about?” 

“Don’t act stupid Y/n. You’re a lot of things, but stupid isn’t one of them.” 

“He’s been my best friend since I was thirteen. It’s not-- It’s never been--” You took a deep breath and told them both, firmly. “He’s my best friend.”  

Wanda pinched Natasha’s thigh and grabbed your hands from where she sat on the floor between you and Natasha. “All Nat is trying to say is if you wanted to find happiness again... with Bucky or anyone for that matter, it’s okay. You’re not doing anything wrong by moving on.” 

“It’s been nearly a year since you lost Steve. It’s time to start picking up the pieces, Y/n. With Bucky or without. You can’t stay stuck in this in-between, and you can’t go back.”

You turned your gaze back out the window to catch Bucky staring at you. He quickly looked back at his bike and fiddled with the wrench in his hand. It reminded you of all those days he would hide you in Shop class so you could skip Geometry with Mr. Coulson. The memory makes you grin. The girls might be half right. Maybe you couldn’t go back, but that didn’t mean you wanted to let it go completely.

----

Three hours after Natasha and Wanda left, you found yourself wandering around the house with what you thought was purposeless. It started in the kitchen, and you slowly made your way through your home, somehow ending up in the doorway to Bucky’s room. Your heart must have told your feet where to go and left your brain in the dark. His hair was still wet from a fairly recent shower. The ends were darker than the rest and shiny from being wet. It wasn’t long enough to tuck behind his ears, but it was long enough that he could slick it back. His beard had become relatively thick due to his laziness these last few months. To be fair, most of his attention has been on you. When he mentioned trimming it a few weeks ago, you wrinkled your nose at the thought, and at the time, he had laughed. 

He never did trim it after that. 

Bucky glanced up at you, hovering at the threshold to his room, and he smiled, crooking his finger for you to come in. You pushed off the doorframe and made your way over to where he was resting on the end of the bed, wet towel lying on the bed next to him. You wanted to tell him it was getting your side of the bed all wet, but you thought better of it. 

It’s not your bed, after all. You have your own you should probably start to sleep in and let Bucky get back to living his own life. 

“Have a good time?” Bucky asked. There was a softness in his voice he saved for you and you alone. 

You shrugged.

“Tasha called me stupid on the way out. Got any idea what that is about? Should I be scared?” 

You grinned and brushed a fallen strand of hair back to lay with the rest. “I don’t know, but being scared is always a safe bet when Nat is involved. How’s the bike? It looked like you got a lot done.” 

“She’s good. Just cleaned her up a bit and changed the oil. You know, I like fiddling with her a bit, and she’s been sitting at my mom’s collecting dust.” 

You cupped his cheek and gently rubbed his cheekbone with your thumb. He nuzzled your palm right away, eyes falling closed, and he seemed to relax a fraction. There was tension in his shoulders you hadn’t noticed before, a darkness that has never lingered in his eyes this long, and his smile never quite reached his eyes anymore. He’s spent all this time taking care of you, and you never once noticed how badly he was struggling. 

He was lost just like you. 

“Hey.”

Bucky looked up at the sound of your voice and quickly pulled away from your touch as if he remembered he shouldn’t be doing that. You slowly drew your hand back, letting them drop to your side and choosing to sit next to him instead. 

“Wanna talk?” 

“‘Bout what?”

He looked dejected, troubled. A little scared, too. 

“What’s been weighing on your heart.” Bucky dropped his gaze, his tell for waiting to drop the subject, but you pushed a little more. “I didn’t see it before. I was too wrapped up in my shit, but I can see it now. The guilt and the hurt.”

If he honestly couldn’t talk, or didn’t want to, you would drop it. 

“Y/n, you don’t want to hear about that.” 

So it was about Steve’s death then. You had a feeling. 

“If I couldn’t handle it, I wouldn’t have asked. I need to hear it, Bucky, and I think you need to talk about it as well.” 

It took a long time before Bucky made any movements at all. He shifted further away from you, tossing the towel onto the desk chair and turned to face you. You mirrored his position tucking one leg under you on the bed and letting the other hang off the edge. He was still quiet, gathering his thoughts and a little courage, too. You nudged his barefoot with yours and he gave you a small smile.

“Steve was… He was walking in front of me. Like he always does-- like he did, and Sam was on our left.” Bucky licked his lips, tossing words around his head to find the right ones. This was harder than he thought it would be. 

“I wasn’t paying attention. I should have been. That’s my damn job. I was too busy staring at the damn…” Bucky stopped short, and the look of guilt he gave you said he feared you already knew his crimes and found him deserving of judgment. 

“At what, Bucky?” 

Bucky dropped his eyes and shook his head. 

“You’ll hate me.” 

“Bucky… I could never hate you. Nothing you could do would make me hate you.” 

Bucky closed his eyes, squeezed them shut really. He didn’t want to see your face when he said what he had to say next. “I was staring at your scarf. It was sticking out of his collar, poking up right out of the back of his BDU’s and all I could think about was you, and how I could never have-- I was distracted.”

He reached up and wiped the tears from his eyes with the palm of his hand. You had to stop yourself from reaching out and pulling him close. Bucky needed to get this off his chest and you needed to hear it. 

“Next thing I knew, there was a shot fired and then about ten after that. Maybe more. I don’t know. Steve was down, and at first, I thought he dropped to take cover, but my damn ears were ringing, and shots were flying everywhere. I tried to yell out, but I couldn’t hear my voice over the noise. Sam was trying to drag me away, but I couldn’t leave him lying there…” 

Bucky’s words became stuttered and choked. You could follow along, but you had to piece together the holes Bucky couldn’t fill. He explained how Steve had taken the bullet for him, how he had been distracted and didn’t see it in time. Bucky told you that he had pulled Steve undercover, and Steve had begged for Bucky to take care of you for him. Bucky left out the reason Behind Steve’s choices that day. You didn’t need to know that when Bucky asked why he did that, Steve told him with that stupid lopsided smile, “You’re my best friend, Buck and Y/n... S-she can go on without me. She can’t live without you though.” 

You wiped your tears away with shaking fingers. Bucky blamed himself for Steve’s choices and you couldn’t let him go on thinking he was at fault for something he had no control over. Scarf or not. 

“It’s not your fault.” 

“Yn...” 

“No, Bucky. It wasn’t your fault. If it had been the other way around, you would have jumped in front of him. We both know you would have.” 

“But if I was--” 

“It’s not. Your fault, Bucky.”  

You crawled into his lap and pulled his head to your chest. Bucky tightened his arms around your waist, clutching at the thick fabric of his shirt still clinging to your skin. “I don’t blame you, and I know Steve wouldn’t,” You cooed softly in his ear. ”He would do it a hundred times over, and I know you would do the same for h-him.” 

Bucky tucked his nose into your neck and took a shaky inhale. The two of you sat like that as the glow of the room slowly faded from orange to dark blue. Bucky’s quiet sobs had settled into barely-there sniffs along with your own. There was a new heaviness resting on your chest, but despite the pain that came with knowing the truth, it gave you a tiny bit of closure. He never said if he believed you or accepted your forgiveness. You prayed he did. You hoped now he would be able to forgive himself, too.

“Bucky?” 

There a beat of silence. Bucky rubbed his beard against your neck making you shiver. You could feel a faint smile on your skin when he finally spoke. 

“Yeah?” 

Bucky slowly lifted his head, so the two of you were sitting nose to nose now, you were so close that when you whispered he could feel your breath against his lips, “I’m glad you came home… to me.” 

Maybe now, you could both heal and move on to something new. 

“Me too, Trouble. Me too.”

Previous // Next

[soniabigcheese]

Eddie Houseman (Sims3 Homeless Challenge Edition)

Yeah yeah, I know I 'borrowed' a character from TOS Thunderbirds, thinking that this would be a great idea.

Oh, how wrong I was.

Let me explain, the Homeless Challenge - to my recollection - you get a Sim to live on an empty lot, strip him of whatever funds he has leftover and basically live off the land.

That's the condensed version.

However.

This particular Sim, has been a headache from the start. And this is the THIRD attempt at playing him.

Meet this particular PITA. (Second attempt with screenshots this time)

Eddie Houseman

Traits: Coward, Computer Whiz, Charismatic, Childish, Angler

Favourite Food: Tri Tip Steak

Favourite colour: Blue

Favourite Music: Pop

Astrology Sign: EDIT ... NOT Scorpio but Cancer - crabby old sod. Should have known

Lifetime Wish: To be a Deep Sea Diver

Completely obsessed with his phone and has broken it on several occasions. Repairing it is proving very costly (and I forgot to decrease his funds to zero ... oops my bad)

The first time, I placed him in beautiful, picturesque, Monte Vista, not realising that this particular town is completely unsuitable for his Lifetime Wish (Deep Sea Diver)

Things went downhill from then onwards and I had to quit and start again. This time, relocating him to a more suitable place....

Isla Paradiso.

I gave him his own island. Isn't that pretty?

And a tent

Well, he has to have somewhere to stay.

And what do you know, he gets the wish to learn all about Scuba Diving and to take a class in the aforementioned skill.

Nice venue actually and a hop, skip and a boat ride across the water.

Whilst he was away, he got some visitors. The university Llama mascot, and Emit Revellart ... and the papergirl.

Okay.

Things are going quite well, he finished his class and decided not to go exploring, but head straight back home and read the classifieds.

And LO! Up pops the opportunity he was waiting for. So now, he's got to go register at the Town Hall as Self Employed.

And that's when things start to go downhill

FAST

He is whiny, complaining he is hungry. So I send him to a park (had to do a LOT of searching around to find a community garden) to harvest the plants there.

He refused, whining that he was too tired.

So, rather than send him back home, I made him sleep on the stone bench, hoping that his mood had lifted somewhat to go pick some tomatoes, apples and potatoes.

Oh hell no.

This particular scallywag .... KNEW that he had some leftover funds and threw a fit until I eventually gave him what he wanted.

A slap up meal at a fancy bistro.

So ... I quit without saving ... and trying again ....

... for the THIRD time

[obae-me]

Beneath Still Waters- CH 1

Miracle Meeting

Word count: 3600

Summary: It’s the first of many strange meetings you’ve yet to come across. As you feel you’ve hit rock bottom, someone comes along to give you an opportunity. Feeling like you have no other choice, you pack a bag and head to a town known as Old Midev, the place where your adventures will soon begin. 

Tags: (Mostly) Human AU, second person view, gender neutral reader, I do not endorse always following the advice of a stranger, but for trope purposes, it’s fun.

They say that despite the appearance of calm surfaces, you should always be aware of the danger of currents churning just beneath them. There’s a point people warn you about, for once you drift too far from shore, there’s a good chance you’ll never be able to come back, even for all your fights and struggles. The best thing for you to do at that point is move with the flow, all the better to keep your head above water. Is that what your life had come to at this point? Had you been swept along by unseen forces, working to barely keep afloat? 

A little raindrop made its way down the glass pane, weaving and shifting past other stagnant dots of moisture. The trail it left formed small beads before it drifted down too far, disappearing from view. The locomotive ticked and churned along its path, unaffected by the storm outside. You sighed, changing your posture after having sat in your current one too long. Everything in your body was stiff, your muscles were sore, but most of all you were undeniably nervous. Was this a mistake? You wondered. Had it been too good to be true? But at this point...was there a better alternative? In all honesty, your life was at a low point. A very low point. Due to circumstances beyond your control, you’d lost your job, been told you had to find a new place to live by the next month, and finding any sort of stability financially, mentally, or otherwise seemed nigh on impossible. 

That was, till about two days ago. Trying to scrounge up any semblance of peace, you’d taken a trip to a local park. Disheveled, heartbroken, you sat on a bench, pondering if soon you’d have to sleep on this very seat in the near future. At that point, it seemed like a very real possibility. Little kids threw balls at each other and screamed in joy, the birds around you sang without a care. Everyone else looked happy. Everyone else didn’t seem to struggle as you did. And while it seemed silly, you couldn’t help but seem envious of everything. Envious of the adults who seemed to have everything together. Envious of the free birds. Even envious of the little flowers planted in their permanent little pots. 

“Mind if I sit here?” A gentle voice snapped you out of your thoughts, some worry racing through your mind, wondering if the stranger had noticed how bitterly you watched the passersby. The man was a kind looking soul; bright blue eyes, dark-toned skin, well-kept clothes, a shining smile on his attractive features. A soft breeze ruffled his curly brown hair. He pulled his ivory jacket closer around him, adjusting the blue scarf around his neck, the ends of the fabric billowing behind his shoulders. Something about him struck you as otherworldly, but you couldn’t place it. 

Aware of the way you looked compared to him, you scooted a little closer to the edge of the bench, straightening your own clothes in an attempt to make your hoodie and sweatpants a bit more presentable. “Uh...sure…” 

As he sat down, he thanked you only to apologize right after. “I’m sorry, I just had a feeling...maybe you could use some company.” Had you really looked that pathetic? Like a wounded animal left on the side of the road and calling out for help? You refrained from making a comment, hunching your shoulders instead. The stranger tilted his head at you, then lifted his chin to observe the puffy clouds drift up above your heads. “A beautiful day,” he expressed. “Don’t you think?” Really? Out of everything that could’ve possibly happened today, a charming yet odd stranger basically asked how you thought the weather was? Was it a good day? Was today, a day you’d been handed two rejected applications, a day you’d been hunting for anyone to take you in, a day you felt as if nothing could get worse, a good day? “It doesn’t have to be a good day,” he started, speaking as if he’d directly read your thoughts, “For it to be a beautiful one.” The breath in your lungs stopped for a moment as you observed him with semi-wide eyes. How did he…? The man simply shot you a sympathetic grin. “Ah, sorry for the assumptions. It’s just, in my line of work, you tend to see a lot of people sport the same expression. I couldn’t help but notice it on you when I passed by.” 

Some heat poured into your cheeks. So you had been that easy to read. A small family walked by in front of you, one of the younger children running too far ahead. Their guardians hurriedly reminded them not to go too far. Once they passed, you straightened your slouched posture, taking a deep breath. “In your line of work?” 

“I’m a doctor,” he explained. 

“Ah…” How much despair had he seen, how many grief-stricken people had left such an impression on him that he could simply tell how someone was feeling just by their face? Was he an empath or just observant? It doesn’t have to be a good day for it to be a beautiful one, he’d said. The leaves off the trees shone different shades of green, some shifting to warm hues in preparation for the approaching autumn, rustling under the beams of sun branching out from behind the clouds that rolled past the grey-blue sky. The air was crisp enough for jackets, but not yet cold enough for coats. You could smell the aroma of freshly baked goods, the air carrying the scent from the bakery just across the street. It was...rather stunning. “I’m going to be homeless.” The truth slipped out of you before you could process even moving your lips. With it, your emotions followed, tears streaming down your cheeks. “Everything I’ve done, everything I’ve been working towards has failed. My efforts amount--they amount to nothing! I don’t even know where to go or-or what to do anymore.” A choked back sob made your voice waver. “I’m sorry...I don’t even know you, I--I’m sorry. I don’t know why I just shared all that with a stranger.” The tears slowly began to dry as you brushed them away with the back of your hand. 

“Dr. Matthews,” he stated. “But you can call me Simeon.” 

You blinked, sniffling a little as you glanced quizzically at him. “Huh?” 

He rummaged for a few things in the confines of his pockets. With an outstretched hand, he offered you two things. One, a tissue, something you accepted with more than a little sheepishness as you dabbed the end of your nose with it. The second was a business card. It was a white and rather professional looking little paper with gold lettering. The name and title ‘Dr. Simeon Matthews’ was printed on the front, along with his email, business phone number, and website address. “Now I’m not a total stranger.” He smiled earnestly, and something about the idea of a doctor easily convinced that simply sharing a name would immediately make you acquaintances let a bubble of amusement float to the top of your mind. 

“Simeon?” You repeated, and he nodded to confirm you’d gotten it right. The vowels slid past your lips. “It’s a nice name.” 

He beamed at the compliment. “Thank you.” His long legs shifted and his hands fidgeted in his lap as he struggled with an internal thought. “Tell me...have you heard of Old Midev?”  You hadn’t. In fact, you couldn’t even tell what he was referring to by name alone. A book? A show? An illness? “It’s a little old town quite a ways from here, but it’s where I grew up. It’s so small most maps don’t even bother displaying it,” he chuckled. Homesickness stood out behind his eyes, his smile a lonely one. “It’s been quite a while since I’ve been home...Do you like house-sitting?” His question left you stunned, and a pit formed in your stomach. You could connect the dots. Was he inferring what you thought he was? 

“Simeon!” A high voice turned both your heads. A child about the age of ten or twelve was awkwardly running towards the bench with a little plastic container in his hands. Golden hair bobbed across his forehead as he stood before the man and presented the container; a little cupcake with pink frosting and pearl-like sprinkles dwelled inside. From under the kid’s blue jacket sleeves, you spotted bandages as well as a medical bracelet covering his wrists. “I managed to get one! They let me watch them make it fresh! Doesn’t it look delicious?” 

“It looks amazing, Luke!” Simeon addressed the pale child. “But remember what I told you about running?” 

Luke huffed and raised his nose. “I’m old enough to buy this by myself! I can handle running a little.” 

“I just want to be cautious is all,” Simeon assured him. The doctor used a hand to gesture towards the kid. “This is Luke, he’s a patient of mine.” Your heart quickly sank. It explained the bracelet, why Luke looked too pale, why his bright tufts seemed so thin. Simeon noticed your face quickly drain, and he playfully ruffled Luke’s hair. “He’s been a fighter, but it’ll end up being moot if you waste all your energy running around like a rabid chihuahua!” 

Luke, affronted, swatted Simeon’s hand away and fixed the stray strands. “I’m not a chihuahua!” There was fire in him yet. He pulled the cupcake box closer to his chest like he had to protect it. His sweet innocence and their wholesome dynamic let a smile curl across your face, something that hadn’t happened to you for a while. “Who’s your friend, Simeon?” 

The man hesitated. He didn’t know how to explain that you two had literally just met, and your name had yet to be announced. He’d probably refrained from asking in the event it would make you uncomfortable. You drifted your sight between the two of them, the sense of unease devoid from your intuition. Usually you could trust your gut on sketchy strangers. The two of them felt warm, safe, strangely familiar, like you’d been fated to cross paths. Some faith in your humanity was restored, and as you looked at Luke, you remembered that other people were suffering too. If he could, you too could fight a little longer. With a little sigh, you let some of the heavy weight of hopelessness slide off your shoulders, and you shared your name. 

And that was simply the beginning of your journey. A meeting of miracles. 

Simeon had asked you again how you felt about house-sitting, and before he took off with Luke, he encouraged you to give the number on his card a call once you’d thought it over. Now here you were, on a train to this town of his, doing something potentially reckless. Old Midev...small alright. After you’d double checked Simeon’s doctorate claims, you’d searched this town. It did exist, but it took you a while to find it. For the longest time, the only result that would show up were some crackhead conspiracy posts on a mystic sea creature written by someone calling themselves The Sorcerer. There was only a lake in that town, nothing really seaworthy about it. Nothing really note-worthy about it, in fact. From the overhead map view, you could see a school, a library, a park, a gym, a grocery store, a few other scattered businesses--basically the bare minimum--and that was it. There were only about 800 people, and even that was slowly declining as residents moved away. But in that town held the potential of some support, a shelter, some hope, at least until you could get back on your own two feet. 

The train buckled a bit, the speed starting to decline. You picked your head up, eyes heavy as you’d almost begun to nod off. Only now did your heart begin to pound. New people. A new environment. Would you be able to tell people you were basically someone’s charity case? That you were going to be squatting in someone’s empty home till you could sort yourself out? Groaning, you tapped your feet against the floor to get your nerves out. It took about another ten minutes before the train came to a complete stop. The luggage you’d brought with you resided in a single large suitcase in the proper compartment. Everything else you owned you had boxed up and placed in a storage unit in your old city. 

If the station you stepped out onto was a testament to what the town was like, you could see that it truly lived up to the name Old Midev. The train had pulled next to the only station in town. It almost seemed as if the station itself was built before the rails, and they conveniently converted it into a station as an afterthought. It looked more like a barn than anything. A little red wooden building with rusty red walls and white trim that had begun to chip and grey with time. The platform was decorated with log benches, carved animal statues, and barrels that had been cut in half to serve as flower planters. There was a nice little overhead to keep people--and you--from standing out in open weather. Even though it was still raining, it had lessened to a light sprinkle. As you tried to move, your luggage quickly got snagged on a nail sticking out from the creaking floorboards underneath you. With a tug, you got it free. The pistons to the train hissed as they prepared to shut the doors behind you. It’s your last chance to turn around. It’ll be hard to get out of this if you stay, you told yourself. And yet you stood your ground, watching the train start to chug away. 

Simeon had given you some insight into a few things before he’d so graciously purchased your ticket for you. One, he told you that you were welcome to stay as long as you needed. Yes, this town housed his home, and yet his work had him traveling constantly, so there was no one there to look after it. Two, his extra set of keys was in a compartment behind a wall plaque with a proverb on it. And three, a friend of his would be waiting at the station when you arrived to help take you to the house you’d be staying at. Only...you were seemingly the only living soul around. Swiveling your head to observe the area around you, you only further confirmed this. There was no one else here. No one was sitting down, no one was inside the building when you peeked in the windows. Being alone in...such an unfamiliar place...out in the middle of nowhere. Your blood started to run cold. Should you have done more background checks on Simeon? Yes, there was a website and a secretary and Luke and everything...but maybe it had all been staged! Was it all fake? Did you make a mistake? What were you even doing hopping on a train to come all the way out here?! Sure you had joked about dropping your entire life to move to a desolate place and change the way you lived, but you never thought it would be this frightening in the moment!

“Hey.” The monotone voice of someone behind you made you shout. You quickly turned, placing your suitcase in front of you in the event you needed to use it as a shield. You’d brought a self defense keychain with you and hidden it in your sleeve. Up until now, you hadn’t had to use it yet...but you would if you were desperate. There before you, occupying the space you could’ve sworn was empty, was a man; ripped jeans, dark circles under his eyes about as dark as the large sweatshirt he was wearing. Floppy purple hair with frosted ends hovered in front of his vision. He had a chain around his neck, a dirty look across his face, and a strange intense stance. You were dead. You knew it. Somehow you’d been fooled into coming here, and now you were about to be killed. “Are you the person Simeon sent?” 

Oh...was this the friend Simeon had talked about? Your nerves were still on edge, but you found it a little easier to breathe. “Y-yes...are you…” 

“Yeah. He sent me here to pick you up. I’m kinda late, I-” He was interrupted by his own large yawn. “I overslept. But it’s whatever.” Wasn’t it already dipping into the late afternoon? There was still some trepidation inside you, and he must’ve finally noticed your defensive stance. “Oh. Simeon told me to say ‘seraph’...I think it was the word.”  Seraph had been Simeon’s little safety measure to try and ease your anxiety and to prove who to trust. It was such a random little word, you’d doubted anyone could come up with it without being told by Simeon first. Your shoulders loosened a bit. Although, still...not to stereotype...but you found it interesting that a character like Simeon would be friends with someone like...this person before you. He appeared as if he’d torn up his entire wardrobe with a set of knives and yet looked entirely comfortable about it. Like...soft-emo-core. And yet their clashing attire wasn’t what bothered you...it was Simeon’s angelic nature vs...this person’s apathetic attitude. Well, who were you to judge? Simeon just always threw more surprises at you. 

“Yeah. That was the word.” You sighed and rubbed the back of your neck. “Thanks for coming to pick me up. I wouldn’t know left from right here.” 

His blank face managed a little laugh. “Most people don’t. Anyway, come on, my brother has the car running.” He already started walking off, not even bothered to check to make sure you were following. You muttered some curses in your head before dragging your heavy suitcase behind you, trying not to trip on the uneven platform. 

“Your brother?” 

“Yeah, I don’t like driving,” he replied, kicking a few stray rocks as he hopped off the platform and onto an unpaved road. A large four-door red pickup truck was idling a few feet ahead. Through the darkened window, you could see another man--the brother, you pieced together--eating behind the wheel. You grimaced. Getting inside a vehicle with two people you didn’t know was exactly the sort of thing you’d been told not to ever do. The one time your escort actually looked back was the time you’d hesitated. “What,” he smirked. “You think we’re going to murder you or something?” 

You stopped in your tracks. “Maybe! I don’t know you!” Your accusatory tone came out of nowhere. “You still...Simeon told me the name of the person coming to get me. You haven’t told me your name.” 

He rolled his eyes and opened his mouth. Even if he’d told you, you weren’t sure you'd fully believe him. The main factor that contributed to some trust was all thanks to the person who rolled down the window of the truck, swallowing another handful of fries. “Belphie! Why didn’t you help them with their suitcase?” The name was right. Simeon had told you the person coming to get you would’ve been called Belphie. Strange name. Much like the password, you doubted anyone would’ve just made up a name like that on the spot. 

“Eh. I didn’t feel like it. It looks heavy,” Belphie admitted. You almost glared at him. What is with this guy?

The other man opened the door and stepped out of the truck. He was wearing a tracksuit. Red jacket and matching crimson pants, both of which had black stripes running vertically up the sides. He was wearing a black shirt underneath, a little bright stain of some sort smudged on his chest, probably some condiment from what he’d been eating. Unlike his brother, he had bright red hair and an expressive face, although his voice shared the same consistent and unwavering deep tone like his sibling. He stepped towards you, almost giving you a heart attack when you realized just how tall and muscular he was. God help any creature that dared to upset him. When he moved his arm in your direction, you felt faint, but then he simply grasped your luggage with one hand and plucked it up from the ground, settling it gently in the bed of the truck. 

He turned on his feet towards you, Belphie slinking away to get into the passenger seat of the car without even offering to help. “You’re MC, right? Simeon told us some about you.” The doctor hadn’t known you for very long, so the ‘some’ must’ve been the whole...rock bottom explanation. He jabbed a thumb over his shoulder to point behind him. “That’s my twin, Belphie.” Twins? They didn’t exactly strike you as such just on an observational standpoint, but it’s not as if twins were always identical. “Sorry about him. He gets grumpy when he’s tired.”

“It’s okay…” You mustered up a polite grin. 

“You can call me Beel.” Beel opened one of the backdoors to the car, quickly clearing the backseat by shoving old takeout bags into one slightly bigger bag before settling it on one spot on the floor, looking a bit proud of his swift cleaning job. “Hop in, MC. Let’s bring you to Old Midev.” 

[firelord-frowny]

this is Hashtag Problematic lmao but i honestly kinda feel like one way to encourage people to be proactive about mitigating the effects of racism is to play up the negative impact it has on white people. 

bc like... face it, y’all. we all know good and well that even Generally Decent white people tend to kinda thrive on a victim mentality, and the reason why so many white folks are loathe to address racism is because they belong to the demographic that is perpetrating the victimization of Actual Victimized Peoples, and any effort to help those victimized peoples must inherently confront the fact that the aggressive acts/policies/attitudes are being carried out by white people. So the minute we start talking about all the ways ~white supremacy~ hurts people of color, half of them are already sticking their fingers in their ears and refusing to take even the slightest bit of responsibility for Making Things Better.

but i BET that if we framed the conversation in such a way that it highlights the ways white people harm OTHER white people via racism, a loooot of folks would suddenly be all ears. 

OBVIOUSLY the list of Ways White Supremacy Hurts White People is not nearly as critical or painful as the ways white supremacy hurts people of color, but the list includes stuff like:

(for creatives/artists) being Too Afraid of representing minorities in your creative work because you’re afraid of offending anyone if you Get It Wrong

uneasiness of not knowing whether you’ve been given an opportunity because you genuinely deserved it, or because a person of color was discriminated against

racist whites voting against their own best interest JUST because they don’t want The Blacks to benefit from anything, effectively keeping many white communities in poverty/without health care/without good housing/etc

white people sometimes - though VERY indirectly - have to pick up the tab in terms of the ways racial inequality effects an entire population. for example, poverty is correlated with homelessness is correlated with crime is correlated with drug use is correlated with illness, blah blah blah, either causing regions to be Dangerous And Unsightly, OR forcing communities to allocate taxpayer money toward  ~treating the symptoms rather than the disease~ by, for instance, deterring homeless people from sleeping on park benches, but not giving homeless people a way to get on their feet and secure safe housing and/or eliminating the conditions that lead to homelessness in the first place.

the fact that whiteness is the default in terms of beauty/professionalism/media/etc, has made whiteness invisible to white people, rendering them unable to Feel Special in the same way that they assume poc must Feel Special when we get recognized for being a person of color with a Positive Trait. For instance, Viola Davis gets hailed for being a beautiful, gifted BLACK actress. Meryl Streep gets hailed for being a beautiful and gifted actress, but her whiteness is “ignored” because it’s The Default. A lot of white people just straight up lack the ability to truly understand this, and so feel ~left out~. 

White people may feel obligated to Not Complain about things because it’s ~not as bad~ as what poc are subject to. A lot of them feel like there’s never a good time to discuss their own concerns, because it would inevitably mean drowning out the concerns of groups who need more support. 

These are things that white people wouldn’t have to grapple with if racism wasn’t so thoroughly entrenched in the dominant culture’s values and legislations. So, I kinda theorize that some white folks would feel more inclined to denounce racism and participate in its dismantlement if the narrative was “Let’s End Racism So We Can Go To Trader Joe’s Without Having To Step Over A Homeless Negro” instead of “Let’s End Racism So More Black People Are Able to Become Home Owners.” Or “Let’s End Racism So I Can Brag About My Beautiful Blond Hair Without Being Accused Of Being Racist” instead of “Let’s End Racism So Black People’s Natural Hair Won’t Deter Employers From Hiring Them.” 

lmfao it’s SO fucking stupid, but like. racism itself is so fucking stupid and i guess sometimes you have to fight stupid with stupid??? idk!

Like, SOOOO often I hear white people lamenting about how unfaaaaiiiir they think it is that there are scholarships specifically for people of color, and that they shouldn’t have Special Opportunities just because of their race, and i’m like!!!

glad we fucking agree! it IS unfair that the past and present of racism in america has created a social climate where it’s necessary to give minorities a perceived advantage! it IS unfair that hard work/talent/intellect isn’t the only criteria that’s considered when deciding whether or not to admit a student/hire an employee/etc! 

RACISM IS THE CAUSE OF THE THING YOU’RE UPSET ABOUT!!! FIX RACISM, AND YOU WON’T HAVE TO SPEND SLEEPLESS NIGHTS WORRYING ABOUT THE RARE MEDIOCRE BLACK PERSON GETTING AN OPPORTUNITY THEY WEREN’T BEST SUITED FOR! FIX RACISM, YOU WON’T HAVE TO STEP OVER ANY HOMELESS NEGROS! FIX RACISM, AND YOU CAN SING AND DANCE ABOUT HOW MUCH YOU LOVE YOUR ~PORCELAIN SKIN AND BLOND HAIR~! FIX RACISM AND YOU CAN FINALLY FREELY INDULGE IN YOUR DISTURBING FIXATION ON THE CUTENESS OF MIXED BABIES!!! 

IT’S RAAAAACISM THAT’S MAKING YOU POUT LIKE A JEALOUS CHILD, NOT PEOPLE OF COLOR!! IT’S RACIST WHITE PEOPLE WHO ARE FACILITATING THE OCCURANCES THAT UPSET YOU!!!!!!! OUR ENEMY IS YOUR ENEMY, TOO, YOU FUCKING OSIFGUJRLTRGJTYBEY

OHHHHHMYGOD

[izzy-b-hands]

Rock/Queentober 2020, Oct. 18th: Light

Assigned band member: Roger

Synopsis: Roger/Trans M Reader. Set about 1978 because I wanted it to be lol. You’ve hit a rough patch in life as of the last few days, but at least you have your health, your things, and a cigarette or two that you can smoke to deal with the stress. That you should meet Roger is pure chance, but lucky chance indeed.  

TW: Cigarettes and smoking, mentions of fears over period typical homophobia and transphobia. Mention of potential homelessness. 

My love to all who read/like/reblog!

“Got a light?” 

You shake your head and raise your own unlit cigarette. “No matches, lighter is empty. Been hoping someone else would happen along with a light.” 

“Aren’t we a pair then?” he smiles, and you can’t help but feel a bit dazzled. Even with sunglasses hiding part of his face, you can tell he is perhaps one of the prettiest men you’ve ever met. With blonde hair artfully ruffled (though he almost certainly didn’t do it on purpose, if you had to guess), a smile like that, and the way the tight t-shirt he’s wearing under his coat had shifted up just a bit to show some of the skin at his hip...

Well. Your friends did tease you for having a type. 

“Pissing like this all day, no wonder no one else is out,” he sighs and gestures to the rain, that had started pouring that morning lightly and showed no signs of stopping. 

“A little dreary,” you admit. “But I don’t mind it.” 

“Might have guessed,” he smiles again and god he really should warn a guy before he does that, because your heart just flutters, and the rain may be cold but you’re suddenly very warm. 

You shrug. “Nowhere else to go right now anyway. May as well enjoy the day for what it is.” 

He nods, and you hope he hasn’t noticed your shivering. You’ve got your warmest jacket on, but the wind and rain are really doing a number on you. 

“You know, the shop down the way has matches. Why don’t we go together and pick some up? Can at least be smoking, if we’re going to be out in this,” he says. 

“Oh, that’s okay, I-” you pause. ‘Have no money to my name and so can’t pay you back for the matches and the last thing I want to do is take advantage of your kindness, you gorgeous man’ is not the way you want to end your sentence, but it’s the most truthful way. 

Somehow, he knows, or maybe your situation is more evident than you think. “Let me get them, don’t worry about money or whatever. Only matches anyway, and I don’t mind doing a favor for someone as handsome as you.” 

You blush. So forward! But you’d be lying if you didn’t admit to yourself that you loved it. There was always the worry, the what-if that the guy you’re talking to isn’t gay (and worse yet might chase you off down the road if they gleaned that you were, and even worse if they sussed out that you were trans too.) It was a weight off your shoulders to have that what-if erased, especially after the day you’d been having. 

“Long as I’m not keeping you from anything,” you manage as you stumble over your tongue.

“Nah. My band is in that building there,” he points to the nearby studio, a nondescript dark brick building. “Recording, but we were on overdub number 9000 and I was dying, so I snuck out.” 

“They’ll have noticed you’re gone by now!” 

“Yeah, but they aren’t out looking for me yet, so I’m safe,” he grins. “Come on. It’ll get us out of the rain for a bit, and we can finally light up.” 

You nod, and follow him down the street, both of you huddled over as the rain pours slightly harder. 

“Roger,” he offers his name with another smile, and are your knees weak or are you just that cold? 

“Y/N,” you offer back. 

“Y/N,” he repeats softly. “So, what are you doing out here anyway?” 

You bite your lip anxiously. “It’s awkward. Lost my flat today; contract was up and the landlord waited until today to drop on me that he had a new tenant all lined up already, willing to pay triple what I was paying.” 

“Fucker,” Roger spits. “Where are your things?” 

“You know those bushes and shrubs we were standing by?” you ask.

He nods.

“I’ve got my two suitcases hidden in there for now, so it might be a little less obvious why I’m wandering the streets with no apparent purpose,” you continue. 

He gives you a look, and before you can stop him, jogs back to the bushes. 

He returns more slowly, weighed down by the suitcase in each hand, his still unlit cigarette carefully crooked in between his fingers on his left hand. 

“You didn’t have to-” 

“We are not leaving your shit to be stolen,” he interrupts with a shocked laugh. “Honestly. No, I’ll help you carry and look after it.” 

He won’t hand over the heavier of the suitcases as you reach the shop, no matter how much you try and insist. 

“Look,” you gently grab his shoulder before you go into the shop. “I’m not...trying to take advantage of anyone’s charity. With this. I mean, I wasn’t raised that way.” 

He cocks his head. “American.” 

“What?” 

“Thought the accent seemed off. You’ve been here awhile, but not long enough to sound like you didn’t move here from elsewhere. And only an American would say something silly like that.” 

“You caught me,” you smile. “But really-” 

“Please,” he interrupts as he leads the way into the shop. “Let me help. I want to, or I wouldn’t be here, I promise. I’d be on overdub 3 million with no voice left at all in the studio instead.” 

“And dying for a smoke?” 

“That too,” he replies as he speeds through the transaction for the matches, not that the clerk seems to care. 

“I don’t mean to pry,” he says as you both step back outside, the rain still pouring away heavily. “But where are you planning on going?” 

“Isn’t that the question,” you sigh, watching as he motions you over off the sidewalk so he can set your suitcase down and light his cigarette. “I don’t know? I think the park nearby could be safe...but I don’t think I can just choose a bench and sleep, the police will come shoo me away I’m sure. But if I rest, and go from bench to bench, maybe...” 

He takes off his sunglasses, and you’re met with big blue eyes, full of concern. “What about your job?” 

You nod. “It’s been a week, for me. I got let go a few days ago. They could afford to keep me, or one of my friends at the shop...and I lost that battle.” 

He frowns, and takes your cigarette from you, lighting it with his. “Well, I don’t know if I have a job for you, I have to check on that. But I’ve got a room, or I will have in a day.” 

You’re in awe over the most casually romantic thing anyone’s done for you before, his thing with the cigarettes, but you manage a weak gasp. “You don’t know me.” 

“Not yet I don’t,” he agrees as he hands back your cigarette. “But I tell you what. You come back to the studio with me. Get out of the rain, have dinner with us. Then we’ll all know you well.” 

“But-” 

“I won’t press it if you aren’t comfortable with it,” he interrupts gently. “But I do need a new roommate. My old one, our singer, has been dating the guitarist for a bit, and they’re finally moving in together. So I need someone in the room regardless. And we may not know each other too well yet, but I know you’re handsome, kind, and I don’t want to see you out on the streets. Personally, I think something aligned so that we’d meet up today.” 

“It isn’t that I’m uncomfortable with it,” you admit. “I just...if my family knew I was taking someone’s kindness like this, the things they’d say...” 

“Where are they, back in America?” Roger asks as he picks up your suitcase, and starts down the road towards the studio, with you on his heels. 

“Yeah,” you reply. 

“Well then, sounds like what they think doesn’t matter for this situation, because they aren’t here for it,” he continues. “You’re here, it’s your situation, and you get to decide what you want to do about it.” 

“That...is a very good point,” you say. 

“Every now and again I manage them,” he grins, even as the tree you’re passing dumps a decent puddle of water on him, nearly putting out his cigarette. “So. What do you, Y/N, want to do?” 

Your mother would scream at you to be wary of strangers, to trust your gut.

But your gut feels fine. In fact, this is the safest and happiest you’ve felt in weeks. It could be a mistake, yes, but it doesn’t feel like one, to trust Roger. 

“I want to try and find a new job, right away,” you start. “So I can start paying my portion of the rent at your flat, if you mean it, and you’ll really have me in as a roommate.” 

He stops in front of the door to the studio, and somehow that smile is even brighter than before, and your heart flutters yet again. 

“And...” you take a deep breath. “I may be misreading a signal, and if I am, please tell me and I’ll back off. But...I’m getting the feeling maybe I could end up being more. Than a roommate. And I would like that too, a lot, and there’s one other thing I should just ask rather than stumbling around it but-” 

He giggles as he stamps out his cigarette, too damp for him to finish. 

You toss yours aside and do the same. “Do I have to wait to kiss you until we get to your flat? Or can I do that now, before we go in?” 

The kiss he gives you, sweet and tinged with tobacco, is the answer you’d been hoping for. 

The door swings open, and a tall, curly-haired man scoffs. “There you fucking are!” 

“Here I fucking am,” Roger smirks. 

“Where did you go?” 

“Out for a smoke,” Roger replies taking your free hand as he pulls you along with him into the studio, past the man. “Made a friend too. Well, more than a friend, but it’s early.” 

“I...what...” the poor thing ruffles the curls that are long enough to hit his shoulders. “Fine, whatever. Pleased to meet you, ah...” 

“Y/N,” you say. “I’m taking over the spare room Roger said he’ll have in a day or so?” 

The man nods, and gestures to himself. “Brian. Freddie’s moving in with me tonight, actually. Thought it would take longer, but we realized he’s slowly dragged over most of his things already when he’s come over to mine, so there’s not much left to move.” 

“That’s fine,” Roger says, taking your other suitcase from you and setting both of them aside. “We might not need the extra room anyway.” 

It feels too forward to do more than nod, but in your head, you’re thrilled at the thought of going home with him tonight. And even better, the thought of coming home to him each day. It’s early days and you know better than to hang onto it all too hard, to presume it will all go perfectly. 

But all the same, this is the best and most secure you’ve felt about anything in ages, and when he introduces you to the rest of the band (the mentioned Freddie and their bassist, John), holding your hand and squeezing it ever so gently, it feels like another sign. 

This is going to be okay. You’re going to be okay. More than okay, even. 

The way things are looking, you might even be happy. 

[eatsleepandsupernatural]

Saved - Chapter One

Pairings: Alpha!Dean x Omega!Reader, 

Warnings: Homelessness, anxiety

Word Count: 1560ish

A/N: Hello, ladies, lads and potatoes, this is my first A/B/O fic. I will be writing a second part when I have a break from studying. Hope you enjoy it!

Saved Masterlist

THE air is thick as you wait for the tall Alpha to keep walking. He is the third Alpha you have seen since choosing this hiding spot; however, he was the only one to stop, leaving you to assume that the previous two were mated. Your hiding spot isn’t ideal, but you thought it would be adequate for a few hours until the majority of people had gone home. Clearly, you had overestimated the shrubs’ usefulness, and you can’t control the fear that is growing inside. 

   The Alpha sits down on the bench in front of you, the movement wafts his scent over you in a calming wave and against better judgement, you lean toward the calming smell of books and whiskey. The alpha pheromones give you precisely what you need and sitting inside the bush, you feel completely safe. 

   “Are you okay now?” The Alpha’s voice is deep and filled with genuine emotion; however, you stay inside the bush, suspicious of his kind behaviour. 

   “I would have been in the first place if you hadn’t stopped.” You mutter under your breath. 

   “I wasn’t going to leave a frightened Omega alone at eleven o’clock at night. Why are you hiding?” The Alpha replies without turning around.  

   “Why do you think?” You grumble, crawling out of the bush and standing up. The Alpha’s stupid pheromones have you trusting him completely. You take a seat on the bench, as far away from him as possible. 

   ‘Where do you live? I’ll walk you.” The Alpha turns his head in your direction and providing you with the opportunity to see his face. His wavy brown hair is relatively long, ending just below his jawline. The colour of his eyes is indistinguishable in the dark of the night; however, you notice that his face is nothing but kind. This kindness is dangerous, though, and if this Alpha discovers the truth about your homelessness, you don’t think you will be able to lose him. 

   “I’m not going to tell some Alpha I don’t know where I live,” You argue to avoid the question. 

The Alpha’s eyes widen in shock, and he shakes his head, “Where are my manners? My name is Sam Winchester.” He holds out his hand for you to shake, and you stare at it dubiously. 

   You scoff, “A name doesn’t mean anything.” You sweep your eyes over the rest of the park for the tenth time since you sat down. This is a habit you had quickly learnt in the first month of being on your own. 

   “You’re not wrong, but do you want to stay here and wait for the next Alpha to show up? I can’t guarantee that they will be as nice as me.” 

   You remain silent, the incident from earlier tonight replaying in your head. 

   “What’s your name?” 

   “(Y/N)” You mutter with a sigh, rubbing your hand up and down your arm to create friction and warmth. 

   “(Y/N), I’m going to take you home, why don’t you lead the way?” Sam meets your eyes, his gaze absolute. 

   “I can’t” You reply meekly, turning away from him to play with your ratty jumper. You are losing control of the situation and you were feeling rather uncomfortable under the Alpha’s scrutinising stare. 

   You could feel Sam’s frustration seep out as he tries to remain as calm as possible. “Why?”

   “(Y/N), why?” He repeats after a few moments of silence. 

   “I don’t have a home.” 

   The Alpha’s shoulders drop, resigning to the truth you had both been denying. 

   “I would like you to come home with me. I live with my brother, our friend and his adopted son. Our friend is an Alpha, and his adopted son is a Beta. I think you will get along with them just fine.” 

   You consider your options which are less than fantastic. You could tell Sam to go screw himself, and he might listen, but then you would still be stuck out here by yourself. Or you could go with him to meet his weird-arse family and potentially have somewhere safe to stay.

   “Why should I trust you?”

   Sam stands up, “If I was going to hurt you and try to take advantage of you, I wouldn’t have spent so much time trying to calm you down. I meant what I said, we don’t often have visitors, especially Omegas, and I think you’ll brighten the place up.” 

   You stand up with a sigh and follow him to a classic looking black muscle car parked outside the local liquor store. You drive for about twenty minutes before pulling up at an old warehouse-like building. 

   Your immediate freakout does not go unnoticed and Sam is quick to comfort you, “I know it looks creepy from the outside, but I promise that you’re safe here. It’s actually really homey.” 

   You stare at him, your eyes narrowed, your whole being filled with dread but you follow him anyway, curiosity and fear driving you. 

   The creaking of the large metal door announces your arrival and a man steps into view, a questioning look on his face as he sniffs the air. You tens as his nostrils flare and his eyes widen in shock. 

   “Sammy, who is this?” The Alpha asks, his eyes never leaving you. You move to hide behind Sam but stop at the sound of the second Alpha growling. You stare at him in shock, he is a few inches shorter than Sam, but he still incredibly well built and could certainly hold his own. 

   “Dean, this is (Y/N), (Y/N), this is my brother Dean.” Sam introduces you, taking a step away from you. “I found (Y/N) hiding in a bush from some Alpha’s, she doesn’t have a home, so I brought her here.” 

   Dean growled at Sam’s words, and you narrowed your eyes at his uncalled for behaviour. You took a deep breath to calm yourself, the air was filled with four distinct scents; however, one, in particular, stood out. You breathed it in, letting the smell of leather and wood wash over you. Mine. 

   You snap your eyes open as the revelation hits you, this man standing below you is your mate, your Alpha. He sees the exact moment you realise the connection you share and begins to slowly make his way up the steps. Sam moves further away, giving the two of you space. The first meeting between an Alpha and their Omega is always intense, you had witnessed it once a few years ago. You remember the Alpha didn’t let go of your friend for at least an hour. Alpha’s are very possessive of their Omega, and it is difficult for them to control this instinct on the first meeting. With that knowledge in mind, you remain as still as possible as Dean approaches you. If you move away from him, even the slightest, there would be trouble. Your eyes fly to Sam, looking for help, hoping that he might intervene, but he just winks and makes his way down a corridor and out of sight; clearly, he trusts his brother. 

   Dean comes to a stop a few feet away, keeping his distance so that he doesn’t frighten you, before slowly raising his hand to cup your cheek. His touch sends a wave of warmth rushing through your body, and you press your cheek further into his hand, closing your eyes. For the first time in your life, you feel content.

   “Come with me.” Dean pulls away from your face and offers his hand for you to hold. You accept it warily, still unsure of the situation you have somehow found yourself in. Dean’s large hand envelopes yours, and he tugs you down the steps and through the hallway Sam had disappeared. Dean opens a door, revealing a neat, undecorated guest room. 

   “You can stay in this room for now. I’ll just get you something to change into. Make yourself at home.” He squeezes your hand gently before turning away and leaving the room. Your shoulders slump with exhaustion as soon as he is out of sight and you take a seat on the bed to rest your tired legs. You never thought that you would meet your Alpha. You have always believed that you would live a relatively short life with no family. When you presented as Omega at seventeen, your family kicked you out, unprepared to take responsibility for you. As a result, you have been on the streets for ten years, living off of scraps. 

   Dean walks back into the room, carrying a bundle of material and places it on the bed beside you. “Put those on, I’ll take you out to get some new clothes when you’re up for it. My bedroom is just here on your left, so I’ll be close by.” He smiles at you gently before walking away. “Sleep well (Y/N).” 

   You don’t know whether to be disappointed or relieved at Dean’s incredible ability to control his instincts. You are undoubtedly grateful for the space that he is giving you, but a small part of you feels rejected. 

   You shake the thoughts away, picking up the clothes he gave you and putting them on. You are not surprised at how they drown you, but you didn’t mind. They smell like Dean and provide you with a comfort you didn’t know you needed until now and for the first time in a long time, you drift off peacefully, surrounded by the comforting scent of leather.

Chapter 2

[winters-tales]

Day #5: 5,741 / 50,000

I'm not quite caught up from my missed day yesterday, but it's all progress! I'm quite happy with what I've gotten down this time, so I've popped it up as a teaser below the cut - go take a look and see what you think! 

CW for implied child in peril, but no children are hurt in this one. 

There’s a specific part of the world that is left alone.

Well, most of the world is left alone, now; the fires, the invasion, the conflict all saw to that.

But at the end of the war, we gradually and slowly began to retake the abandoned places back. We took the places that had been reduced to rubble, and we took the places that had been burned to the ground. We moved back in, cleaned up the dirt and the grime and mopped up the blood, breathed in deep, and said “we’re home again. We’re home.”

This is not about those places.

Sometimes you go to a place and you just know you don’t belong, you’re not welcome.

In the middle of a city, in a park, there is one such place.

The city is bustling and thriving, the park is active, and everyone gives a wide, wide berth to the crackling breach in the centre.

The breach, and the circle of trees that surrounds it.

If you asked anyone why, they wouldn’t be able to pinpoint a reason. Just that they do. Desire paths have long been cut into the turf where people has swerved around on the grass, rather than using the concrete paths that stray too close.

Nobody walks past it at night. None of the homeless people will dare sleep under those trees, or even use one of the benches that sits so close to the strange phenomena.

The trees are too big, they’d say. We don’t get trees like that here. Maybe in America, or Africa, or the Amazon Rainforest, but not here. They’re too big. You half-expect a leopard to be sat in the branches of one, waiting to devour any who wander below.

There are no leopards, no tigers, no prowling beasts in the great boughs waiting to devour unlucky walkers.

Oddly, there are never any beasts that come through the breach, either.

Breaches have rules, and the rules are: if you come through a door, the door stays open until you go back the way you came.

But nothing comes through, and yet the breach remains open, crackling and pulsing with an energy that seems to distort the air around it.

It’s been long enough that it’s become background noise. It’s been long enough that people have forgotten, but the fear seems to be ingrained, and they don’t get complacent. In this one town, in this one place, the stories keep everyone walking faster as they pass it.

Once upon a time, there was a child. Once upon a time, there was a wolf. The wolf chased the child, small and frightened, through decaying streets and empty paths, hounding them until the child’s tiny feet were sore, and cracked, and bleeding, and the child could run no longer.

The child ran towards a light, hoping it would be a person that would help. A good person. A friendly person.

But no. The light came from a crack in the air between some trees, and there were no people around to be seen, none to protect the child from the bad person that gave chase.

The child hid behind a tree, and hoped the wolf didn’t notice.

But wolves can run faster in reality than they can in stories, and this is the latter. The wolf saw the child hide behind the tree, and slowed to a walk, the better to savour the capture of their prey.

“Come out, little one,” they called, malice infecting every word. “Come out, for I am hungry, and children are soft, and life must go on. Come out, because you cannot hide from the big bad wolf.”

If you go bad enough, you lose yourself, and the wolf was no exception. They used to be lonely, and over time, lonely turned to angry, which turned to wicked, until they were bad to the bone. The child was frightened, and hugged the tree close, trying not to cry loudly so the wolf wouldn’t hear. But the wolf didn’t need to hear; they already knew.

“Come out, little child. I know where you are.”

The child found themselves lifted up, up, up, and screamed, kicking and thrashing and trying to make the wolf let go, when they heard an angry snarl.

The child opened their eyes, and looked down, and the wolf was down below them, while the child was up in the tree. There was a soft chuckle beside the child, and as they looked, they saw someone who seemed to shine like a star.

“That,” the shiny person said, “is a very bad wolf, for wanting to eat you up. I thought I’d save you. But now it won’t go away.” And the wolf below began circling the tree, snarling and growling and cursing the shiny person who had saved the child. The child began to cry; they were so frightened, and so tired, and the shiny person had saved their life; it was a bit much for a child to cope with.

“Please,” sobbed the child, “I’m so scared. Can you make it go away so it won’t eat me? I have no-one to look after me.”

The shiny person thought to themselves, and all the while the wolf down below was shouting and screaming that they had seen the child first, they had first call on the child, and the shiny person needed to give the child back or come down here and fight the wolf face to face.

“I can do one better,” the shiny person said at last, as the child started to wonder if they had upset the shiny person with their request. “I can make it go away, yes, but I can make you go away too. It is rather dreadful here, and your feet are so sore; would you like to come away with me, to a place where you don’t have to run until your feet bleed? The wolf won’t be able to chase you there, and you will sleep with me on the softest beds, and eat the finest foods. I am lonely, and so are you; would you like to come with me?”

And it seemed to the child that while they were talking to the shiny person, the shiny person was changing somewhat; they seemed taller, and slimmer, but softer as well, and their face looked the way the child imagined a mother’s face might look. The shiny person’s face was kind, and full of love and hope, and they offered their hand to the child.

The child dried their eyes, hiccoughing slightly, and nodded, taking the shiny mother’s hand.

“Then,” the mother said, “it is done. I will make the wolf go away, and you will come with me, and I will make you safe and soft and warm forever.” The mother gathered the child into her arms, and the tree they were in gently bent a branch down to make a pathway towards the rip in the air, which was glowing and swirling.

“Would you like to see the wolf go away?” The mother asked as they reached the rip in the air. The child realised they had not heard it ranting, and looked up.

It was the wolf’s turn to look afraid now, as it looked at the child and the mother. It didn’t look much like a wolf any more at all; just a person who’d gone a bit bad and forgot how to be a person. Looking closer, it looked like their feet were stuck in the ground, and they couldn’t move to chase the child any more. They looked up to the child and the mother and opened their mouth to say something… and vanished.

The child jumped slightly, realising that the wolf hadn’t vanished; instead, it’d been pulled into a hole in the ground where their feet had been stuck. The child wondered at what was big enough to burrow under Ealing Common and snatch up the wolf like that, and the mother laughed and stroked the child’s hair soothingly.

“They’re my friends, so they’re your friends now too. Don’t worry, little one,” the mother said, and, cradling the child in her arms, stepped into the colourful rip that hovered in the air before them.

Across the common, watching incredulously, was another child.

They all knew about the wolf. They all knew to run away and run fast because they couldn’t fight the wolf. The other child had thought her playmate was done for, but she had seen, she had seen the mother person pick up her playmate and take her away.

And she had seen the trees reach up from underground with their roots and grasp the wolf, pulling them down into the earth. She had heard the snapping of bones as it had been pulled into a hole too small for it and made to fit regardless, and she’d watched as the trees nearest the hole swayed almost happily.

She concluded she didn’t want to go near the trees.

She decided to tell the others.

She decided she should let everyone know not to go near the trees, or the colourful crack in the sky that sits in the centre of the common.

A city full of lost children picked up the story, and as they grew, they told the story to their children, who told it to their children, who told it to their children.

In any other situation, it would eventually lose its caution, except sometimes if you get close enough, it feels like the earth shifts beneath your feet, waiting for you to stray too far.

Do the trees know badness when it walks by them, or do they just hunger? Would they wait for permission first?

Do you dare to find out?

[callboxkat]

Second Chances part 6: Run Away

Author’s note: I decided to fill some prompts and got carried away. Anon(s), I would just like to remind you that you asked for this. Sort of. Also, believe it or not, this is the less angsty version of what could have been. 

Warnings:  homelessness, stealing, food mention, violence, humiliation, hunger, cold, hypothermia/frostbite mention, censored swearing, homophobic slurs, death threats, non-descriptive vomiting, injuries, blood, knife. It’s possible I missed something because this is a doozy, but those are the major ones.

Word count: 7165

Second Chances Masterpost!

Prompts (that middle one made me laugh, thank you):

...

The outdoor market was bustling with life, crowds of people heading this way and that, different vendors selling clothing, jewelry, baked goods, handmade soaps and candles, paintings, and whatever else you could think of to buy spilling out of neat rows of colorful tents. The sounds of laughter, conversation, music, and the popping of kettle corn filled the air along with an array of pleasant aromas. It looked like a very nice place to spend a few hours, whether or not you planned to buy anything.

Roman wished he could be a part of it. Instead, he walked around the edges of the market, never venturing within, looking for a good place to sit. He wanted to find somewhere where he would be out of the way, but near one of the most travelled walkways. He felt very out of place among the marketgoers, clutching a ratty cardboard sign and dressed in dirty, mismatched clothes, shuffling along on limbs stiff with cold and sore from night after night of sleeping on barely-cushioned concrete.

Yes, it was true. He, Roman Prince, was looking for a place to sit and beg. The very idea felt unthinkably demeaning, but the young man had been homeless for three months now, and his situation didn’t seem to be about to improve any time soon. He had perhaps not been the most frugal with his money, so he had run out some time ago. Things were… not good. He hadn’t eaten anything in two days now, the weather was getting colder every day, and he was growing desperate. So, he’d gotten his hands on some cardboard; and he’d borrowed a marker to make his sign. And now here he was, getting ready to beg for pocket change.

Eventually he found what he deemed a fairly decent spot, and he sat down against the wall of the building, propping the sign up against his legs. He took a small, beat up plastic cup out of his pocket and set it down in front of himself, dropping a small rock inside to weigh it down. Here, he was in a slight alcove, more sheltered from the wind, but still visible, and not in anyone’s way.

Plenty of people passed by, on their way to and from the rows of tents across the street. Music drifted his way, along with the tantalizing, heavenly smell of food, a smorgasbord of temptations vying for his attention. It felt rather torturous, to be sitting so close and to be unable to buy any of it, but Roman hoped that perhaps people would feel generous. At the very least, maybe they’d be willing to part with the coins that they received as change from their purchases. No one liked to carry around a purse full of heavy coins, right? At least, that was his hope.

...

Roman had been sitting in his spot on the sidewalk for more than three hours, and the market would be closing down soon.

In Roman’s cup sat a handful of change, pennies and nickels and dimes, along with a crumpled $1 bill. Not a great haul, but he knew it could have been much worse.

Would this be enough to buy something? Roman peered down at the cup. Probably not at the market, unfortunately; but there was a McDonald’s a few blocks away. He could go there. Their dollar menu had been a blessing these past few months, and sitting in the restaurant meant he would get to be inside for a little while. He could even pick up some ketchup and salt and pepper packets while he was there. It wasn’t the most glamorous thing, but he could use them and some water to make a sort of tomato soup. It was a tip he’d been given by another homeless man he sometimes bumped into around the city, a man named Juan. And the workers never cared enough to say anything about it, as long as he bought something. Sometimes they even heated up his cup of water for him.

Decision made, Roman started getting ready to leave.

He had just started packing up his things, putting the change in his pocket, when he noticed it: a fairly full shopping bag, just sitting there about five feet away, perched on the edge between the sidewalk and a patch of weed-filled dirt that could be perhaps be called a flowerbed once spring arrived. It was clearly from the market based on the cheery design, and a few languorous curls of steam rose from within.

Roman’s mouth started watering at the sight. He looked around for the bag’s owner. There were a few people here and there, but no one was looking at the bag. Was it possible that it had been forgotten?

He waited a moment, watching, biting his lip uncertainly; but the temptation proved to be too much. He hurriedly folded up his cardboard sign, stuffed that in his coat with a plastic bag of his other belongings, and snatched the shopping bag.

“HEY!”

Oh, sh*t.

Roman took off. He didn’t think. He just ran, dodging people and cars and tents, focusing only on getting way. He sprinted through the crowd, barely avoiding smacking into a burly man holding a tiny girl with braids; and something fell out of the bag he’d just pilfered. He didn’t look back to see what it was, let alone try to retrieve it.

“Get back here, you—!” Whatever the man said next was interrupted by the sound of a car horn, but Roman could guess that whatever it was wasn’t exactly friendly.

Roman made it away from the market, nearly getting hit by a car in the process, and ducked down an alley. He slowed down only somewhat, hoping to be less conspicuous, and continued on foot for several blocks. His breath billowed out behind him, creating clouds of steam in the cool air. The shopping bag clutched tightly in his fist felt like it weighed an extra twenty pounds, thumping against his leg with every step.

Half convinced he was still being chased, Roman didn’t stop moving until he came to a small pocket park a good distance away from the scene of the crime. He found some overgrown bushes there and ducked down to hide.

Ten minutes went by. Roman’s feet started to go numb from how he was crouching, the pebbles and twigs digging into his knees. Finally, not hearing any sign of pursuers, he slowly sat up. He peeked through the foliage, then cautiously emerged when he saw no one. He sat on a bench, nearly invisible to the road thanks to the bushes and a pair of well placed trees, and opened up his prize, swallowing his guilt and telling himself that it would be worth his efforts.

Or at least, that was what he thought until he saw what was inside.

Whatever had been creating the small cloud of steam, the food he’d been after in the first place, was gone. It must have fallen out back in the market.

What was in the bag were some simple white boxes, carefully packed in with tissue paper, and a small box of gourmet chocolate truffles. Not a complete waste, then, at least.

Roman pulled out the truffles and set them in his lap, already salivating at the thought of them, and then opened the first of the white boxes to see if it was something he could use.

Inside the box sat a very, very expensive-looking watch.

Roman’s eyes widened, and he nearly dropped it. His mouth gaped like a fish.

“No, no, no, no, no,” he whispered, staring at it. He slowly set the watch down. This was a lot more serious than stealing a few baked goods. This was bad. Probably the worst thing he had ever done, at least from a legal standpoint.

Roman simply sat there for a while, letting the reality of what he had just done sink in.

Of course, guilt wasn’t very filling, and after a few minutes, Roman’s stomach growled. Barely taking his eyes off of the watch, he slowly picked up the box of truffles. He figured he might as well have them—the mistake was already made, after all. He peeled off one glove, barely feeling the cold, and tore open the package. He barely tasted the sweets as he stuffed them into his mouth, one after the other. Roman’s mind was elsewhere.

If this watch was in one of the boxes, he thought, then the other boxes probably contained items just as expensive, if not more so.

Roman had just wanted some food, not this. He would be well and truly screwed if he was caught.

That was when he caught a glimpse of the actual price tag on the watch box, a small sticker in the corner with numbers printed in a neat black font. He momentarily forgot to breathe.

This watch had cost somebody nearly four hundred dollars. And it was on sale.

Suddenly Roman knew that he absolutely could not be caught with this. He had to get rid of it. He impulsively shoved the box back in the bag, rolled up the top of it, and shoved the whole thing into the bushes he’d been hiding in earlier. He got to his feet, stuffed the empty chocolate box in a trash can, and quickly walked away, sweating despite the cold.

…

A couple of hours later, sitting in the enclosed space under a bridge that currently served as his “home”, the truffles were not sitting well in Roman’s stomach. It felt like they were trying to claw their way back out. He shifted uncomfortably, the paper shopping bags layered underneath his blanket crinkling in complaint.

The bags were meant to help keep out the chill from the concrete slab beneath him, but it was debatable how much of a difference they actually made. Sometimes it felt as if they did nothing at all, given that the air was almost if not just as cold as the concrete. Still, Roman kept them, since they created a (perhaps pathetic) cushion between his body and the hard ground. Truthfully, they probably were helping to insulate him a little, even if he still wasn’t exactly staying in a five star hotel.

Sitting atop those paper bags, Roman glanced over towards where a couple of figures stood talking. It was dark, and Roman had a feeling that they were probably not supposed to be doing whatever they were doing, but it wasn’t any of Roman’s business. People like that showed up sometimes in this part of the city, but they seemed to know that Roman wasn’t going to bother them, so they usually ignored him, too. He was just another random homeless man, after all. Who cared about him?

Except now, after what had happened earlier that day, Roman found himself more paranoid than usual. He watched the two figures out of the corner of his eye until they were done with whatever they were doing and started walking away in different directions. Neither moved towards him, thankfully. Roman released his breath. He leaned his head back and looked up at the bridge overhead. A car passed by, rumbling over the bridge. Its headlights cast a faint glow in the air until it disappeared.

Roman adjusted one of the napkins he had shoved in his gloves, one of which had been poking him and making his wrist itch. Then he pulled the blankets tighter around himself and lay down on his crinkly bed. He hid his face under the blanket, putting his nose in the crook of one elbow to try to keep it warm. It took him a while to fall asleep, more due to nervousness than the cold or the uncomfortable position he lay in; but, eventually, he managed to drift off into a fitful sleep. His dreams, as always, were filled with visions of the life he could have, should have had.

And as always, he woke up to his own harsh reality.

Roman sighed as he opened his eyes. A bit of frost had formed in his hair overnight, which crackled as he uncurled his stiff limbs from the awkward position he’d slept in.

It was still fairly early, watery gray light leaking over the horizon; but the occasional car ambled down the street. There weren’t many people venturing outside on that crisp Sunday morning, and Roman wasn’t too worried about being bothered. Most people usually chose to ignore Roman, if not outright avoid him.

As if to confirm this, a man and a woman, some of the few daring to walk to work in these temperatures, chose that moment to pass by. As they did, they actually stepped into the street to avoid being too close, as if Roman were going to give them the plague. As if homelessness were contagious.

Rude, but understandable, he supposed.

Roman lay back down for a while and contemplated going back to sleep. But he really had to pee, and his stomach felt like it was trying to gnaw its way out of his abdomen; so, eventually, he reluctantly pushed his blanket to the side and sat up. He pulled a comb through his hair, arranging the greasy locks as neatly as he could. He double checked that he still had the money he’d gotten the day before (several times before, he’d woken up to find some of his things missing, especially in the beginning before he’d learned to keep them better protected). Then he pulled a blanket around his shoulders and got to his feet. He grabbed the plastic bag that held most of his possessions, anything that anyone might want to steal, and set off.

He lumbered down the sidewalk, one untied shoelace skittering across the pavement with each step, the blanket wrapped tightly around himself. The morning was quiet and still, almost pleasantly so, if only it weren’t so cold. Roman missed summer.

He sighed in relief when he made it to the McDonald’s. He ducked inside, nodded awkwardly to one of the cashiers, and made his way over to the restrooms. He did his business, even taking the time to wash his face and hair in the sink. By the time he reemerged, the breakfast menu had been changed to the lunch menu, which was fine by Roman.

Roman ordered a cheeseburger and somewhat sheepishly asked for a cup of hot water to go with it.

While he waited, Roman set down his things at a table and sat down, drumming his fingers absently on the tabletop.

His number was called, and he picked up the bag and the cup with a small, grateful smile. He grabbed far too many packets of ketchup, some salt and pepper, and a straw, and sat back down. He opened up the bag, and swallowed against a lump in his throat when he saw a small order of fries inside along with his cheeseburger.

He decided not to draw any attention to it, not wanting to get anyone in trouble, or worse, risk someone taking the extra food away. Instead, he just ate his cheeseburger and fries, and then made his makeshift tomato soup, stirring the ketchup, pepper, and salt together in the hot water with the straw. He put the rest of the condiments that he hadn’t used in the bag with his other belongings.

He took his time drinking that concoction, not eager to go back outside, but eventually he couldn’t stall any longer. It was approaching midday, the restaurant was growing more crowded, and he figured it was only a matter of time before someone started objecting to his presence. So Roman gathered up his things and took his leave.

…

Roman spent most of the day wandering the city. He didn’t have much else to do, and sitting under a bridge like some kind of troll grew old pretty fast. He avoided the part of the city where the market was set up, just in case the person whose belongings he had stolen returned to try to find him. Under different circumstances, he might have been able to convince himself that he was just being paranoid, but the price tag on the watch kept flashing in his mind’s eye. No, he was going to avoid that area for a while.

Finally, the sun was going down, and Roman made his way back to the bridge.

Other than about thirty cents left over from the day before, Roman only had a dime that he’d found in the street during his wandering. He certainly didn’t have enough money to buy anything for dinner. It seemed he’d have to make do with the ketchup he had left over from his earlier meal. Not exactly a meal fit for a prince, but it was better than nothing, if not by much. He probably should have gone and tried to beg again, but staying in one spot with the same sign as the day before only seemed like a more sure-fire way of being recognized. And if the owner of the watch had gone to the police, they were probably on the lookout for him.

Roman tugged on the collar of his shirt—a Saint Gabriel Academy of Fine Arts shirt, turned inside out—and winced. Just look at what his life had come to. He was supposed to be away at college, right now, pursuing his dreams of becoming an actor. Instead, he was homeless, jobless, penniless, and now, a thief. No better than his brother, after all.

Juan was sitting at the opposite end of the bridge when Roman returned, on the other side of the road. Roman nodded vaguely in his direction, too tired to give more of a greeting. The other homeless man didn’t acknowledge him, busy methodically stacking a pile of plastic bottle caps in different arrangements.

He sat down amongst his paper bags and dirty blankets, and he set down the plastic bag of his belongings. He was hunched over, digging through it for the ketchup packets, when he heard someone’s shoe scrape on the sidewalk. Roman paused, glancing up towards a small group of men, one of whom had just pulled to a sudden stop. He glanced away again just as quickly, not looking to draw unwanted attention.

Too late.

“Fancy seeing you here.”

Roman’s blood ran cold. He knew that voice.

“Hey! Get back here!”

“What, you know this ugly f*cker?” one of the other men laughed, coming up to stand next to the first. His dark hair was wild, his eyes glittering.

“Oh, hell no, I don’t. This dirty piece of crap just owes me some money is all.” The man crouched, sneering at Roman, his ice blue eyes piercing right through him. “Ain’t that right?”

Roman scooted back, eyes widening, searching for a way out. Adrenaline hummed in his veins, and yet he felt frozen to the ground. They’d found him. Of course, they’d found him. His mouth opened and closed a couple of times, words failing him in his sudden panic.

“This the guy who stole your stuff?” A third man asked, going to stand in front of his other friends, casually blocking Roman’s only escape route.

“This pathetic f*ggot? Really?” said the second. “Man, Mikey, you’re getting robbed by bums now?”

Mikey rolled his eyes. “Shut it,” he growled. Almost immediately, he looked back to Roman with a crocodile grin, crouching down to stare directly into his eyes. “Now, how about it? We don’t want any trouble. So why don’t you just give me back what you took, and we can all go on our merry way?”

Roman’s breath left him in a wheeze. He didn’t have what they wanted. Not anymore. But he knew they wouldn’t believe that. He practically pressed himself against the concrete wall at his back, as if with enough effort he’d be able to pass through the barrier that kept him trapped here with these men.

Mikey’s eyes hardened at Roman’s lack of a response. “Come on, I’m trying to be reasonable here.”

A fourth man, who hadn’t spoken until then, said, “Guys, maybe we should just call the cops, let them take care of this.”

“I bet you sold ’em already, right? What, traded ’em for some drugs or sh*t like that?” The second man, standing at Mikey’s side, sneered.

“You some kind of mute?” the third asked at the same time. They were all clearly growing impatient. Roman had to say something.

“I—I don’t….” Roman stammered, fishing for the right words, for anything that could help get him out of this situation. He looked desperately around them, towards the other side of the street, but Juan had conveniently disappeared, and no one else was around. He wasn’t getting any help. He was alone.

“Ah, he speaks!”

“I paid good money for that stuff,” Mikey said. He squared his shoulders and stepped closer. “So you’re going to tell me… what you did with it. NOW!”

Roman got to his feet and scrambled away so fast that he nearly fell over, tripping on the blankets in his haste. “I don’t—I don’t know what you’re talking—Agh!”

He was cut off as a fist sank into his gut, forcing him to bend over at the waist. Tears stung his eyes and he gagged, bile dripping down his chin.

Mikey took him by the shoulders roughly. “Now, lets try that again,” he whispered in Roman’s ear, too loud.

“Mike, I don’t think—”

“Shut up,” Mikey said, still right next to Roman’s head. “Go home if you don’t want to be a part of this.”

A second passed. Roman’s harsh breathing grated on his eardrums. One set of footsteps retreated. Roman choked, still struggling to pull air back into his lungs and straighten back up.

“Third time’s the charm,” the second man suggested, sounding all too happy to join his friend. His breath smelled strongly of menthol. “Where’s my buddy’s sh*t? You see, he paid a lot for it, and it sure would be a shame if he didn’t get it back, wouldn’t it?”

“Might make him angry,” added the third voice, now much closer than before. He shoved Roman, and his back hit the concrete wall, making him cry out.

“I don’t have it,” Roman said desperately, knowing they wouldn’t believe him. He was still looking around, desperate for an escape. But the street was deserted.

Hands appeared on Roman’s back and shoved him forward, sending him sprawling to the ground. Roman’s head smacked the concrete, and he tasted the iron tang of blood as he bit his tongue. His hands felt scraped raw, even inside his gloves, and a painful pins and needles sensation ran through one of his knees. His rib cage felt like it had been hit by a bowling ball.

Roman groaned. A pair of shoes stepped into his field of vision.

“What’s this you’ve got here?”

“Noth—nothing,” Roman offered weakly, not even sure what they were talking about. He was definitely going to have some impressive bruises come morning. If he lived that long. “Just… trash.”

“Hm, then you won’t mind if I have a look, would you?” Roman heard the rustle of plastic as someone, probably Mikey, dug around in the bag he kept his things in. Apparently, the contents—specifically, their lack of any of the items Roman had stolen—didn’t please him. He kicked it to the side. Roman heard some of the items roll into the gutter.

Mikey’s friends dragged Roman to his feet and pinned him against the wall. Roman put up a struggle, but it was almost obligatory. There were three of them, and only one of him. He couldn’t fight them all off if he tried. And if he called for help, would anyone even hear? Would they come, if they did? Or would he just make things worse?

“Where is it?” Mikey snapped, impatient.

Roman was very aware that the odds of him keeping all of his teeth were getting slimmer by the second. “It’s—they’re… they’re in the park. This park, like five blocks from here, I swear. I left them in a bush, you can go right now—”

Smack!

Roman’s head jerked to the side, and he whined despite himself as blood began to drip from his nose, closing his eyes tight. He’d been trying to answer them! This wasn’t fair!

Menthol Breath put his hand on Roman’s neck, his fingers digging in painfully. The smell of menthol was dizzying. Or maybe that was the head wound.

He heard a loud crunching noise, and opened his eyes to see that Mikey was stomping on Roman’s bag of belongings as hard as he could, clearly trying to break them. He picked it up and smacked it repeatedly against the edge of the sidewalk to do even more damage. Bits and pieces of the contents flew out, rips appearing in the plastic.

The two men pinning Roman to the wall laughed at the sight.

“Aw, hell, Mike, you’re gonna make ’im cry,” Menthol Breath cackled. “Little f*ggot gonna cry?”

“’Nooo, please, not my garbage!’” the other mocked in a rude, falsetto voice.

“Now, I know you didn’t just throw my sh*t in a bush,” Mikey said, emphasizing his point by stomping on the bag again. “So you best tell the truth. Right now.”

One of the men, the one who didn’t smell like menthol, let go of Roman and started tearing through his setup, upending his blankets and the paper bags that made up his “bed”. Roman would have taken this opportunity to run, but Menthol Breath was still on him, grinning like the Cheshire cat, and Mikey blocked the way out.

Of course, the man came up empty. Because Roman didn’t have their stuff anymore.

Mikey stomped on the bag again, angry, then started cursing. “God f*cking d*mn it, what the hell? What is this?”

Roman’s eyes drifted down to Mikey’s legs, one of which was splattered with a messy arc of red. He must have stomped on one of the ketchup packets.

“You good, M?”

“Urgh, disgusting.”

Mikey ignored his friends, stalking forward to stand in front of Roman.

“Answer me, now!” Mikey snarled. He reared back and kicked Roman in the stomach, making it rather difficult for him to do as the other man asked. Dark spots swam in his vision as he gagged once again.

Roman was heaved back upright, a dribble of bloody bile dripping from his chin onto his shirt. “I panicked,” he offered weakly, gasping for breath. “I didn’t… I just… wanted food… I didn’t know… the other stuff was in there… swear.”

“Right, right,” said Mikey. He put his foot on top of Roman’s and slowly leaned all of his weight on it, crushing his toes, his face barely an inch away from Roman’s. Roman resisted the urge to spit in it, his eyes watering.

“You believe this guy?” asked the other man. A distant part of Roman, either left over from his theater days or hysterical from fear and pain, decided to dub him Henchman Number Three.

Mikey stared at Roman for a moment longer, eyes narrowed. “You know, he’s just pathetic enough that I actually kind of do,” he said. He stepped back, and Roman gasped slightly as the weight was lifted from his poor toes. “So… here’s what’s going to happen. You’re going to tell me where this park of yours is. My buddies and I are going to go there. And you, you are going to hope and pray to God that my stuff is still there. And if it isn’t, I think you know what’s gonna happen.”

Roman swallowed. Or tried to, at least. “It’s—it’s the pocket p-park, the one on Lincoln,” he quickly stammered. “It’s g-g-got those bushes, by the bench. It’s right there, I swear, you can j-just go there, and find them.”

Mikey looked at him appraisingly for a few seconds.

“Drop him.”

Roman was tossed to the ground for a second time, and he barely avoided receiving a second bump on his head to complement the first. He tried to push himself back up, but didn’t make it very far before collapsing back down.

“You sure about this?” Menthol Breath asked skeptically. Roman could feel his eyes on him. “He’s seen our faces.”

Mikey scoffed. “Come on, like he’s gonna go to the cops. He ain’t that dumb.”

Henchman Number Three snorted.

Menthol Breath hummed. “Still,” he said, kneeling next to Roman, “why take that chance?” Roman tried not to choke, barely able to breathe with that overwhelming smell so close to his face. “Who’s going to miss a dirty homeless thief? We’d be doing the world a favor.”

There was a thoughtful sound. “You know… you do make a good point.”

Roman tried to squirm away, eyes wide, but a foot pressed down on his back, pinning him down. He kept struggling, gasping, trying to get up, begging for them to just let him go, but the weight on his back only increased. And then something cold and sharp pressed against Roman’s face, and he immediately went still and silent. The blade slowly traced a line of ice across his cheekbone and down to his neck, settling just under the jawbone.

Roman’s heart felt like it just might explode.

Menthol Breath exhaled right in his face. The blade nicked his skin.

“Oh, f*ck, he’s pissed himself!” someone shouted. Chaos erupted, cackling and various sounds of disgust echoing around him as the men scrambled away from him. The knife disappeared from his neck.

Three sets of footsteps pounded down the street, leaving Roman a battered, shivering heap on the sidewalk.

…

He wasn’t sure how long he lay there, sprawled on the concrete, trembling and bleeding. But eventually, he dragged himself over to what was left of his belongings.

Inside, along with the remains of pretty much everything else he owned, was Roman’s cell phone. It had been off ever since he realized that it could be used to track him; but he’d kept it because… well, he wasn’t quite sure why. As a reminder? A comfort item? Perhaps for situations like this, just in case?

Did Roman want to call the cops? An ambulance? Hell, his parents?

He reached into the bag and pulled out the device that had somehow gone unnoticed by his attackers. He wiped off the disgusting mixture of ketchup, toothpaste, and dirt with one of the paper bags, then simply stared at it.

Cracks spiderwebbed across the phone screen, chunks of glass falling out or missing at the edges. The case had broken under the onslaught, hanging off in two pieces. One corner of the phone had bent harshly, and the metal was scraped

For a long moment he just lay there, taking it in. Then, he reached up one hand and pressed the power button, holding it down. He didn’t know why he bothered. He wasn’t even sure if the thing was still charged after so long.

The screen flickered. Random colors spasmed across it, purple and green and blue, odd lines and shapes that followed the cracks like contours on a topographic map.

And then, without any fanfare, it died.

Roman bit back a sob, shoving the useless phone away from him. He didn’t know why he was so upset. Who would he have called, anyway? Who would have answered?

Roman rolled onto his side and struggled to sit up, grimacing as he took in the dark stain on his pants.

How brave he was.

…

After a few hours, Roman found the strength to get to his feet and limp over to the closest open building that he knew had a public restroom. The smell was, admittedly, a strong motivator, as were the sticky feeling of blood and bile on his face and chest and the stiff, cold feeling of his trousers.

He gathered up all of his things—what was worth taking, anyway—and set off. He didn’t plan on returning to the bridge.

Feeling more humiliated than he ever had in his life, Roman shuffled inside the gas station, not making eye contact with the cashier, and made a beeline for the restroom. Thankfully, it was empty, and he locked himself inside.

Roman leaned his head against the closed door and let out a shaky breath, then turned to the sink.

One small miracle was that some of Roman’s clothes hadn’t been in the plastic bag, so he had something to change into that wasn’t covered in ketchup, toothpaste, and bits of broken glass. He set these on the sink and then turned on the faucet, washing his hands and then his face. He rinsed out his mouth, cupping his hands together and spitting out bloody water. He didn’t dare look in the mirror until he was done, afraid of what he would see.

A friend of his in high school who had gotten his front teeth knocked out in a fight had once said that he hadn’t felt any pain. In fact, the guy hadn’t even known that they were gone until he looked in a mirror. At the time, Roman had found the idea surprising, almost laughable in how strange that was, to not even feel your own teeth being knocked out; but now he just felt afraid. Roman knew that he hadn’t lost his own front teeth—he’d actually checked, probing at them with his painful tongue on the walk over—but that didn’t mean another surprise wasn’t waiting for him.

Finally, when the water in the sink ran clear, Roman slowly lifted his head to see the damage.

His right eye and cheekbone were swollen and red, obviously bruised. He would have an impressive black eye in the coming days. A thin red line ran along the opposite cheekbone, down his cheek, and ended in a shallow, inch-long cut just under his jaw. That side of his face was also tinged pink and felt hot to the touch, swollen from the blow he’d received. His nose, meanwhile, had stopped bleeding a while ago, but one nostril still felt clogged. Roman didn’t dare try to clear it, afraid that it would start bleeding again. At least his nose didn’t seem to be broken, even if it was quite tender.

Next, he slowly opened his mouth, taking in his poor bitten tongue with a wince, and gently pulled back his split lip to inspect his teeth. All appeared intact and still in his mouth, where they belonged. He sighed in relief.

After that, Roman moved on to getting out of his disgusting clothes—the pants and underwear went straight in the trash, even though he knew he should try to clean them. At the time, he just wanted them gone. He did, however, do his best to clean the shirt in the sink. He didn’t want to lose that—he knew that his future at Saint Gabriel was as unsalvageable as his shattered phone, but he wasn’t ready to let go of this last relic of that alternate timeline quite yet. While that soaked, he got some damp paper towels and cleaned himself up, wincing whenever his hand passed over the scrapes and bruises.

Occasionally, there was a knock on the door, but Roman just called back “occupied!” in a hoarse voice, and he was left alone.

When he finally emerged, still feeling like garbage but at least relatively clean, there was a worker standing just outside the bathroom. They peered past him, clearly expecting the bathroom to be trashed or something. They turned back towards Roman, probably about to demand why he had been in there so long; but at the sight of Roman’s face, they came up short, their mouth simply hanging open.

Roman looked away and made his way outside without a word.

He left the gas station almost feeling a bit better—almost—and headed straight to the train station.

Obviously, Roman did not plan to stick around. Not with Mikey and company still out there. He didn’t think they would go to the police, not after what they’d done to him in retaliation for his theft, but that wasn’t what Roman was worried about. What if they didn’t find their stuff in the park? What if they did, and they still decided Roman couldn’t keep his mouth shut? What if Menthol Breath just wanted to have some fun?

No, it was better to leave while he still could.

Not that he had a ticket, or the money to get one. But he had to try.

Ideally, he would head somewhere south. Somewhere warmer, where he wouldn’t have to worry about frostbite and hypothermia as the weather got colder. But, truthfully, he would be willing to go anywhere. Even just the next town over, if it meant putting more distance between himself and his problems.

Sometimes it seemed Roman would never stop running from his past.

…

Roman set up shop on one of the benches at the station. His cardboard sign now had a reverse side, which read, “Need Ticket To Anywhere. Anything Helps. God Bless.”

By mid morning, with a grand total of about five dollars and a stick of gum, Roman was starting to nod off. The waiting area of the train station was heated, and the sounds of people walking to and fro, and even the trains when they arrived, settled into a rhythm that felt unexpectedly soothing. He hadn't gotten any sleep the night before, which only made the temptation harder to resist.

As he drifted in and out of a doze with only a minimal amount of his own input, Roman began to grow paranoid that someone would try to steal his earnings, so he reached forward and took the money out of the cup, sticking it in his pocket instead. He left only the stick of gum and a pebble behind. A little more at ease, Roman leaned against a nearby pillar, closing his eyes and going back to listening to the background noise around him.

Another train or two came and went, and Roman was eyeing the vending machines despite himself. He was starving, but he really needed this money for a ticket. He needed at least twenty dollars, or he wasn’t going anywhere.

A few coins clinked as they were dropped in his cup.

“Thank you,” Roman murmured, unsure at that point of who had even given them to him.

Only fourteen and a half dollars to go, and he was out of there.

…

”…this?” a voice asked.

Roman forced his eyes open, blinking, to see a small hand stuck out in front of him, holding a granola bar. He stared uncomprehendingly.

“Do you want this?” the voice repeated more insistently.

Roman looked up. A kid stood there, certainly no older than 10 and probably younger. Her parents stood behind her, looking a mixture of impatient, exasperated, and wary.

“Yes, please,” Roman croaked.

The girl set the granola bar in Roman’s cup with a small, satisfied nod. Then she looked back up at him. “What happened to your face?” she asked.

The girl’s mom shifted, glancing up from her phone. “Ella, you shouldn’t ask people things like that.”

“It’s okay,” Roman said, straightening slightly. He looked back to Ella. “I had a battle,” he told her after a few seconds, “with a mean old dragon witch.”

“A dragon witch?” the girl repeated, tilting her head.

Roman nodded sagely.

“You’re messing with me.”

“No, no, they’re real,” Roman assured her. “They’re not very nice, though. I had to fight one off.”

“Did it take your ticket?” she asked, frowning.

Roman hesitated. “No,” he decided. “I just need to go someplace else is all. I think the dragon witch might come back, you see.”

“Ella, we need to go,” her mom said. She kept eyeing Roman, probably wondering if he was crazy.

“Okaaay, mom,” she sighed. She turned back to Roman even as her parents pulled her away. “Bye. I hope you beat the dragon witch.”

“Bye, Ella. I hope so, too.”

…

Roman spent several days in that train station, begging during daylight hours and sleeping uneasily on the benches at night, never straying far while he healed from his ordeal and attempted to collect the money for his fare. The setup was, he found, much nicer there than it had been under that bridge. It seemed that the owners of the station didn’t bother turning off the heaters after hours, so Roman (and several stray cats) had a warm place to stay at night.

At one point, he briefly considered going out into the city to find Juan and tell him about it, knowing the other homeless man would probably appreciate a heated place to sleep. And then he remembered how Juan had abandoned him, had left him to be beaten into the ground by Mikey and his friends.

He couldn’t exactly blame the guy. They weren’t exactly close, and what could Juan have done, really? Even if he had helped, it would still have been two against three—four, counting the man Juan had had no way of knowing would back off—and Menthol Breath had had a knife. Juan had been right to run when he did.

Still, the thought of facing him again made Roman’s blood boil and his stomach twist in knots. So he didn’t. Maybe he should have felt bad about that, but he didn’t at the time.

Regardless of any of that, as nice as the train station was in comparison to his previous setup, it was not somewhere that Roman wanted to stay for much longer. He didn’t feel safe there, knowing that Mikey and company could show up at any time. That fact made it all the more stressful each time he had to use some of the money he had collected to buy some food from the vending machines, since it meant he had to stay even longer.

On the morning of the fifth day, when those final quarters were dropped into his cup, Roman almost cried.

Clutching the money, he hesitantly entered the main building, where the tickets were sold. He waited in line, practically shaking with apprehension. But before he knew it, he had his ticket, and he was standing in the crowd of people waiting to get on the train. Maybe most of them avoided standing too close to him, whether due to his obvious homelessness or his still battered appearance, but Roman found that he didn’t mind it that day.

He got onto the train, settling into a seat with all of his possessions piled into the one beside him. He stared out the window, feeling a sort of excitement he hadn’t felt in a long time as the train began to move. The landscape slid by as the train picked up speed, taking him to a new city, and, he hoped, something better.

[tamedbyafox]

why is it so wrong for property owners to take steps to ensure random strangers don't use their property to camp out? you typed up so much about the evils of hostile architecture, if that's what you believe then are you inviting homeless ppl to sleep in your backyard or living room instead? why not?? maybe because people you don't know have the potential to be destructive and dangerous????

this is the sort of very sad attitude that I think hostile architecture creates and encourages. I’m very sorry you live your life in so much fear. Can you really think your perception of your property’s relative safety is more important than someone else’s safety, and the thinnest smidgen of comfort? 

Your ask only talks about houseless people, not those who are disabled, elderly, or have a house and simply want to socialize out in the public space. So it doesn’t address what I added to that post, but I’ll stake out my general thoughts on this nonetheless. Next time, you may want to try addressing the issues someone’s actually speaking on rather than raising the standard “Not-In-My-Backyard” defenses.

First, other people aren’t an existential threat. People existing in the general vicinity of you, or the general vicinity of your stuff, isn’t some huge threat. Most people are just people, wanting to go about their day and be left alone. People are generally ok, and they’re part of your community. To the extent that people (housed and unhoused, in public and in private) do cause harm, simply saying “you can’t sit here!” isn’t actually addressing the problem. And this also ignores that those who are unhoused are more often the harmed party than the one causing harm.

 And, on the same point, if you’re going to say that unknown people are dangerous, you can’t even justify the existence of a shopping mall or a mega-store. Too many people, they might be dangerous. A laundromat? A school? A Church?!?! Theme parks??!!?!? Any sort of public space could be a threat, we should just abolish them all. The idea that people you don’t know are inherently dangerous is the deathknell of any hope of community. 

Second, you’re making a false equivalency between public space and private space with your comment on living rooms. (the backyard, interestingly, is a reality for many people - there are several houseless people who stay in what I and my neighbors consider our “backyard”, and thats just fine. We’ve never had issues.) Those images in the post though, were of park benches, sidewalks, the buildings that abut a sidewalk, little trees and such. That’s a public space for people to be in! Those spaces are specifically designed for people to be in! Public spaces are for us to use! And that means all people - the houseless, the disabled, community members who just want to be outside. These park benches and trees and sidewalks were put there for the community. And to the extent that some corporation wants their storefront to take advantage of the traffic of the community, they should have to be welcoming of our community - all of it, housed, unhoused. And if the space can be used by someone to stay warm or dry, then they should do that.

Third, these people are forced to “camp out” in these spaces because we, their community, have failed them. There are systemic failures that prevent them from sleeping somewhere warmer than that. Somewhere safer than that. And I am absolutely working towards a world where everyone has the right to a warm, safe, stable housing situation. But until that day, I’m not going to deny them the panacea of a slightly warmer place, a slightly more sheltered place, a slightly safer place. Can you really look at someone huddling in a building’s indent to get out of the wind and kick them out? Why should I punish someone for a situation caused by a systemic failure of our society? 

Fourth, these bits of sharp metal and wooden dividers don’t actually solve a single problem. The act of putting up some hostile architecture doesn’t address safety, or houselesness, or any other root issue. It simply pushes the problem onto someone else. All these achieve is forcing people you don’t want to see somewhere else. It doesn’t make them, or you, or the people in the space they’re going to fo to, more safe. It doesn’t end houselessness or bring about better social conditions or even make the community safe. It just means you don’t have to look at it. Hostile architecture is the ultimate NIMBY mentality of out of sight, out of mind. 

Finally, I hope you take a second and think about what it means to hold the value of property above the value of another human being. I’d love to invite you to read, or watch, A Christmas Carol. It’s the season, after all.  I’m going to include two passages below I think are rather pertinent.

Here, two gentlemen have come to Mr. Scrooge, before his visit by the spirits, to ask him to make some charitable donation:

“At this festive season of the year, Mr. Scrooge,” said the gentleman, taking up a pen, “it is more than usually desirable that we should make some slight provision for the Poor and destitute, who suffer greatly at the present time. Many thousands are in want of common necessaries; hundreds of thousands are in want of common comforts, sir.”

“Are there no prisons?” asked Scrooge.

“Plenty of prisons,” said the gentleman, laying down the pen again.

“And the Union workhouses?” demanded Scrooge. “Are they still in operation?”

“They are. Still,” returned the gentleman, “I wish I could say they were not.”

“The Treadmill and the Poor Law are in full vigour, then?” said Scrooge.

“Both very busy, sir.”

“Oh! I was afraid, from what you said at first, that something had occurred to stop them in their useful course,” said Scrooge. “I’m very glad to hear it.”

“Under the impression that they scarcely furnish Christian cheer of mind or body to the multitude,” returned the gentleman, “a few of us are endeavouring to raise a fund to buy the Poor some meat and drink, and means of warmth. We choose this time, because it is a time, of all others, when Want is keenly felt, and Abundance rejoices. What shall I put you down for?”

“Nothing!” Scrooge replied.

“You wish to be anonymous?”

“I wish to be left alone,” said Scrooge. “Since you ask me what I wish, gentlemen, that is my answer. I don’t make merry myself at Christmas and I can’t afford to make idle people merry. I help to support the establishments I have mentioned—they cost enough; and those who are badly off must go there.”

“Many can’t go there; and many would rather die.”

“If they would rather die,” said Scrooge, “they had better do it, and decrease the surplus population. Besides—excuse me—I don’t know that.”

“But you might know it,” observed the gentleman.

“It’s not my business,” Scrooge returned. “It’s enough for a man to understand his own business, and not to interfere with other people’s. Mine occupies me constantly. Good afternoon, gentlemen!”

And the second portion that I think speaks well to the problems of hostile architecture, and the isolation and ignorance it reinforces, is when Christmas Present shows Scrooge the meager Christmas of a houseless London family, and Scrooge sees something truly horrifying: 

“Forgive me if I am not justified in what I ask,” said Scrooge, looking intently at the Spirit’s robe, “but I see something strange, and not belonging to yourself, protruding from your skirts. Is it a foot or a claw?”

“It might be a claw, for the flesh there is upon it,” was the Spirit’s sorrowful reply. “Look here.”

From the foldings of its robe, it brought two children; wretched, abject, frightful, hideous, miserable. They knelt down at its feet, and clung upon the outside of its garment.

“Oh, Man! look here. Look, look, down here!” exclaimed the Ghost.

They were a boy and girl. Yellow, meagre, ragged, scowling, wolfish; but prostrate, too, in their humility. Where graceful youth should have filled their features out, and touched them with its freshest tints, a stale and shrivelled hand, like that of age, had pinched, and twisted them, and pulled them into shreds. Where angels might have sat enthroned, devils lurked, and glared out menacing. No change, no degradation, no perversion of humanity, in any grade, through all the mysteries of wonderful creation, has monsters half so horrible and dread.

Scrooge started back, appalled. Having them shown to him in this way, he tried to say they were fine children, but the words choked themselves, rather than be parties to a lie of such enormous magnitude.

“Spirit! are they yours?” Scrooge could say no more.

“They are Man’s,” said the Spirit, looking down upon them. “And they cling to me, appealing from their fathers. This boy is Ignorance. This girl is Want. Beware them both, and all of their degree, but most of all beware this boy, for on his brow I see that written which is Doom, unless the writing be erased. Deny it!” cried the Spirit, stretching out its hand towards the city. “Slander those who tell it ye! Admit it for your factious purposes, and make it worse. And bide the end!”

“Have they no refuge or resource?” cried Scrooge.

“Are there no prisons?” said the Spirit, turning on him for the last time with his own words. “Are there no workhouses?”

The bell struck twelve.