#i like what this month's ES is doing with it at least. even if whenever the empire shows up i give it the biggest sideeye ever

[thegreatyin]

honestly all things considered, the scoundrel has very mixed feelings on the empire of hands. not because of the soul stealing thing. because of the aspiring to become human thing

[according2thelore]

These ES/LS snippets are truly saving my need for more of your fics.

You very quickly became my favorite wincest author, hitting every one of my favorite tropes(hurt/comfort is my bread and butter too!) And I'm excitedly(and impatiently lol) waiting for your next fics to come out.

Your writing is SO GOOD and I find myself going back to your fics all the time. My first was your love potion fic and that's still one of my absolute favorite samdean fics out there.

This isn’t really an ask so much as it is an appreciation lol. Can't wait for your next fic!

(If this was an ask though, I'd love more thoughts on your ES/LS universe and even MORE hurt/comfort and jealousy lol)

BABE???? OH MY????

i don't even know what to say! this is the nicest compliment!!!!! you're so incredibly kind, and i'm so unbelievably honoured that my work is special to you!

EEP! i can't even express how much this ask means to me!!!! there are literally no words!!!! the love potion fic was meant as a fun little add-on to that month's challenge, but i've been blown away by how much folks have liked it--i live for a little melodrama and H/C, lol!

every writer dreams of getting asks like this one, and just ARGH! i'm kissing you on both cheeks!!!!!

as for upcoming things, my next fic will probably be my teen!chesters piece for the wayward sons zine (it will be HEFTY). charlotte and i were outlining this fic, and it ended up being about five pages of outline. so def a larger one!

because this ask was so incredible and lovely and kind (so kind?? holy shit?? my hand in marriage??) i wrote a little thing for you! i hope you like!

dean rubs his hands on the sides of his jeans, before he catches himself doing it. shit.

he crosses his arms, then realizes that he looks awkward and posed, so he uncrosses them again. he pushes his hair back from his face--but fuck, what if his hair looks weird now? dean checks frantically around for a reflective surface, but the only thing even close to him is a giant telescope, and--even though he briefly considers it--there's no way he'd be able to crawl back up it and down in time.

"what are you doing?" he mutters to himself, able to at least recognize that he's acting like a preteen about to meet one of the jonas brothers.

it's just sam.

just sam, kind of, dean's brain quietly corrects. it's just sam, but fucking huge.

it's just sam, but his ridiculous hair has grown and curls softly around his ears, brushes his jaw when he ducks his head. it's just sam, except his arms are bigger than dean's head. dean didn't miss the show the other day when sam came to look for something and lifted a fucking stuffed armchair with one arm.

(dean tried it later, and it took him both hands and two tries to get it off the ground. that thing must be reinforced with some crazy cold war steel or something. definitely.)

dean eyes the main room again. he should just sit at the big table. he eyes the big sword on one of the shelves. no--focus. sam went into "library annex 3" to find a book that he thought dean should absolutely take a look at, and left dean, dazzled, in his wake. so dean is going to sit here and wait, because he's been running out of excuses to see sammy lately.

dean slumps into one of the chairs, sighing. what is wrong with him?

he gets so...easily distracted whenever sammy--future-sam or whatever--starts talking to him. and most of it isn't even his fault, okay? sammy always puffs up whenever either 2006 winchester gets close, a dick-measuring if dean's ever seen one. as soon as sam got a single inch on dean in height, dean's never heard the end of it. but this sammy, older sammy, straightens up and his chest gets all big and--fuck--arms! big arms!!

dean keeps trying to find plausible excuses for sammy to take off his shirt because dean is convinced he has a six-pack under there, and it's his right to know!

"i found it!" a muffled voice from down the hallway, so deep that dean's brain goes a little sideways. and dean feels his whole body lock up, like he's just been thrown out of an airplane.

sam--sammy steps through the doorway, holding up a book triumphantly. his eyes are bright, and he's got little wrinkles at the corners, barely there. his grin is radiant, and dean feels absurdly like he's looking directly at one of those religious frescos with the yellow circles behind everyone's heads. sam would get a kick out of that.

dean whimpers. he straight up fucking whimpers, covering it quickly with a cleared throat.

"great!" he says, too bright. it's not his fault! it's not! dean barely resists the urge to bash his own head in.

so sue him! sam is suddenly huge and old and glad to see dean? he lights up whenever dean walks into a room, greeting him warmly. he seems to find dean adorable, which dean kind of resents, but it's hard to stay mad at sammy when he clearly finds so much delight in seeing him.

and 'sammy' isn't helping. 'sammy' had always been a dean word. it had been an 'us' word, a 'they don't know you like i know you, they can't understand you like i can' word. as soon as dean's own sam--2006 sam--had shrugged off the word, and older sam had donned it, dean knew he was screwed. wires crossed. you can only call so many men 'sammy' before you start to tease them and want to be around them and give them shit and look at their huge fucking tits--wait...no. shit. focus!

"so get this," sammy says, and he slides into the chair next to dean, smooth and graceful and so in touch with every muscle in his body that dean has to catch his breath a little. and his chest does something funny, because sam shows him the book and starts babbling.

he starts babbling. like a two year old sam and an eight year old sam and a twelve and a fifteen and an eighteen year old sam.

it seems impossible that this person--this man, all poise and purpose and focus, whose eyes can cut and soothe, whose stubble scratches when he rubs a hand across his jaw--is still dean's sam. dean's sammy.

and he knows it. and he likes it. this sammy brushes his shoulder and doesn't recoil like it burns. he looks to dean first when something is wrong. dean saw, the other day, how his older self comforted sam after a nightmare, how easily sam contorted himself to fit the shape of older dean's arms. sam likes being dean's. or at least this version of dean.

"anyways, i think that this is probably our most comprehensive record of vampires--their habits, their physiology, their weaknesses. if you wanted to give it a read, i think it'll really come in handy." sam says, still talking like dean cares at all for vampires and not the exact shape of sam's mouth.

dean aches. he feels inadequate. there is something clearly in this dean that is worthy, something that sam finds lovable. or necessary. dean wants to be necessary. dean needs to be necessary.

"yeah." dean says, suddenly, when he realizes that sammy's looking for a response. "that--uh--that sounds great."

"you didn't hear a thing i said, did you?" sammy asks, eyebrow raised, teasing and knowing and fuck--dean's chest collapses. sam knows him.

it's so strange to be known by this...this man. this man who blots out the sun with his shoulders, and has callused hands, and looks at dean like he's proud of him. this man knows him. this man is sammy, and that's all dean every really needs.

"naw." he says, scrubbing a hand in the close-shorn hair at the back of his head, abashed and feeling strange. "'m sorry."

"don't be." sammy rolls his eyes, but it's in good humour. sam--2006 sam, and it's weird that dean has already made that distinction--would genuinely be put out. he thinks dean doesn't take him seriously.

both sams are alien to dean. sam, because his burden is eating him alive. he's terrified of himself, of his powers. furious at what he's becoming and increasingly furious at dean for not taking his own safety seriously. like sam could ever hurt him.

and this sammy, of course, is different. he's physically very different, but also...softer? that's the wrong word. he's easier, maybe. his smiles are soft and he thinks through things before he says them. he doesn't hurt to hold in your hand like sam does, all spikes and hard edges like rock that resents you for holding it. sammy is a stone worn smooth by a river, and dean doesn't know if that makes him a bad brother.

he doesn't want to know, because he can't think about this being another way of failing sam. dean's been failing sam since that first over-long look in 1995.

this sam, at least, dean has a reason for not understanding completely. time has made a stranger of his brother, not circumstance, and time is easier to blame.

"what?" sammy asks, and dean snaps back to the present, abashed again. god. it's like his first fumbling date a fourteen all over again. but wait, no it's not--why did dean think that?

"nothing. sorry. you're just--" dean can't find the words. sammy seems delighted at this, eyes sparking with a challenge like they're both in on a joke.

"i'm..." he prompts, drawing it out. dean sputters. he and sam give each other shit all the time. it shouldn't feel different with this sam, but...it does.

"hi."

dean jerks away, sitting up straight in his chair. sam stands in the doorway. he looks pissed. his hands are balled into fists at his sides, his jaw is set, and he's...not looking at dean.

dean looks to sammy, whose eyes widen. he seems surprised by something. proud of something.

"dean wants to know if we're ready for dinner. what are you doing?" sam asks, words loaded. dean's about to jump in, feeling weirdly guilty. they're just talking about a book, it's not like they were--

"just talking with my little brother." sam says, jostling dean's shoulder with his elbow, like this is all a big joke but what the fuck?? dean's spine melts and drips down his ribs. oh my fucking god.

little brother little brother little brother sam could pin dean down if he wanted to, dean looks down at sam's huge fucking hands oh my god, little brother--

"you--" sam starts, and sammy sits up straighter, tilting his head forward like he's coaching sam through something, but sam's eyes are suddenly on dean, and dean freezes.

he doesn't know what to do under sam's critical gaze. the weight in his stomach is definitely guilt, but dean doesn't know why. dean looks away first.

"we're just talking shop, sam." dean says to his hands. a pause. dean hears sam leave, his footsteps echoing down the corridor.

he better not be going to see that old geezer. dean doesn't like he way he looks at sam.

"we almost had him," sammy says, thoughtful. dean looks up, and sammy is looking down at him with an expression so fond that dean's throat closes. "next time."

dean's heart beats faster.

oh man. he is so fucked.

[crunchycrystals]

i can't post chapter 2 yet for (all i ever do is) take the fall BUT there is one scene that i've had since the beginning that i think is one of the best things i've ever written so here it is under the cut

The air was mostly still, the night sky all laid out in front of them thick with what should’ve been sleep but was replaced with jet lag. They had arrived in Germany the day before, and they were barely able to get 4 hours of sleep when said jet lag forced them out of bed. Normally Percy was good at avoiding jet lag, but it was his first international shoot with Annabeth and he'd immediately disregarded his techniques to hang out with her. At least they were suffering together.

Instead of fighting it, Annabeth scouted a beach where they could hang out for the two months they were there, while Percy rented a pickup truck so they could sit in the back. He could feel exactly her knee bumped into his under the small blanket she miraculously had in her bag. He didn’t necessarily need it, but once she spread it over their laps, Percy couldn’t imagine saying no. 

“How many constellations do you think we’re looking at right now?” she asked maybe 10 minutes after they got there, eyes trained on the sky. 

“How many can you see?”

She scanned the stars. “I see Orion’s belt and that one looks like one of the dippers, but that’s it. You?”

“I think I see about six right now.”

“Damn. Your eyesight can’t be that good.”

“I just know a lot of constellations.” 

“Okay, that’s cool. Your mom?”

“Yeah. We could never really see them in New York because of the light pollution but she still told me the stories behind them. There was one boarding school I went to that was pretty far from the city, and one time she came over and we got to actually see some of them together. After that, I got used to looking for them whenever I couldn’t fall asleep.”

He could hear the soft splash of the waves gently layering on top of each other before reaching the shore and collapsing, starting the cycle all over again.

“I love constellations,” Annabeth said. “You look at them and remember how long humans have been telling stories and how universal it is. Ancient Greeks saw the same little dots we’re looking at right now and we still classify birth years with Chinese zodiacs. We’ve always looked up to the sky and seen heroes and monsters—we’ve always been creating explanations for the things we can never truly understand like seasons or volcanoes and stuff.”

“I guess we’re all kind of terrified of the things we don’t know, so we’ll do anything to cope with this place. Even on a smaller scale we’re like that about other humans. Like, there are people who assume shit about you that isn’t true.” 

“That’s the dream.”

“The dream is assuming shit?”

“No—I mean, what you said is why I went into this industry. Because I want to make something that helps people cope with the things too big for our tiny brains to comprehend. Even on that smaller scale.” 

“Something permanent.”

“Yeah. As permanent as the stars.”

Percy stopped to think for a second. “I wonder if that’s why my mom named my sister Estelle, she loves names with significance like that. You two think the same way.” 

“I’ve got to meet her.”

“I think she’d really like you.” She smiled. 

“Speaking of names," Annabeth said, "do you ever think about how weird it is that your life aligns so well with Perseus'? I don't think a name can really influence someone's life like that and it's a really big coincidence.”

“I guess… sometimes. Like, it wasn't hard to relate to a guy with a missing dad and a mom doing her best to protect him.” He didn't say the last parental parallel, but they both knew the Perseus-es stories well enough that he didn't need to.

“It was nice to have that connection though,” Percy continued. “I could see this guy with a life even worse than mine and I could pretend that I was him, killing monsters and stuff.”

“And imagine that you could have the happy ending he does one day.”

“Not really.”

She turned her gaze towards him for the first time since they settled in. “Seriously? Sorry, that came out wrong. I just mean, like, you've never thought, ‘Hey! He’s like me so maybe I could be like him one day,’ or something?”

He thought for a bit. “I don’t think so. I think it was more like, ‘I know my life can’t be like his, but I can pretend like it is before I have to go back to reality.’ Not really an aspirational thing.”

She stayed quiet for a moment before saying, “I wish I had known you earlier. I wish we had met at camp.”

“I think we would’ve tried to kill each other.” She exhaled lightly, one of her quieter laughs as he had learned. 

“Probably. I would’ve gotten over it though.”

“Are you sure? I was kind of a shitty kid.” 

“Can’t have been too bad if that kid got you here.” Percy chose not to correct her as she returned to staring straight up at the sky. “Can you see the Perseus constellation right now?”

“Yeah, it’s around there. That’s supposed to be Medusa’s head—and that part on top’s his sword. Andromeda’s right there too.” She shifted her head again, this time to be closer to his as he pointed out the different parts of the constellation.

“I like that they’ll always be up there together," Annabeth whispered. "Andromeda’s with the one person who never betrayed her and protected her when no one else did, and Perseus gets to protect the entire galaxy like he did for his partner and mom.” She paused. “I think you’ll have that one day. I know that you see his story as something separate from reality, but I think it’s an extension of our world. If they can survive all of that shit like gorgons or almost being sacrificed to a sea monster, then we can survive all of this normal shit.”

Percy looked over to his left and their eyes locked as he realized she was already looking at him. Her irises seemed to glow with the light of the moon and stars above them, reflecting the constellations back at him. Something warm glowed in his chest that slowly spread throughout the rest of his body.

“I like that,” he breathed.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” Her lips pulled up and he felt his do the same. “I think you’ll have that one day too. Not just the Perseus stuff, I think you’ll create a story as universal as constellations are.”

Her eyes shone a little more brightly. “Thanks.” 

“Any time.” 

[iamthesloth]

Progress/Progresso: 7/2024

English

I hate diaries, honestly, but I’ll make an effort to at least give my brain a little order and peace regarding my projects. Alright, so this is my first try at writing a summary of what I’ve done and a to-do list I will, hopefully, get to during the month. 

Also, these logs will have parts in Spanish and others in English depending on which content is relevant. For example, a game that is not available in Spanish won’t have logs in Spanish, most likely. You can know if there will be something in English or Spanish by the post’s title, if “progress” is in both languages or not.

What happened in July

Well, a lot more than I expected …

O2A2 and Narcisse’s release This is a milestone for me cause with the game “Narcisse” I participated in my first jam, did my first collab, and did my first VN.

Edited/proofread/beta-read

It was interesting to read these IFs, so I’ll keep at it whenever I have the time. For the O2A2 jam:

Obsession by Rascal Devorks. It called me out so bad :’)

Password: Schneider by magbo

Unsatisfied by komehara

For the Single Choice jam: Underneath the Same Moon and In Wake of Betrayal by IchorOfRuin

Interactive Fiction Club and Larvae While I was interested in the O2A2 jam but thought I wouldn’t join, this one I hadn’t even seen until the deadline was closing. So, it’s a bit surprising that I could finish Larvae on time

WPs

I was determined to join the Single Choice jam but now, with 13 days left, I’m not sure what I'll do. I made the 2 outlines, and I’m trying Decker for these ones, but I gotta see what's viable.

Made an outline for a game in the same world as Larvae’s and wrote the first scene, but it’s on standby for now.

After a month, I managed to start the 16th chapter of my second book.

Plans for August

Second of August, I know, but I can still get some order before it’s done (highly unlikely I will finish this month):

TODAY finish beta reading a VN

Edit first scene of the game in Larvae’s universe

Finish the chapter for a longer VN

Get started on one of my IFs

Write first scene of a VN for 1-2 jams

Proofread a Twine IF

Do at least 1-2 chapters of my book

Español

Odio los diarios, honestamente, pero haré un esfuerzo para al menos darle a mi cerebro un poco de orden y paz con respecto a mis proyectos. Bien, este es mi primer intento de escribir un resumen de lo que hice y una lista de pendientes que, ojalá, empiece durante el mes.

Además, estos registros tendrán partes en español y otras en inglés dependiendo de qué contenido sea relevante. Por ejemplo, un juego que no esté disponible en español no tendrá registros en español, probablemente. Puedes saber si habrá algo en inglés o español por el título del post, si "progreso" está en ambos idiomas o no.

Qué pasó en julio

La versión de este post en inglés incluye mi mención de mi participación en 2 jams, una serie de juegos con los que ayude un poco y los 2 que lancé: Narcisse y Larvae. De todos modos, al estar todos en inglés no hablaré de ellos aquí, pero me gustaría poder hacerlo sobre los 2 míos si es que tengo tiempo para traducirlos. Traducirlos no está entre mis prioridades en este momento, pero puede que haga una encuesta para ver si habrá algún interés en ello y específicamente cuales juegos necesitan una traducción más prontamente.

Planes para agosto

Segundo de agosto, lo sé, pero aún puedo conseguir un poco de orden antes de que finalice (poco probable que termine este mes):

Escribir el prefacio del libro de mi amiga

Hacer revisión de la primera escena para un juego en el mismo universo de Larvae

No es mucho, pero esta lista es solo de mis planes para escribir en español, mientras que la de inglés es mucho más larga.

[redhoodieone]

You’re so Lucky!

A/N: Hey y’all! Here’s another sexy story that was a request from the amazing @jasontoddslut! Enjoy my peeps!

Warnings: Language, Bad Relationship with Ex-Boyfriend, Smut, Voyeurism, and Jason’s Goddamn Dirty Mouth!!!!!

It was bound to happen. She couldn’t deny this was going to happen sooner rather than later. If she believed they that they could get through their issues and be happy like they once were, then she’s a real fucking idiot.

Gabi still couldn’t believe it though. One minute she was trying to calm Bobby down and the next, he’s screaming at her and telling her to get the fuck out of his apartment. He was in a bad mood to begin with. He’s a mechanic and he’s always tired when he gets home. He was expecting dinner to be ready and maybe have his loving girlfriend of three years rub his back since his shoulder pain is getting worse.

But no. Gabi made the mistake of asking Bobby where he was tonight as soon as he got home.

What set him off was her telling him to calm down. She should have known though.

You should NEVER. EVER. Tell an easily angry guy to calm down.

Because that’s like telling fire to not burn people. Or telling a baby to not cry.

She should have known better though. It’s no surprise Bobby’s into some serious shady shit that the low life Gothamites meet up sometimes at night in casinos or nightclubs. She knows they do illegal shit like selling drugs, ordering weapons from other countries, and maybe even kidnapping young women and children.

And Bobby had participated in the ordering weapons category.

How Gabi found out is another story: she knows for damn sure that Bobby once brought home fifteen state of the art total militia AK-47 guns. Bobby had foolishly asked Gabi to go get some important documents from his huge safe; totally forgetting the weapons were in there about five months prior.

Why would a normal mechanic need such weapons?

Gabi had decided to never bring it up. Bobby would either deny or lie about it. His temper had been getting worse right about then and she knew better.

But he wasn’t always like this. Oh, no. Bobby was a funny, laid back, and loving type who worshipped the ground Gabi walked on before they even started dating. But after two years of living with each other, things changed.

Simple as that. Things changed.

Gabi always wondered how things could just...change. So easily. The fact that it could happen in the blink of an eye frightens her sometimes.

Just like Bobby’s hidden anger. She never knew a hilarious and sweet guy could have the rage of a bull.

Bobby never hit her though. He always made sure to slam his fist against the wall beside her head, though. He was the type to yell and belittle Gabi as if she was a little girl.

But she wasn’t a little girl. She was a 23-year-old woman who moved in with her boyfriend so fast that she began to understand why her parents and friends disapproved of her choices and relationship.

I just had to learn the hard way, Gabi thought to herself.

She doesn’t know why she’s trying to think of sayings that relate to this experience. The point is, Gabi knows she seriously fucked. With Bobby only giving her ten minutes to pack whatever truly mattered to her, she had to hurry the fuck up.

The moment she made it outside the apartment building, all Gabi could do is replay her questions that she asked Bobby.

Where were you tonight?

Were you with someone?

What did you do?

Why can’t you tell me what you did?

Are you hiding something from me?

Are you getting into dangerous things?

No wonder Bobby kicked her out. Gabi should have never put her nose in his business. And now, she’s practically homeless. She knows it would be embarrassing as hell to go back to her parents’ house because of what they told her before getting involved with Bobby. She also knows her friends would treat her horribly, with the “I told you so” stares and lectures. Gabi was certainly running out of options just as the rain began to fall.

There was one person she could go to, who would never turn her away.

However, Gabi hasn’t spoken to this person in about a year because of her relationship with Bobby as well as this person’s own relationship with their significant other.

But Gabi knew Y/N was a good person, a good friend. She was a sweet person, with a big warm heart and she would never turn her away.

With nowhere else to go, Gabi walked alone in the rain all the way down to high class side of Gotham.

By the time Gabi gets to the high-class penthouses, she has to call Y/N to let her inside. Of course, Y/N excitedly tells her to come up, and Gabi immediately starts to feel somehow relieved that Y/N hasn’t changed at all.

As Gabi finally makes it to the correct floor, she sees Y/N waiting by the door, where Gabi assumes is where Y/N lives. Y/N is wearing a red and black flannel pajama pants and a thin black tank top. Gabi also notices Y/N’s barefoot, and her hair’s in a messy bun.

She must have just woken up. I’m so sorry, Y/N, Gabi thinks to herself.

But none of that matters when Y/N meets Gabi halfway in the hall where they collide in a tight, warm-hearted embrace.  Y/N smells like a woodsy, musky cologne, most likely from whoever she’s seeing with now. Maybe they were snuggling up against with each other until Gabi had called and asked if she could come over.

“Come inside. You must be freezing!” Y/N says, releasing Gabi from her hug and pulling her arm towards the front door.

Gabi follows on shaky legs, completely overwhelmed by seeing her longtime best friend. Y/N giggles and leads Gabi inside the penthouse. Gabi instantly is hit by the aroma of vanilla and musk, the smell of intimacy and seduction.  Her eyes take in the red and black walls and décor, some exquisite art pieces, and the big space that is more comfortable and warmer than most homes she’s ever seen.

“Welcome, mi casa es tu casa! Seriously Gabi, babe, make yourself at home. There’s absolutely no rush to leave. You leave when you’re ready, okay?” Y/N says seriously.

“Are you absolutely sure? I really don’t want to impose or put you and your boyfriend out,” Gabi confesses.

Y/N leads Gabi to the long, cherry red couch that is facing a huge flat screen TV. Gabi sets down her duffle bag and takes a seat next to Y/N on the couch.

“Don’t be ridiculous! Jay and I insist you stay here until you figure out what you want to do, okay?” Y/N says, before she turns around to get comfortable to face Gabi.

A vanilla candle is lit on the coffee table. Gabi’s cheeks flush in embarrassment. “I didn’t...interrupt something, did I?”

“Oh, no, you didn’t! I was just setting the mood in the living room to be more...comfy,” Y/N admits, with a chuckle. “Jason just got home a few minutes ago and is taking a shower. He should be done by now.”

As if on cue, they hear someone walking down the hall and towards the living room. He stops near the couch. There in all his glory, well half-naked glory, stands Jason Todd, God’s greatest creation of man...at least that’s what both girls were thinking.

“Gabi, this is Jason, my boyfriend,” Y/N proudly introduces Jason to Gabi. “Jay, this is Gabi, my best friend in the whole wide world.”

Still dripping wet and fresh out of the shower, Jason at least has a white towel wrapped around his waist; hiding his goods that Gabi wanted to see so desperately. He’s really tall, must be 6’2 or something close to that. She takes note that Jason is all man: there’s absolutely nothing that screams “boy”. Gabi inhales hard when she watches his large hand run through his soaked dark hair. The other hand holds the towel tightly around his hips.

“Hi,” Jason smirks at Gabi. She notices his eyes are green, almost like emeralds. He smiles at her, even his white teeth are perfect. “So, you’re Gabi. Y/N’s told me a lot about you.”

“She-she has?” Gabi chokes out. Why is it so hot in here? Why can’t she speak?

Her eyes zero in on the droplets of water running down his strong as fuck built chiseled chest and perfectly sculpted abs that she really wants to lick and bite his skin.

Holy fuck...

Gabi scolds herself for thinking such inappropriate thoughts about her best friend’s boyfriend. Even though Gabi’s never fantasized Bobby this kind of way, she realizes Y/N’s lucked out. Bobby wasn’t in shape or even remotely attractive like Jason.

“Of course, she has. You’re one of her best friends, and I’m happy to finally meet you. I would go over there to shake your hand and properly greet you, but I’m uh...not exactly dressed yet,” Jason chuckles, and almost seems shy now. “I’m gonna go get dressed real quick so we can talk.”

You don’t have to. You can stay the way you are. You can even drop the towel, Gabi thinks improperly.

Y/N smiles softly at Jason as they watch him leave. True to his word, Jason returned in a pair of black sweatpants and a white t-shirt and took a seat next to Y/N. Throughout their comfortable and pleasant conversation, Gabi truly sees the way Jason cares about her best friend. Midway through their talk about what happened to Bobby, Jason clearly was paying attention and rubbed caressed Y/N’s thigh when Gabi recounted the latest scary fight with Bobby. Whenever Y/N looked shocked or worried, Jason made sure to calm her down through touches, forehead kisses, and whispers words along the lines of love, probably.

It almost makes Gabi jealous. Y/N’s life is clearly so much better than what Gabi had going on for herself. Jason seems like the perfect gentleman; always does and says the right thing. Gabi’s never seen a man pay so much attention to a woman before. Not only did he offer Gabi his advice and opinions on getting a better and more affordable apartment on their street, but Jason even voiced his hatred for Bobby, and even went on to criticize the man for treating women so poorly. He even made a joke about finding the man and breaking his legs; making Gabi and Y/N laugh their asses off and making the energy around them fun again.

But for some reason, Gabi couldn’t help but notice that Jason wasn’t laughing as hard as she and Y/N were. It almost seemed like Jason was serious about breaking Bobby’s legs, but Jason wouldn’t do that. She was sure of it.

He wouldn’t, would he?

By the time midnight came, the three of them stood up and decided to go to bed. Jason even surprised Gabi by giving her a hug and telling her that she can stay in their guest bedroom for however long as she wants and needs.

“I’m serious, kid. Don’t even worry about it. You mean so much to Y/N, and so therefore, you mean a lot to me, too,” Jason had said as he pulled back from their hug.

Gabi was speechless to say the least. She didn’t want the hug to end. He felt so good in her arms and he smelled so fucking good.

But it was bedtime now, and once Y/N and Jason had shown Gabi the guest bedroom, they went off to bed to let Gabi get comfortable. It wasn’t long for Gabi to quickly clean herself up and put on some plain pajama shorts with a tank top. As soon as she turned off the light, she was amazed by how big and comfortable the bed was. She figured it must be new and is probably the first person to sleep in here. In just a few minutes, exhaustion took over and Gabi fell into a deep sleep.

Her throat was dry. That’s what awoke Gabi at two in the morning and made her climb out of bed and go search for a bottle of water. She made sure to tiptoe out of the room and walk slowly and quietly to the kitchen.

As soon as Gabi made it to the end of the hallway, she stops dead in her tracks when she hears moaning. A woman moaning.

Her mind registers that it’s Y/N moaning. But why is she moaning in the living room?

Curiosity forces Gabi to peek out into the living room and see what’s going on, despite the logical part in her mind is screaming at her to have some respect for her best friend and her boyfriend.

But being a pervert outweighs being a prude.

Gabi is utterly shocked to her core when she sees her best friend straddling Jason’s lap. On the red couch where they sat a couple of hours ago, Gabi sees Y/N and Jason making out heavily. She couldn’t unsee it; she wants to keep watching them.

Gabi even sees the vanilla candle is lit again, after Jason had blown it out before they all went to bed.

But all Gabi could see is Jason’s fingertips digging hard into Y/N’s exposed flesh from where her tank top is pushed up above her bare tits. Y/N shamelessly moans in between the evident delicious kisses, and grinds against Jason’s apparent bulge.

Gabi quickly notices an isolated leather recliner that’s against the wall near the hallway. She throws herself down, sinks into the chair and watches the practically live porno show in front of her.

Jason pulls back from the deep kiss, revealing his red, swollen lips from where Y/N’s been biting and sucking since the beginning. He rests his head back against the couch and looks up with hazy, lustful eyes as Y/N grins down at him. She bites her bottom lip and pulls up her tank top, removing her top completely from her body.  

“Fuck...what the hell are you doing to me, sweetheart?” Jason asks breathlessly. He runs his hands up Y/N’s back and moves them to her front where he reaches for both her tits.

“I’m slowly...and softly killing you,” Y/N says, closing her eyes and moans when Jason gently grabs both her tits in his hands; her breasts fill his hands perfectly.

“I’d say...” he says, before sighing contently when switches from pinching her nipples to squeezing her tits before he sits up straighter and pulls Y/N’s body closer to lick and suck her sensitive nipples.

“Oh, fuck...oh Jay...feels so good,” Y/N moans louder than before. She whimpers and continues to rub herself against him. “I need to cum...please make me cum, Jay...”

Jason pulls back from her chest and gazes into Y/N’s eyes. “You wanna cum, doll? Do you want me to make you cum?”

“Yes, please...I need you so bad!”

“No, I don’t think you need to cum,” Jason teases, before he pulls off his own t-shirt. “Now, I’m going to take off the rest of your clothes, but if you touch your pussy, I ain’t going to fuck you.”

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?!” Y/N snaps. Her cheeks are flushed from being aroused.

Jason smirks at Y/N’s frustration.

“You know exactly what I’m talking about, sweetheart. I’m going to check how wet you are,” Jason explains, as he raises Y/N off his lap to pull down her pajama pants and panties; leaving her completely bare on his lap. “If you’re soaking wet, then I’m gonna fuck you so hard that you’ll be feeling me for days. But if I have to make you wet, then that means I get to do whatever I want to this pussy.”

“But-”

Jason runs his hand up Y/N’s thigh until his fingers glide over her bare pussy. His fingers gently push inside her, he can feel the wetness, but wants to see it for himself.

“Stand up and put your pussy in my face,” he demands.

“What?”

“I want to taste your delicious pussy right now. Don’t make me get up and literally put you on my shoulders to eat you out,” Jason threatens.

Y/N slowly moves to stand up carefully on the couch. Her legs are shaking, but Jason quickly grabs her to hold her steady. He doesn’t waste any time, and he dives into her pussy as if he’s a starving man.

“Oh fuck!” Y/N cries out.

Jason’s tongue on her clit is what she wants the most right now. He squeezes her thigh and flicks his tongue side to side until Y/N fears she’s either going to fall back or fall over him.

Y/N notices one of Jason’s pull up bars is above her. How convenient.

She grabs a hold of the bar to hold herself up just as he decides to slip a finger inside her. Holding herself up allows him to remove a hand from her thigh. He takes the opportunity to slip another finger inside and pumps them in and out fast.

Y/N’s body trembles when Jason curls his fingers and strokes the sensitive wall that he’s mastered so well. He can tell she’s close. She must have been excited earlier when they planned to stay in last minute. He manages to look up at her and he can see she’s barely holding on.

“You’re so close aren’t you, babe? You taste so fucking good that I want you to cum on my face. I want you to be my dirty girl tonight,” Jason says as he finger-fucks her harder and faster than before. “Are you going to be my dirty girl tonight?

“Yes! Fuck yes! Just-just make me cum, please!” Y/N cries out desperately, needing the push that Jason could only give her.

“You are my dirty girl. You love it when I make you cum with just my fingers and mouth. But I bet you want my cock right after, huh?” Jason asks, chuckling darkly when Y/N’s eyes roll back when he speeds up his fingers inside her. “You wanna ride me, don’t you?”

“Yes-yes I do...” she’s panting now.

“Okay, I want you to cum in my face and then quickly get on my lap and ride me. Fast, slow, hard, whatever, you pick. I just want to feel your warm, tight pussy around my dick, okay?” Jason says, quickly shoving his sweatpants and boxers down to his feet. “Fuck...give me your pretty, tasty pussy, sweetheart!”

And then Jason finally gives in. He pulls both her thighs to bring her pussy to his face. Y/N whimpers when he licks all around her wetness, and he hums in approval when he feels her hand stroking his scalp and pulling his hair, while she continues holding herself up with only one hand now.

The vibration from his humming helps her reach her release. He continues to thrust his fingers inside her and sucks her clit until she gushes in his face.

Y/N manages to silent most of her orgasm, but it didn’t help when Jason continued to lick and suck at her clit to swallow most of her juices. Once her body relaxes, she lets go of the pull up bar and drops down to the couch. Y/N quickly straddles Jason’s lap until her pussy is hovering above his hard cock.

“Spit on my cock, doll. Get it nice and wet,” Jason says, as he watches Y/N spit in her hand and stroke his thick cock until he’s nice and ready for her. “How are you going to ride me, sweetheart?”

Y/N slowly looks up into Jason’s dilated, misty eyes. “Deep. Hard. And fast,” she says.

Jason swallows hard but is able to quickly smirk up at Y/N before she takes full control. “Then ride me, sweetheart. Fuck yourself on my cock like the dirty girl you really are.”

Y/N finally lowers herself onto Jason’s cock, all logic and common sense flies out the window. Whenever his cock was deep inside her, they both tend to lose themselves and the world around them. Because whenever they were connected emotionally and physically in their bubble, nothing else fucking matters in the world.

When Jason fills her up completely, they both release a content sigh. They usually take their time in the beginning, mostly because of their fears whenever Jason leaves to work as Red Hood. But since they’re both so horny and want to cum sooner, they’ll have to just take their time during round two.

“Fuck me, sweetheart. Fuck yourself silly on my dick,” Jason moans, but he and Y/N laugh at the “silly” part, when he realizes that’s not very sexy.

But Y/N understands and slowly lifts herself up his lap until just the tip of Jason’s cock is inside her. She keeps a steady pace, lifting herself and lowering herself, until their rhythm flows. Within seconds, Jason helps her by holding her hips tightly and thrusting his hips in time with hers.

“Your cock is so big inside me, Jay. You fill me up so good,” Y/N moans and rides him a little faster; wanting the head of his cock to rub hard and relentlessly against her g-spot. She guides one of his hands off her waist to move towards her pussy, encouraging him to rub her clit. “I wanna cum again, Jay.”

“Yeah? You like ridin’ my big cock, you dirty girl? You want me to fill your pussy with my cum?” Jason asks, watching Y/N’s tits bounce while she rides his cock faster than before. He can’t help himself, he uses a free hand to pinch her nipple and leans in to bite and suck her breasts, until he puts his hand back to her hip to guide her thrusts. “You want me to fill you up with my cum?”

“Yes! Yes, please!” Y/N begs.

“Okay, my dirty girl. I’ll give you what you want.”

Well, Jason knows now that this is going to end fast, but he refuses to let it end without Y/N cumming hard again. He squeezes her hip with one hand and the other hand rubs her clit fast in messy circles. He begins to pull her down to meet his thrusts, fucking her harder and faster with everything he’s got. The squelching sound from his cock fucking up into her wet pussy becomes more noticeable, especially when their skin-on-skin slapping gets louder and harsher that echoes in the living room.

“Fuck...Y/N, you’re getting so tight. You feel so fucking good baby,” Jason pants hard, completely sweating and keeping his fast and erratic pace to get them to their releases. “Fuckin’ cum on my big cock, sweetheart. I wanna feel you cum so bad. Please cum for me, again.”

Y/N keeps her eyes on Jason just as her orgasm hits her hard; she squeezes and gushes around his cock, she calls out his name. Jason thrusts harder in her three more times, as he finally cums hard inside Y/N, calls out her name as quietly as he could. Y/N collapses against Jason’s chest, despite being hot and sweaty, but he doesn’t mind. He wraps both arms around her and holds her while they regain their breaths and can function normal again.

Y/N doesn’t see the loving smile Jason gives her as he kisses her forehead. “I love you,” he whispers, and hugs her tighter.

She looks up at him and smiles. “I love you, too.”

Before Y/N can lie her head against Jason’s chest again, she notices Gabi sitting and watching them. Y/N jumps up and covers her breasts with her arms, causing Jason to jump in panic and turn around to see what’s going on.

“Gabi! What-what the hell are you doing there?!” Y/N cries out in embarrassment. She can feel her cheeks are getting red again.

Gabi slowly gets up from the chair and makes her wave into the kitchen. She finds bottled water in the refrigerator, takes one, and goes back into the living room where Jason and Y/N are still frozen in fear.

“I-I was thirsty,” Gabi answers, even though she knows it sounds like a lame answer. She walks backwards until she reaches the hall. “And-and then I saw you guys, and then I couldn’t stop watching. I’m sorry, Y/N...Jason...”

But before Gabi leaves, she points a finger at Jason and smiles. She even chuckles. “But-but in my defense...he’s really sexy! He’s fucking gorgeous, Y/N, and you’re one lucky bitch! You’re so lucky!”

But Gabi is right about that.

Y/N is lucky...because she has Jason.

[honeybunnybeez]

If you are still doing the alphabet thing can I please get a c!quackity? It's okay if not, dont worry!

SFW alphabet:

C!Quackity

♡Reader is Gender Neutral!

A = Affection (How affectionate are they? How do they show affection?)

Lord we know this man is quite the flirt in some way. He's pretty affectionate with you in front of others and almost has little shame with it.

In public, he likes to hold hands or put his arms around your shoulder or waist, depending on how tall you are compared to him.

In private he's pretty playful, calling out your name out of nowhere only to tackle with you a hug and kiss you. He totally keeps you on your toes when at home.

B = Best friend (What would they be like as a best friend? How would the friendship start?)

He's a very teasing best friend, constantly joking around with you. Also the best friend people think you're dating before you actually date because of how affectionate he is with you.

You two probably became friends during the presedential election and remained friends since you decided to oppose Schlatt with him and Tubbo.

C = Cuddles (Do they like to cuddle? How would they cuddle?)

My man likes to properly cuddle with you whenever you two have some quiet time alone. His favourite way to cuddle you is by laying on top of you while you stroke his hair or wings.

D = Domestic (Do they want to settle down? How are they at cooking and cleaning?)

I would think that he would, most likely after being satisfied with whatever he plans on doing in the server.

Oh my god but he would be so bad at doing chores with you. Washing dishes? Yeah- that's gonna be a 1 hour ordeal as you two have a water fight. Cooking? Food fight. Sweeping around the house? Broom fight- you two keep telling yourself you won't do it again but you do-

E = Ending (If they had to break up with their partner, how would they do it?)

(Me, having a minor flashback to when he told Eret he didn't like him at all) OKAY- So, depends heavily on the situation. It could either go smooth or just break both your hearts.

If it was just the relationship not feeling natural, he would break it off to you the nicest way he can and would still really wanna be friends with you. He can't cause chaos without his buddy after all.

Oh but if it was because of something bad either one of you did, he would definitely say things he doesn't mean. Things that would break both your hearts. Yeah, it would take a while to ever mend your relationship if that was the outcome.

F = Fiance(e) (How do they feel about commitment? How quick would they want to get married?)

He has like 2 freaking fiances and 1 (or 2?) ex(es?). (Karlnapity sfw alphabet soon? Maybe-) He's down to get engaged with you for sure.

Okay but he seems to like getting engaged really quickly too- So you'll have to tell him straight up that you need to see where this goes with him. Maybe give like a time period of 6 months or more to see if you two could really live being each others for the rest of you lives.

G = Gentle (How gentle are they, both physically and emotionally?)

Emotionally, he is a little rough. He forgets his limits at times and will sometimes say hurtful things to you by accident in the heat of the moment. He'll apologize profusely though when he catches his mistake and sees the way your eyes stare at him with such hurt. He tells you he doesn't mean it and he truly doesn't, he'll feel guilty until you forgive him.

Physically, he is pretty gentle save for his few tackle hugs and kisses. He just loves you a lot and sometimes can't contain it well.

H = Hugs (Do they like hugs? How often do they do it? What are their hugs like?)

He loves hugs if it's you giving them. He needs to get a hug from you everyday and if he doesn't he gets super whiny and will even whine in his 'auto tune' voice until he gets them. He likes to hug you from behind, and sometimes his wings cover the both of you as he asks you, "Guess who this iiis!"

I = I love you (How fast do they say the L-word?)

The first time he ever genuinely said I love you was when you had to help him clean his wings after a bad fall of his. He had never let anyone close to them before and so him thinking he could trust you not to hurt him was something that made him realize that he truly did love you.

J = Jealousy (How jealous do they get? What do they do when they’re jealous?)

He's not a very jealous person, being a very affectionate and handsy person himself, but if you and him don't hang out with one another as often as you used to he starts to whine for your attention until he gets it.

K = Kisses (What are their kisses like? Where do they like to kiss you? Where do they like to be kissed?)

His kisses are very hyper and almost silly.

He likes to kiss your whole face, planting them in quick succession everywhere to make you laugh.

He likes when you give him long kisses on the lips. Especially if it's during a calm moment. It makes his heart flutter.

L = Little ones (How are they around children?)

Oh he can definitely hang with kids and in return kids love him and his chaotic childish nature too, but he doesn't plan on having any of his own, at least not early on in your relationship. He'll have to think about that for a while.

M = Morning (How are mornings spent with them?)

Mornings are the only time you can find him calm, you usually wake up earlier than he does and he always looks so peaceful while he lays on your chest with his wings laid out like a second blanket.

N = Night (How are nights spent with them?)

Nights are filled with mindless chatter between the two of you. Rarely do you guys ever remember what nonsense you two were on about before bedtime. All you remembered is shared goodnight kisses and cuddles.

O = Open (When would they start revealing things about themselves? Do they say everything all at once or wait a while to reveal things slowly?)

Oh, after all the stuff he's been through he doesn't trust anyone easily anymore. It will take him quite a while to fully open up to you about all the negative things he feels or thinks about. Just take things slow with him and don't push him to say what he doesn't want to, that already wins you his favour.

P = Patience (How easily angered are they?)

Okay this seems like a wild card not gonna lie. I feel like if it involves his plan to gain power in the server and you're against the idea he has he gets very frustrated. You'll have to be quick and tell him that you say that because you're concerned about him and his safety.

Q = Quizzes (How much would they remember about you? Do they remember every little detail you mention in passing, or do they kind of forget everything?)

Besides dates, his memory is a little hard for me to describe. He remembers a good amount of things about you but things you mention in passing are forgotten until you bring it up or until he sees something that suddenly reminds you of it.

R = Remember (What is their favorite moment in your relationship?)

It was when you properly sat down with him and preened his wings one day when he was way too tired to do it himself. The feelings of your fingers through his wings were like absolute heaven and he forgot how good it felt to have someone do it for you. Safe to say, he got pretty addicted to you doing it to him after this event.

S = Security (How protective are they? How would they protect you? How would they like to be protected?)

Although he may seem outgoing and like he doesn't care much, he is rather protective of you, making sure you don't accidentally communicate with anyone he isn't fond of.

He would protect you by warning you of others, telling you who is safe to turn to and who isn't safe to turn to. He even tells those he can somewhat rely on to make sure you're protected when he's away. If worse comes to worse he'll protect you physically as well.

He needs you to protect him mentally and emotionally. He feels like everyone he trusts eventually betrays him and he can't have that with you. He needs reassurance that you won't leave him like the others would or do.

T = Try (How much effort would they put into dates, anniversaries, gifts, everyday tasks?)

He would put in a bit of effort to make it special but not a whole lot, he wants it to be fun but natural too. Though you can always gurantee that he'll serenade you during your dates or anniversaries, the music he plays for you is silly sure but they're also super heartfelt with effort put into it.

In everyday tasks he isn't very helpful, running off to cause chaos more often than not but if you do need help he'll always be there to lend a hand. He often times fetches (or steals) things you need too.

U = Ugly (What would be some bad habits of theirs?)

He doesn't know when to quit when it comes to wanting to take over the server. While you know how he truly is, it unsettles you a bit how he's able to manipulate others at times. You totally gave him an earful when he went to fight Technoblade because you knew, as much as you loved your boyfriend, that no one would actually be able to kill Technoblade that easily.

V = Vanity (How concerned are they with their looks?)

Schlatt made him feel very insecure about himself and even though he knows thay bastard is full of shit and burning in hell, he can't help but feel disgusting at times. Hug him and tell him that he's very handsome and adorable the way he is and that Schlatt shouldn't be talking when he looks like a wine mom on her last line.

W = Whole (Would they feel incomplete without you?)

He would feel so lost without, having no support would make him act even more irrational and could also get him killed pretty quickly. You're his voice of reason to a certain extent.

X = Xtra (A random headcanon for them.)

I've written this before but he likes to make nests out of your pillows, sheets and clothes. The mood strikes him at times and you two will just spend the whole day chilling in his little nest while you preen and baby him.

Y = Yuck (What are some things they wouldn’t like, either in general or in a partner?)

He doesn't want someone who leaves him when the situation turns sour, he doesn't want a partner who would leave him behind easily. Most importantly though and as unhealthy as this is, he most likely doesn't want a partner who wishes to have more power than him.

Z = Zzz (What is a sleep habits of theirs?)

He sleep talks and mumbles and that's fine and all but he sometimes he accidentally switches to his 'auto tune' voice and it scares the shit out of you if it's in deep or demonic mode.

A/N: Oh my lord I finally managed to post a c!quackity related thing-! Thank you so much anons for your patience and I hope you all enjoy this! I'm so sorry if this isn't very fluffy but I wanted to mix in a little canon compliance in it too for future angst projects. He was a really interesting character for me to re-study again!

(Requests are open and anon is on!)

[harlequinmoss]

Aaahhh I haven't written anything in a really long time but I wanted to do something for pride month before it was over cutting it real close I know so here's a little coming out story with José and Panchito. It's set in the 40s because I refuse to write any other versions of them

Panchito and José arrived at their hotel around 10pm. It had been a long day for the both of them, each coming in from a long flight overseas that morning in order to visit their pal, Donald. Donald had picked them up from the airport and the group had a fun day doing touristy things, but after dinner the pair had grown noticeably exhausted. Not having enough space in his own home to comfortably house the both of them, Donald offered to put them up in a hotel room for the night rather than having them crash on the sofa in the living room. It took a bit of coercion, neither wanting to be rude, they were guests after all, but in the end they were too tired not to be easily convinced.

"I'll at least call a taxi over there," Panchito had insisted. "That way you aren't out driving so late."

"It's hardly late at all, but fine. I called ahead and made the reservation so you just have to pick up the key when you get there."

Panchito thumbed through his wallet to pay the taxi driver, thanking them as he handed them the money. He got out of the car, went around to the other side, and opened the door for José who was still fumbling around for his hat that he'd misplaced under the seat. 

"There you are!" José started, smiling as he spotted the familiar straw headpiece and put it back in its rightful place upon his noggin. He turned to grab the door handle only to see Panchito waiting for him on the sidewalk instead. 

"Oh! Panchie, what a gentleman…" He beamed, taking Panchito's hand for support as he stepped out of the vehicle. "Muito obrigado."

"You're very welcome." Panchito smiled back, shutting the door with a thunk once José was out of the way. "Mind getting the key while I grab our bags?"

"Certainly…" José nodded. "Meet you inside."

José tipped his hat and disappeared through the building's revolving door and into the lobby. Panchito took a moment to watch him go before remembering what it was he was supposed to be doing. He sighed to himself before making his way over to the trunk and popping it open. Holding his breath, he removed both of their suitcases from the taxi and set them on the sidewalk beside the car. He then shut the trunk a bit hard, too distracted to be mindful of his strength, and waved the driver off.

Feelings like this arose whenever he was alone with José. He did his best to suppress them, to act normal like the rest of his friends, but it wasn't easy. A part of him dreaded what was about to come. Sharing a hotel room, sure it was just for one night, and they'd have separate beds, but that didn't make it any easier. 

"It'll be fine," Panchito told himself. "I just need to take a moment to compose myself and then I'll go inside. We're both tired. We'll probably end up passing out right away and tomorrow we'll reconvene with Donal and everything will be back to normal." 

Panchito took a deep breath. Then another. Then, he grabbed the bags up off the concrete and walked through the revolving door to meet up with José. Perfect timing. José had just gotten out of line for the key and happily waved his friend over as he headed toward the elevator. 

"We're in room 313." José proclaimed with a small laugh as Panchito caught up with him. He pressed the button to the elevator, the one on the left immediately opening with a short ding.

"313? Donal did that on purpose no doubt…" Panchito laughed to himself as they stepped inside, refusing to look directly at José. 

José nodded, not noticing this avoidance, and he relayed the floor number to the elevator operator who shut the door and brought them up. The two stood in silence in the meantime, their eyes half lidded, both too tired to think of anything else to say. Luckily, the ride wasn't long. The pair thanked the operator on the way out, José tipping them with a spare coin he had in his pocket.

As they headed down the hall, José mumbled the number to himself as if to not forget. 313, 313, spoken softly on repeat in his sweet voice. Panchito held his breath and stared intently down at their luggage. Soon, they arrived, and José quickly turned the key in the lock, extending his other arm as he opened the door.

"After you, Panchie…" José smiled, speaking with such a fondness that Panchito could hardly bear it. 

Panchito nodded and started his way in through the door, head down, and José let the arm he had extended wrap around his companion as he followed him inside. Panchito stiffened. Normally, he could shrug off this type of thing, but something was different about tonight. He didn't know why, but every scrap of interaction was much more overwhelming, more amplified. He swallowed and clenched his mouth shut, terrified of what he might say.

"Hm? Are you alright..?" José asked, cocking his head to the side as he watched Panchito move away from his touch in order to set down their luggage. "You've hardly said anything since we left Donal's house…"

"Por supuesto. Sólo estoy cansado…" Panchito sighed. "Just tired…" He repeated again in English. 

"Right..." José started, not entirely convinced but not wanting to press the matter. "Let's get ready for bed then." 

Again, Panchito only nodded in response. José sighed and made his way next to his friend. Each opened their respective suitcase and retrieved a set of clothes to sleep in. José slightly leaned on Panchito as this motion occurred, just a light brushing of their arms together, but it was enough to send shock waves through Panchito's heart. This type of casual intimacy was something José did with everyone, but Panchito couldn't help thinking that José targeted him more often than anyone else. He was right, though José would never admit it. 

"I'll change in the bathroom." Panchito said suddenly, once again moving away from his companion. He quickly disappeared through the bathroom door, leaving José alone and a bit dazed.

José stood silent for a moment, watching the door, a thousand thoughts running through his mind at once. 

"Why is Panchie acting so strange tonight? Is he okay? Is it because of me? He's definitely avoiding me, it's not just my imagination, right? If he finally figured out my true feelings it could be out of anger or contempt. Oh God, what am I going to do?" 

José noticed his heart racing and scrambled to calm himself down before Panchito returned. 

"Okay. It's fine, if he knew, he wouldn't even want to sleep in the same room as me. Just get changed and pretend like everything's normal. We're both tired, it'll all be okay by the morning…" 

José sighed. He threw on a plain yellow t-shirt and took off his pants so he just had his boxer shorts on underneath. As he was putting his discarded clothes away in the suitcase, Panchito emerged from the bathroom in a cowboy themed set of pajamas. Both blushed seeing each other and silently made their ways to their respective beds, turning off the bedside lamps that lit the room in the process.

"...good night, José." Panchito said after almost a full minute of silence. 

"Good night, Panchito." José responded, refraining from using his nickname in fear it'd make matters worse. 

The two lay quietly in the dark, unable to fall asleep despite the day's exhaustion. Both shifted in their beds many times over, transitioning through periods of shut eyes to staring at the ceiling to watching the other while they had their back turned so that there was no risk of being caught. Neither dared speak. Their routine went on for what seemed like the whole night, but probably wasn't more than an hour or two in reality, until…

"José?" Panchito asked in a whisper, trying to field whether or not his companion was awake. 

"Sim?" He responded, pushing himself halfway into a sitting position in order to face his friend. "Do you want to tell me what's been bothering you?"

"I...can't. You'll hate me forever." Panchito choked out, covering his face with his hands.

"What?!" José's heart sank. He sat up the rest of the way and flicked on his lamp so that they could see each other. "Panchito, nothing you do or say could ever make me hate you." 

Panchito looked over at José through the cracks in his fingers. His face was serious, a tonal shift from the care-free facade he usually put on. Panchito sighed and paused for a moment before sitting up as well.

"I'm not so sure…"

"Por favor me diga o que está errado...please…." José pleaded. 

Both sat with lumps in their throat, hoping desperately for something just out of reach, not wanting to break what's already there. Panchito was the first to cry.

"I can't-- every day, every time we hang out together it's all about the girls. 'Oh, look at the pretty señoritas! Let us try and win their affections!' And I have to join in and compete and pretend like that is what I want to do. I do not know how much longer I can take it! I want to be normal, believe me, I wish nothing more, that would make this so much easier but--"

"Panchito..?" José mumbled, tears streaming down both of their faces at this point. 

"But I do not care about the señoritas, not hardly, I never have. I have to pretend. For your sake. And Donal's. The two of you are my very best friends and I do not want to lose either of you but...but...es tan difícil fingir….I can't say it. It's not right, it's not even legal, is it? But how am I supposed to go on like this when the person whose affections I want to be competing for is…"

As he spoke, José made his way over to Panchito's bed without him noticing, sitting next to him for a moment before deciding it'd be better to kneel in order for them to be the same height.

"Panchie…" José sighed and wrapped Panchito in a warm hug. "It's okay…"

"No it's not! How can you say that when--"

"Shh…" José turned Panchito’s head to face him and tenderly cupped his cheeks as he wiped away tears from his eyes. He then placed a soft kiss to the top of his forehead. 

Panchito's eyes widened, his breath caught in his throat, startling him enough to cause him to stop crying. He looked at José with a dumbfounded expression, José only smiling back at him softly.

"You don't have to pretend anymore. Not with me. How about we trade one secret for another, hm?" 

Panchito nodded, shaking, still processing everything that just happened. 

"Are...are you sure?"

"Of course, don't be silly. I hate the tears, but I'm very happy to hear you feel the same way."

"You mean...you don't care for the señoritas either?"

José laughed. 

"I do. But I also care for the cavalheiros. And I very much care for you…" 

"Oh." Panchito smiled, wrapping his arms around José. The smile didn't last long, however. "What will we tell Donal?"

"Hm. Well, I do not think he would hate us. He does not seem like the type, no? But let's not fret any more about this tonight. We can worry all we want in the morning."

"Okay…" Panchito nodded, taking another moment to process things before laying down and taking José along with him. José let out a small giggle. 

"Panchie! What's all this for?"

"Well, we are going to bed, are we not?"

José blinked, quickly understanding Panchito's request. He shifted, entangling himself comfortably in Panchito's arms, his head resting on his chest. He took a moment to listen to the steady beat of Panchito's heart before speaking. 

"Yes, I suppose we are…"

The pair once again said their good nights, but this time they fell asleep almost instantly. Neither knew what lay ahead for them in the days to come. Would they tell Donald, or would this be a secret just for the two of them? So many uncertainties, but one thing was certain. They had each other. And that was enough.

[jjpmoans]

pleasurable temptation | cyj [m]

word counts : 2.9k+

warnings : cosplaying kink, a hint of exhibitionism, pure smut (it’s bad lmao)

summary :  What did he do to be under this kind of situation? What did he ever trigger you with? Why is he helplessly moaning while you take him in your mouth without sparing him any mercy? While he is playing with his friends even? What did Youngjae even do to deserve such a torturous pleasure? 

“Wait, baby, I can’t. Please don’t do this to me.”

a/n : sooo for october, we decided to join together for a writing collab between the members or @got7creators​! It is called All Sins Week since we are posting a week straight at the end of October. Do check other writer’s kinktober fic as well! Also I am fourth in the order and please forgive me for this absolutely no filth fic. I have no idea what I wrote and I am open for critics bcs I know it’s bad wkkwkwkkwkw and sorrryy if you feel like it’s bland. But i hope you enjoy reading and please give a lot of love to other writers of this collaboration!

[ All Sins Week Masterlist ]

“If you’re Tatsumi,” you ask, breaking Youngjae’s attention from the anime he’s watching. You’re sitting next to him, as usual as he binges watching his anime. “Who would you choose? Akame or Esdeath?”

Youngjae’s eyebrow raises, looking at you questioningly. It’s not new, you’re always asking random questions about the anime he’s watching out of nowhere but this time it’s different. You’re asking him to choose between the protagonist and the antagonist if he’s Tatsumi, the main character. “Choose as in what? As in my comrade?”

“As in your lover?” you scoop your ice cream into your mouth, waiting patiently for his answer as he’s having a breakdown over whom to choose. Youngjae always has a hard time choosing between the protagonist and the side characters, saying that of course people always like the main protagonist but the side characters are also precious.

Which is why now you only want him to choose between the two sexy female characters but you can see smoke coming out of his head.

“Do I really need to choose?” he looks at you with a painfully desperate face, wanting a way out of the question. “I like both though!”

“Nope.” you tut, placing down your bowl on the side table. “You need to choose one. Like if Akame and Esdeath offer to have a one night stand with you, who will you choose?”

You can see Youngjae shifts uncomfortably, avoiding your gaze by keeping his eyes on the tv screen. It’s not long before you spot the growing tent under his pants that makes him shift a couple more times and whines, “Baby, you’re making it sound weird.”

“Well,” it’s not that weird but it does feel weird when your boyfriend is turned on by a 2D character. “Choose one, big boy.”

“Why would any of them wants to have sex with me?”

“I don’t know.” you laugh. You know it sounds kind of weird but who cares? “Maybe they think you’re hot.”

“Nonsense.” He inhales a deep breath, biting his lower lips in an attempt of rethinking his decision, before turning to you like he has made a decision. “Alright, background aside okay?”

You raise your shoulders, agreeing with whatever his condition is. You don’t really care about their backgrounds, you just want to see which one of the female characters that got your man hard. 

“I personally think Esdeath is sexier.” he confesses, grimacing when he sees your serious listening face. However you keep him going, no attempt to cut him off. “Her outfit is always on point, but she looks very sexy in this one episode. So-” Youngjae scrambles to shake himself out of the narration, ending his answer with a simple statement. “I’d choose Esdeath.”

Tonight is the second night of the weekend and as you both had agreed to, it’s Youngjae’s gaming slash anime night. Usually he would be watching anime up until midnight and then continue by playing games with his friends. However tonight he chose to start playing the game earlier than usual, claiming that none of the animes have uploaded a new episode.

This is where you come in.

You stare into the mirror, looking directly to the satin robe that hugs your curves nicely. It’s light but it’s thick and it’s new. You received it yesterday, just in time for you to wear it on the weekend. 

“I must be insane.” you ruffle your hair, watching it slowly turning into a mess, a beautiful mess. You almost can’t believe that it’s you in the mirror, you look insanely a hot mess. It’s crazy how simple the outfit is but absolutely sexy and alluring.

It’s nothing much. You just want to see his reaction, rile him up and see if you can have him a moaning mess under you.

“Mark, Mark.” Youngjae taps on the shift button repeatedly, moving his cursor to hide his character from the opponents. “They’re just behind the truck.”

“Jaebeom hyung, can you sit down for once?” Yugyeom whines into the microphone, annoyed by the fact that Jaebeom is going to expose their location.

Jaebeom on the other hand is hiding behind a tree, reloading his bullets into the weapon. “Shut up, Yugyeom. I’ve been playing this game longer than you’re born.”

“Shut the crap. You are still learning how to write when I was born.”

“That doesn’t mean anything.”

“It does.”

“Okay I see someone moving.” Youngjae interrupts their bickering, moving out of his hideout to a safe place. He wants a chicken dinner tonight and he’s not going to let anyone ruin the fun for him. “I can see his head….”

A shot is fired and Youngjae screams in triumph, successfully eliminating the annoying opponent that has been trying to kill his teammates. As usual, Youngjae being the expert one among them and Mark comes second while Yugyeom and Jaebeom casually got killed and left both of them alone to carry the team. Youngjae had to be satisfied with the squad because at least, they know how to play. If he asked Bambam or Jinyoung to play with him, nevermind. Oh Jackson? Not even a chance. That man doesn’t know how to stop once he starts working.

“Have anyone heard from Jackson hyung?” Youngjae asks, moving his character to steal the weapons and other things from the dead bodies. “It’s been a month since I heard about him.”

“Yeah.” Jaebeom answers distractedly, still trying to load his weapon. “Last time I heard, he’s still in China.”

The door creaks open and if Youngjae doesn’t have one of his ears free from the headphone, he might not have heard the sound. It’s very discreet, very soft as if someone is sneaking into the room. Not that Youngjae knows anyone that is able to sneak into his gaming room without his permission.

Ah yes. Except this one.

“What are you-- what?” Youngjae’s jaw hangs open by the time he tears his vision from the screen to you, standing in your glory right a meter away from him. 

“Why? What happened? Is y/n there?” jaebeom.

“Not really a problem though. Can I say hi to y/n?” yugyeom.

“I can see someone coming, guys.” Mark.

Youngjae doesn’t know if he wants to laugh or to cry. You’re standing about a few feet away from him, in an attire that is foreign to his eyes but absolutely gorgeous, sexy, deathly- did he say deathly? -- and fuck you look so fucking sexy. Your satin gown is modest yet slutty, exposing your chest and only covers half of your breast, the only thing that probably holds the placket of your robe is the three little buttons on your navel which threatens to burst.

Shit.

Something comes to his mind and right when he recognises your outfit, a certain name slips through his lips. “Esdeath.”

“Es- what?” Jaebeom asks, still distracted by the incoming attack from the enemies. 

“Esdeath?” Yugyeom on the other hand, successfully shot the new incomer and went into hiding while still focusing on the topic. “Esdeath as in the Esdeath in Akame Ga Kill?”

“Esdeath visited you?” Jaebeom mutters incredulously through the microphone. Youngjae can see that he’s squinting at the screen, probably trying to see the ‘Esdeath’ he mentioned. “You’re talking nonsense.”

“What- what are you doing?” this time Youngjae totally feels like crying. He forgot that he’s video conferencing to play PUBG and the possibility of his friends watching this through their screen frightened him. Muting the microphone, he looks at you again with mixed expression. “Baby, what are you doing?”

His voice sounds desperate and you haven’t even started anything yet. Yet. 

You let Youngjae’s eyes wander from your collarbone, down to the valley of your breast and to the buttons on your navel and further until his eyes fly to meet yours again, lust clouding his mind. You can see his pupils dilate, eye blown and breathless. 

It’s fun to see him affected. It makes you feel powerful. It makes you feel extremely satisfied.

Perhaps this is what Youngjae has always been feeling whenever he dominates you during sex.

“Baby?” he calls out again, desperate to know what you had in mind. 

Your eyes zeroed on the growing tent under his pants, it’s evident that Youngjae is already half-hard.

“I just want to ruin your mind tonight.” the immediate satisfaction fuels your desire to make Youngjae bend for you after watching his reaction. Youngjae is, what you can make out right now, utterly speechless. 

“I- I don’t understand- wait-,” as Youngjae stutters with his words, you’re already kneeling on the floor, pulling his gaming chair facing the pc again, slotting yourself between the table and Youngjae’s inviting man spread. 

“There is nothing for you to understand.” you utter while the tip of your fingers play with the string of his sweatpants. Youngjae’s eyes follow your hand down, his breath hitches as you press your palm on his hardening cock, giving him a firm grip. His moan almost comes out as a whimper, grimacing at the slightest contact as he tries not to show it on his face. 

“Youngjae?” Mark calls, snapping Youngjae out of his trance. He scrambles to switch the microphone on, just in time you pull down his pants, exposing his cock to your eager eyes.

The coolness of your palm wraps around his cock and the way you grip him makes Youngjae hisses in pain and pleasure, enough to elicit a curse out of him. “Fuck.”

Yugyeom quickly detects the change in Youngjae’s mood, asking him if he is fine and able to continue the game. And in all honesty, Youngjae wanted to leave the game the moment you walk in with the outfit, the fucking sexy outfit. He can’t describe how turned on he was, seeing you almost naked with that Esdeath cosplay.

“One moment, Gyeom-ah.” Youngjae is about to reply when you tug on his shirt, wanting to say something to him. “What is it, sweetheart?”

For the third time of the night, Youngjae wants to cry out loud. You are sitting under his table in that robe, your breast threatening to burst out of the tight material and fuck- Youngjae is so fucking hard. 

“Let’s make a deal. If you can finish the game quietly while I suck you,” your aura is absolutely different tonight, Youngjae realises that. You’re more dominating and goodness gracious, Youngjae have no problem with that. You’re so hot and Youngjae would give anything for you to suck him. “I’ll let you rip this robe off me and fuck me senseless.” 

Youngjae’s eyes widen at your suggestion. You’re making a deal with him? For what?

“And what if I can’t?”

“Well, if you can’t,” you drag your nail along his shaft, sending shivers up his spine. “Then you’ll let me ride you. Let me fuck myself on your cock.” you challenge him, holding his cock towards your lips, sucking his head lightly. Saltiness of his pre-cum invades your taste bud and you’re now addicted, wanting more of his cock. 

Youngjae inhales a deep breath, shifting in his place before unmuting his microphone, resuming his attention to the game.

Oh, bring it on.

“Youngjae, why are you so slow?” Jaebeom asks, running towards the unidentified dead bodies. He starts collecting the weapon and life stock while Youngjae’s game character stops in the middle of the track as if it’s malfunctioning. Technically, the owner of that character is, indeed, malfunctioning.

Youngjae’s breath labored as you continued to bob up and down his length, fisting his cock from the base and stroking his scrotum. It’s hard not to moan. Youngjae has been enduring your teasing quite good so far, only occasional hiccups and soft whines escapes from him and went unnoticed by other members. 

Youngjae has long given up to switch his microphone from mute to unmute then to mute again, he now resorts to detaching his headphone away from his head after muting the microphone so he won’t have to hear anything.

“Baby.” he whines, hips thrusting upwards as you kitten licks his head and slots your tongue on his slit, collecting his pre-cums. Youngjae’s cock is dangerously red, as if if you try to lick him one more time, you’ll see blood. His veins pop up and paint his length angrily. “Please baby. I don’t want to play the game anymore.”

“Hm?” you ask, not quite hearing his pleas. You take him in your mouth again, going down on him until he’s deep in your throat, humming to your satisfaction. His cock isn’t exactly big but he definitely makes up for the girth with his length and his stroke. “You’re saying?”

“I just-” a loud moan escapes him after you deep throat him once again, hitting your gag reflex. Youngjae trashes in his seat, holding the back of your head gently but firmly. It’s too much pleasure for him you guess. “Fuck. fuck. Fuck. please baby. Don’t do this to me.”

You release him with a pop and watch his cock curves backward, smearing the mixture of his precums and your saliva against his shirt. You don’t care about the video conferencing at the moment, you just push him further from the table so you can stand up and straddle him on his chair. They can watch if they want to.

You tug on the string of your underwear, revealing your nicely trimmed pussy to his eyes. At the sight of your drenched core, Youngjae mutters curses under his breath, reaching a finger to your fold.

“Fuck.” he caress your fold with his middle finger, occasionally dipping it inside only to let a gush of wetness out of your pussy. “Fuck, you’re drenched.”

“Mmhm.” you agree. You’re wet from all the thoughts while you suck his cock, thinking of how good it would feel when you ride him. “Can I ride you now?”

“Fuck.” Youngjae’s hand grips your hip as he guides you, slowly sheathing his cock inside you at your speed. “Ride my cock, use my cock. Do whatever you want.”

“Oh-” you let out a long moan to the stretch of your pussy is extremely good, the feeling of being filled with Youngjae’s cock takes you to another level of ecstasy. Even though you have been fucked a lot, however, riding Youngjae’s cock is always, undefeated pleasure. 

“Are you being filled well, princess?” Youngjae asks as he’s balls deep inside you. 

“So, so full, Youngjae.”

“Goodness.” Youngjae’s hands roam all over your ass, then up to your navel, pinching your nipples through the satin robe. “You dressed up like Esdeath to have sex with me?”

“I just wanted to try a new thing.” You shift in your place and Youngjae’s tip nudges a certain spot in you, causing you to throw your head back, gripping on his shoulder tightly. Your eyes shut close as you start to ride his cock, feeling the bliss of his veins against your walls. 

Youngjae on the other hand is dazed with your breast, bouncing right in front of him. He reaches down and a quick flick of his thumb, your robe is open and you’re absolutely naked to him, at least. Your robe stays on your body but the upper part of the robe has slid down and exposed your shoulder, probably a good view for the boys.

“Look at these breasts.” he tuts, sticking his tongue to graze one of your nipples. It’s not a secret that Youngjae loves your breast and he probably has a fetish for your twin peaks. He always gives extra attention and he can go on for hours, licking and sucking your nipples.

“Want me to feed you?” you ask, hips moving up and down his length but you can always multitask, cupping your breasts and bringing them together, putting the nipples close. “Suck them, please?”

“Fuck. Yes fuck. Fuck.” he holds you by your waist, sucking your peaks alternately. Whenever the tip of his tongue grazes one of your nipples, your walls tighten around his cock, causing him to hiss in return. “You’re really enjoying this, huh?”

You nod, impaling yourself on his cock. You’re getting tired and you don’t really feel your legs so your movement starts to falter, slowing down after a few while. “Jae…”

“Tired?” he chuckles, tapping your ass as you nod to his question. As much as you enjoy riding him, you have to admit that your stamina would never surpass Youngjae’s. 

Youngjae lifts you in his arms and just like that, his dominant side appears again. Bringing you to the bed, Youngjae manages to press his cock deeper inside you, making you moan all the way. 

“Look at you.” he tuts when you’re spread on the bed, half naked in your Esdeath cosplay. “So beautiful.”

“So fucking sexy.”

“The death of me.” Youngjae’s hand trails up your leg, past your navel and cups your breast, pinching and rolling your taut bud. You actually shiver at the change of his emotion, retracting to become the submissive partner like you always did.

“Youngjae.”

“Hm?”

“Fuck me.” you plead, whispering as if someone will hear you. Ironic, you thought. Youngjae’s friends have probably disconnected the video conferencing because of your lewd moans and now you dare to whisper? “Please,”

“Oh yeah, of course my Esdeath. I’d fuck you hard and raw.” he promises, lining his cock at your entrance. “Be my guest.”

Copyright © 2020 jjpmoans. All rights reserved

[ Masterlist ] |  [ All Sins Week Masterlist ]

[domesticblisss]

Näher | PT.06

Walter x Female Reader (Nicknamed ‘Hase’) Mob AU! Rating: Mature (Minors DNI) Word Count: 2186 Warnings: Angst, smut and fluff, the holy trinity. Alcohol mention, annoying dude at a bar. Oral (female receiving), fingering, PiV. Summary: Hase and Walter has to stay away from each other for over a year. A/N: Blame Walter’s appearances on NXT and NXT UK this week. Pt.01 | Pt.02 | Pt.03 | Pt.04 | Pt.05

I haven’t seen Walter in over a year. Shit went down with Bobby Gunns’ gang and he made Axel, Fabian and Alex flee with me to the US, to Florida of all places. It has been the worst 483 days of my life. I haven’t spoken to him since he made me leave, no “goodbyes”, no “I see you laters”, no “I love yous”, only a “You’ve got 30 minutes to pack your stuff. Axel is going to help you and Fabian and Alex will be waiting for you in the car.” It was the most silent and nerve wrecking car ride ever. Alex’s knuckles were whiter than usual from how tight his grip on the steering wheel was, Axel’s legs bounced nonstop, and I am pretty sure Fabian was saying a prayer in italian under his breath. My nerves got the best of me and my incessant questioning started. “What is going on?” Silence “Where are we going?” Silence “Why isn’t Walter with us?” Silence “Is everything ok?” “Will you shut the fuck up?” Fabian yelled from the front seat, earning a smack on the head from Axel, who sat by my side in the back. “There’s no need to talk to her like that, Fabian.” Alex, always the voice of reason, started. “Hase, I’m sorry about peanut head over here and everything that’s going on. Do you remember Jurn?” I nodded. “He turned on us. He works for Gunns and somehow made his way into our business. Walter found out but he was still able attack the office by the docks and we lost a few men. Gunns was planning on going after you to get to Walter.” “Oh.” I couldn’t say anything else and I felt Axel’s hands in mine, squeezing it tightly. A few minutes passed before I was able to open my mouth again. “Is Walter okay?” “Yeah, he’s fine. He has some stuff to solve but he’s fine. Don’t worry about him.” it was Axel’s turn to answer me. “Where are we going?” “Florida.” “Why?” “We’ve got business there too and it’s safer.” I could fell the tiredness coming from Axel’s voice. “Hm, okay. Is Walter going to meet us there?” “I don’t know. At least not right now, he’s going back to Austria for a little while.” “What about Tim?” “You know how loyal Tim is to Walter. He’ll just go wherever Walter goes.” I could only nod. The last 10 minutes of the car ride and the 14+ hour plane trip were made in complete silence. ------ It has been 483 days since I have last seen Walter or even heard his voice. In the beginning, I would bombard the boys with questions daily, asking if I could call him – which the answer was always no – asking if he was ok, asking when he was coming to meet us or how was the businesses. My constant running around to only be met with dismissiveness from his side and vague answers from the boys started to get tiring and I lost my will by the fourth month. The three of them were kind enough to not force me to talk about him anymore and were always finding a way to slip a little info here and there during conversations for me to catch on. Tim came to be with us around the six-month mark and brought with him the copy of The Rolling Stones’ Aftermath vinyl Walter and I would always listen to after a hard day, me either sitting on his lap or us dancing around his library when “Under My Thumb” came on. Inside the vinyl case was a letter handwritten by him, ever the man of few words, the letter was as short as I would imagine a letter written by Walter would be.

“Hase,

I am deeply sorry about how fast everything happened and that I couldn’t even say a proper goodbye.

I wouldn’t be able to forgive myself if you got hurt because of me and I am sorry for not calling you, but this is for the best as of right now.

Things are getting better around here, and we will see each other again someday.

I hope this record brings you good memories and makes your days a little better like it used to when we had each other.

Love, yours forever,

Walter.”

“Someday”. What the fuck was “someday” supposed to mean?

------

I left the house a couple of weeks after Tim arrived, all their presences and Walter not being there was getting to be unbearable, as they were acting as if I was this fragile object that would break at any given point. So, for the sake of my mental health, I decided to leave the house and rent a place for me in downtown Miami and opened a record store to keep my mind occupied since the boys already had people running their businesses around here, only calling me in when they needed a second opinion.

It wasn’t like I stopped seeing them, at least one of them would go everyday to the store and Fridays were the days where we would get together to drink, eat and talk all night long. Besides that, my days simply consisted of yoga, working out when I felt like, looking out for the store, and going out for drinks at night to the bar on the street corner of the store.

The Bar is owned by Gus and Angela, a couple in their fifties that have known each other since high school. The nicest people I have ever met, they took me under their wings on the first night I went there. They saw how down I was and started talking to me, asking about “what is making a sweet angel like you hurt like this?” and I told them everything. I probably shouldn’t but I am sure Walter isn’t the most dangerous and “issues with the law heavy” person they got to know. Every night since then, they made sure my favourite spot on the counter was free for whenever I arrived, that my favourite drink was on stock and, of course, that I didn’t drink too much, that no assholes got into funny business with me and that I arrived home safe.

Today was supposed to be another one of those nights. It was way busier than usual, but my seat was still free, and my drink was there waiting for me, being super crowded, they couldn’t give me the attention they always did.

I barely sat on the stool and I could feel eyes staring at me from my left side. I turned around to be met with blue blood shot eyes, messy, bleached, and drier than the Sahara Desert blonde hair.

“Hey, peach. What is a sweet thing like you doing here?” the man asked.

“Drinking.”

“Yeah? Me too! I’m Dolph, what can I get you?”

“I’m good. Thanks.”

“C’mon sweetheart,” he got up to stand closer to me, his hands touching my hair as he spoke up again “order something, it’s on me. Let’s have some fun.”

“I’m good, dude. Thanks again.” I told him and as I turned to face my right side, I felt his hand grab my left arm.

“I said, let’s have some fun you little b–“ he was cut off by a too familiar voice.

“I think she said no, weichei.”

“Walter?”

“Geht es dir gut, Hase?” he said as he came to my side and I could only nod.

“Oh, I see. So, this is your type, huh? You little sl-“ Walter cut the Dolph guy off once again, this time by punching his nose. The whole bar stopped, and Angela came to me to know what was going on.

“Is everything ok, dear?”

“Yes, I’m so sorry, Angie. This dude was bothering me but it’s fine now. This is Walter by the way.” I look behind me to see him greeting her with a wave and that stupid childish grin he gets on.

“Oh, now I understand you, darling. Go, just go and leave it to us to take care of this loser.”

Luckily, Walter’s car was parked right out of the bar so the walk to it wasn’t long. I could feel him right behind me, his hand finding its way to the small of my back, only to have me walking a little faster so I can get away of his touch.

The air inside the car felt thick with tension that seemed one sided when Walter slowly typed my address on the navigation system.

“How do you know my address? Wait, that’s a stupid question. Of course you know it. Axel gave it to you, right?”

“Yes.”

The 10-minute ride felt like an hour long. I couldn’t say anything, and Walter knew better than to try and strike a conversation like nothing happened. Both of my legs were bouncing nonstop, and Walter gave in to his default reaction to when I got like this: he put his hand on my knee and squeezed it, knowing that it usually calmed me down.

“Please don’t touch me.”

He was quick to comply.

It didn’t take us too long to get to the apartment and I wordlessly told him to get in.

“This is a nice place.”

“Yeah.”

“Feels like you.”

“God, Walter. Cut the fucking small talk.” I snapped.

“What do you want me to say?”

“What do I want you to say?! I had to fucking flee Germany and leave you behind. I stayed one year and three months with no contact with you whatsoever. One year and three months without hearing your voice, without seeing you, having to beg to one of the guys to give me any sort of information on you and you are asking me what I want you to say? Are you really that out of touch?”

“I’m sorry.”

“That’s it? You’re sorry? Fuck! I hate you! I hate you, I hate you, I hate you!” I kept repeating those words while slapping his chest only to be stopped by having him hold my wrists and bring me closer to him.

“Again, I’m sorry. I didn’t want it to be this way.” I didn’t let him continue and kissed him.

His hands immediately left my wrists, one of them grabbing me by the back of my hair and the other going straight to my waist, bringing me even closer to him, as if that was possible.

He backed me up on the kitchen doorway, his hands working quickly to take all the layers of fabric that got in our way and as soon as my pants hit the floor, he got on his knees and started eating me out.

It is like he had a map of my body memorised on his head. He knew exactly where to bite on my thighs, the exact pressure to apply on my clit when he was sucking it and how I liked my nipples to be played with. I broke down when he got two thick fingers inside of me. He got up and held me after I stopped spasming, the high too big after one year getting by with my trusty vibrator. He held me tight, as if, if he let me go, I would disappear.

“Are you ok?”

“Mhm” I nodded and let out a shaky laugh.

“Wanna keep going?”

“Please!”

He guided us to my couch, sitting down and pulling me to his lap.

“Go on, use me as your will.” He offered.

I sank down onto his shaft slowly, getting used to the thickness of it once again.

“You used to be faster at this.” He mocked me.

“I haven’t fucked anyone in a year, give me a break.”

“Don’t you have a vibrator?”

“I do and he’s not as big and thick as you.”

“Good.”

I started riding him slowly, each up and down motion bringing me closer to bottoming him out. I held on to his hand, which he brought to his lips and started kissing each fingertip, murmuring “I love you” after every kiss.

His breathing got uneven as my movements became more erratic, his thrusts got faster, meeting mine halfway. It wasn’t long before we came together.

I got off from his lap and laid down on the couch, panting. He took this as an opportunity to grab us some water in the kitchen, and when he came back, he laid on top of me.

We stayed quiet for a few minutes, only staring at each other. He had the same look of adoration he gave me the first time I ran into him with Axel on the grocery store.

“What?” I broke the silence.

“I love you.”

“I love you too.”

“I am truly sorry that everything happened like this. I never meant to stay away from you this long, but you know Bobby was a dangerous guy and I had to take precautions. I promise you this will never happen again and that I will never leave you again.”

“Promise?”

“Promise. Never again. I’m all yours.”

 ------

Translations

Weichei: Wimp

Geht es dir gut, Hase?: Are you ok, Hase?

→

[ganymedesclock]

          “A dragon! A dragon in the castle!”

          As if it weren’t awful news, every gossip in town flocked to the well, chattering like so many birds before a tray of seeds.

          “I heard it was a kitchen fire-”

          “A kitchen fire up the royal tower? I pick berries up by the castle, that’s nowhere near the kitchens-”

          “Daft girl, I thought I told you to leave that be! You remember what happened to the old millet picker!”

          “The queen’s not going to cut my hands off over an apron full of blackberries, now, is she? They all fall to the ground, anyway, nobody minds them- sorry, what were you saying, Anna, about the dragon?”

          Anna bobbed her head eagerly, pigtails flying half out of her cap. “Edie saw it. She was emptying the chamber pots, and looked up away from the smell, and there it was- big as a tree and white like milk, swept right over the castle and out to the hills, and next she knew it, half the tower was burning, they had to evacuate the prince and all the lords, the smoke was terrible-”

          And she went on like this, in her squeaky voice, captivating everyone, so neatly and efficiently that they did not notice the washer-woman, whom everyone knew was a half-wit who could barely speak, put down her washing, stand up, and take off into the trees.

--

          Distances for a dragon were not the same as distances for a human, even if the dragon happened to be using small human legs at the time. A human’s senses were, for the most part, bound by two axes; up and down were only of so much relevance to something whose ancestors had disavowed themselves from both trees and the ocean some time ago. Up was generally more important than down, but either way, these things were governed by the ground.

          The average dragon had a lot more opinions about up and down, and Dethel, at this moment, was of the impression that she ought to be going up as fast as possible right now, but unfortunately, when the village was all full of noise because of SOMEONE, going up first required a great deal of forwards. So, forwards she went, pounding her sensible washer-woman shoes over small hills and across gullies and making quite a mess of her only set of clothes that she’d have to mend later, first well, and then badly, and it was really all going to be quite a mess, but finally there was the old stone wall that had meant quite another thing to the people who’d laid it originally, but right now it was just a convenient metric for how much forwards was enough forwards.

          Dethel split her skin, and tossed it to a low tree as if it were a blanket she might have been washing, and took wing. Shedding a skin left the body uncomfortably wet, but the sun was warm and bright, particularly as she crossed over the trees, and it dried her off quickly, back to the burnt and gilded shades of red she was properly. Now, the going was easy, and she was home in a matter of minutes, through the narrow cracks in the rock that had, until very recently, done a lovely job convincing humans that there were absolutely no caves in these mountains. “ESMER!”

          Esmer’s head snaked out, disrupting the curtains about her horns. “I thought you were still out,” she said, in the dreamy tone that was especially prominent when she had no idea she was in trouble.

          “I was out! I was working a perfectly serviceable job and now I’m going to have to contrive some reason I wandered off, all on account of you!”

          The rest of Esmer’s body trotted out to catch up with her head. Esmer was a very beautiful dragon. She was not, as Anna (or Edie) said, white as milk, but the pearly silver of twilight, ever so slightly violet along the ridge of her spine to moonstone colors along her smooth-scaled belly. Dethel was reasonably certain if there was a reason Esmer could be quite so dense, it was because she had been born beautiful enough that it distracted everyone from being mad at her. “Well, that’s fine. You should come, come see my treasure.”

          “Treasure? You raided a castle about treasure?” Dethel followed, incredulous, still spitting mad she reassured herself, but the faintest spark of curious. Also, one had to take initiative catching up with Esmer; Dethel was a perfectly sized dragon, but if there was one way the villagers were right, it was that Esmer was in fact very large. Bounding along to keep up with Esmer’s great, languid strides, she kept up her questions: “We have plenty of nice treasures. More of them than anyone else I know, in fact, because you keep going off like this, and I told you that you should talk to me about this, so we can plan it out-”

          “I remember!” And it was reassuring to see Esmer bob her head in faint sheepishness. “And I know. I didn’t mean to make any sort of trouble.”

          Dethel sighed, long, and hard, but there weren’t any cinders to it. “I know. You never mean to.”

          “And I’ll take responsibility for this, like always. I just… this is different, alright? You really have to come see.”

          “I’m coming. I’m seeing.”

          They moved past the lying room, Esmer making a short hop and Dethel a much longer one to reach the landing up to the observatory. That gave Dethel a bit of pause, internally if not externally; the observatory was Esmer’s most special room, besides the library.

          Maybe it really was something special or different-

          -Dethel snapped that thought up like it was a stray sheep on a cliff’s edge. No, absolutely not, she was being cross with Esmer first. She was not going to forgive her for everything, especially when this could create a horrible amount of trouble for the both of them…

          And, yet, it was hard to be mad at Esmer in the observatory that they had painted together, below the great telescope that had been so much trouble and bartering and arguing to procure, that she had been so delighted that she’d pranced all about the room warbling about the stars-

          -there were reasons aside from beauty, admittedly, that Dethel herself could not always stay mad at Esmer.

          Now, Esmer swept aside, piling her great length in several coils all about a side alcove that she had clearly cleared in a great hurry, shuffling other precious things off to the side to take refuge on other shelves. From this angle, Dethel could not see what was in the little box there, only Esmer’s delighted expression, but she had a bad feeling when she realized that the bottom of the box was curved, and that a moment later Esmer hooked the dewclaw of one wing ever-so-gently over the edge and began rocking it.

          Dethel climbed the shelf, and leaned her head over.

          “This is what you set a castle on fire for.”

          Esmer shushed her hurriedly. “You’ll wake it, it’s sleeping.”

          Dethel looked back at the doughy, squash-faced little mound of thing that would someday be a fully grown human.

          She looked back to Esmer, and lowered her voice accordingly. “This?”

          “Isn’t it lovely?”

          “Esmer-” a pause. Scrutiny. “Are you going broody over a baby human?”

          “It gets lonely here, doesn’t it?”

          “You are. You’re going broody. Blood of the earth, Esmer, you sound like my grandmother.”

          She looked back at the cradle. “What are we even going to feed it?”

          “Yes, yes, it doesn’t have any teeth yet, I checked. I’ll have to stew the meat, to make it soft enough-”

          “It probably can’t even eat meat yet, it’s not like a hatchling.”

          Esmer looked alarmed. “What? No, oh no, it’s- it’s biggish, isn’t it? Look, it’s the size of my claw-”

          “That’s little. Little for a human.” Dethel sniffed it, and the creature squirmed in its sleep. “Might be brand new. I’d say a month or so.”

          “What- but- how could they-” Esmer swallowed. “Dethel, you don’t understand, it was crying and crying- the room was cold! Cold enough for me to feel it, and they just left it there and locked the door!” Her eyes were wide and frantic.

          Dethel looked closer, and realized that the baby was not, in fact, swaddled in a blanket, but in one of Esmer’s tapestries. “We’re going to have to fix that,” she said, more making the note for herself than anything, “it needs proper bedclothes. And something to wrap its bottom in, before it poops.”

          Esmer blinked. “It’ll tell us, won’t it?”

          Dethel laughed until Esmer shushed her, and the infant shifted and squalled. “It won’t know it has to go until it’s gone, Es! Humans are completely useless for at least a year. We’ll have to get milk to feed it, and something to put the coals in to keep it warm, because it can’t touch those, and something to wrap its bottom, and a lot of those, because it’ll keep going whenever it needs to wherever it is right then-”

          She didn’t expect any of that would actually stop Esmer, but rather, Esmer’s resolve seemed to strengthen. “Alright. I can do that. We can do that. Better than leaving it there.”

          There was something behind Esmer’s eyes that Dethel had seen before, and that betrayed a truth worse than she had been expecting: this was not, in fact, a flight of fancy about a pretty trinket.

          Then the shadow was gone, and Esmer peered at her warily. “Er- what… kind of milk, do little humans need? Does it have to be human milk, or could we find a goat, or-”

          At that precise moment, the baby pooped, and, as that woke it up, began crying.

          It was going to be a very long year.

[girlbabyvelez]

Royals // Chapter Seven

Summary: Joel finally gets the letter about the wedding date and is on his way to see you while the King of Ecuador finds out the truth about you and your traitorous actions.

Word Count: 1.9k

Warnings: mentions of cheating, treason and murder

July 1

Joel, 

I’m writing with big news from Ecuador and some changes in our alliance. King Manuel has set the date for Chris and I’s wedding during the announcement of our engagement. It’s set to be on July 18 which is sooner than expected but it cannot be changed. Every ambassador and royal from South American countries have already heard and we need them ready to support Joel on the throne. But I cannot be married without you guys here, please hurry. 

I love you all. Mi familia es mi fuerza y los necesito aquí.

Princessa Y/N

Joel’s eyes scanned over the letter one more time, he was in disbelief at the notice. Joel should have expected that King Manuel would pull something like this, Ecuador was desperate as the situations between Colombia and Ecuador got worse, they couldn’t afford to wait any longer. Now he needed to pack and leave as soon as possible, he wouldn’t let his sister go through this alone since she was doing this for him. 

He quickly stood up from his chair, folding the letter back up neatly before exiting his room and heading to the throne room where he knew his mother would be, planning and talking with the nobles to sway them to crown him king. The corridors seemed long and winding but eventually he made it to his mother. 

“Mother.” He called her attention, every noble turning to respectfully bow at him. He smiles at them before his mother joins his side. He led her away from all of the nobles and deeper into the corridors, once he knew it was safe he turned to his mother and handed her the letter.

“The wedding is a little over two weeks away. We need to leave now.” Joel whispers to his mother as she quickly scans your letter. She shakes her head in disappointment before looking back at her son. 

“I cannot believe them. But you’re right. We don’t have enough time. Go pack your things mijo.” Your mother demands as she hands the letter back to him. He nods at her words but she continues her demands. “You are going to go with Israel. The nobles are still wary so I can’t leave but once they are married you will need to return for your coronation.” 

“She’s going to be upset that you aren’t there.” Joel whispers. He knew that it was a tough situation for her to be put in and if it wasn’t for the future of Mexico then your mother would be by your side. “I’ll be by her side the entire time.” 

“Gracias mijo. Give her my veil and love.” Your mother whispers as she turns to push him to pack but before he leaves she speaks again. “Make sure that she’s happy and protected Joel.”

~

The room was dark, private, and quiet as it always was when they met. They were away from prying eyes and eavesdropping ears that came with the castle and court members. This was the most lonely inn at the closest village which was beneficial for them. This was how they had been meeting for months, discussing their plan.

He knew by the placement of the moon that it was well past midnight and she would be joining him soon. The two of them had become as thick as thieves, planning the ultimate plan of sabotage. They each had their own reasons of course, she did it because she loved Chris and he did it for his country. 

“Salazar?” She whispered as she stepped into the room at the inn. He stood up from his place on the edge of the bed and stood up to greet the girl. He closes the door behind her and locks it, ensuring maximum privacy from the rest of the world. This still needed to be kept under wraps.

“Evalia. Have you heard anything?” He questioned as he led her to sit down on the bed beside him. She nods at his words and a smile crosses her face at the thought of the good news.

“The king is getting suspicious of you and Y/N. Just a few more sightings and he will know.” She tells him. She was close to getting you out of the picture, the plan had been working successfully.

“Okay. That’s good. And how are you doing with Chris?” 

“He’s still avoiding me. But once Y/N is known as a traitor I will be there for him.”

“You need to work faster Evalia. Once the alliance is broken, Colombia will move in. And we need to be sure that Chris will never be a threat again.”

~ 

July 3

The wedding was 15 days away. 15 days of your freedom left and each day seemed to be getting harder for you. Chris refused to leave your side whenever you were in public, it was his way to keep his eye on you and keep his parents happy. But what he didn’t know was that Salazar kept meeting you in secret, trying to get you to make the alliance with him. Your mind and soul were torn, you didn’t want to betray Christopher and the alliance you had for the majority of your life, but you also didn’t want to be trapped with Chris in a miserable marriage for the rest of your life. You had already experienced happiness with him and the pain he caused you took away all of your hope and happiness. So today you found yourself distracting yourself from your thoughts. You lounged in the library, holding tightly onto the book in your hand as you allowed yourself to be taken to another world.

“How are you doing?” You heard him ask which effectively pulled you from the happy fictional world to the terrible reality you were living. You sighed and flick your eyes from the pages over to Christopher, who was leaning against one of the bookcases with his arms crossed as he just stared at you.

“And what do you care Prince?” You retort before focusing on your book again.

“Come on, humor your fiance.” He walks over to the table you were lounging at and sitting before you. You roll your eyes at him but continue to keep your eyes focused on the book instead of Christopher. There was still plenty of thoughts and emotions to unpack with him and you weren’t ready. 

“I’m fine.” You lied but you couldn’t fool him, he learned how to read you over the past few months. But he knew that you weren’t going to be willing to open up to him anytime soon.

“What are you reading?” He asks, easily changing the subject. You just wanted him to leave you alone, you didn’t want to have a conversation with him. 

“Just a story about two lovers.” You answer quietly. He watches you for a moment, your eyes scanned the book in front of you and you looked tired and sad. He knew that it was his fault, the night with Evalia should have never happened yet it did. He just wanted to turn back time and make things normal, he wanted to relive the happy moment when you confessed your love for each other. 

“Can we talk?” He questions as his emotions run high at the memory. 

“About what? You made yourself pretty clear last week.” You snap. 

“At least hear my side of the story.” But you shake your head at his words. You knew that the only thing that would come out of his mouth were going to be excuses. You were worth more than that, you deserve the truth. 

“No. You don’t get to cheat on me then proceed to make excuses.”

“I’m not making excuses. Come on like you didn’t betray me when you went to Salazar.” He retorts. This causes you to slam the book down on the table and look at him with anger in your eyes once again. You couldn’t believe that he was throwing that in your face again when you would have never turned to Salazar if Chris hadn’t cheated on you like that.

“First off, I didn’t sleep with Salazar-” 

“No you just became a traitor.” He barks at you. You sigh and rub your hand across your face. You were frustrated and tired of this constant back and forth with Chris. You felt yourself slouch in the chair and look at Chris. He looked at you and he was instantly filled with guilt for snapping at you. You looked even more tired than before if it was possible.

“Chris why are you here? I just want some peace and quiet.” You whisper softly. 

“Because we need to figure this out. We will be tied together for the rest of our lives. We have 15 days to get it together Y/N.” He says truthfully.

“To get what together Chris? We can’t even have a simple conversation without being at each other’s throats.” 

“So let’s figure it out.” 

“I can’t. Not right now.” You say. He sighs at your words and you quickly get up without putting the book away.  “I need to go get ready for tonight.” And with that you left him sitting at the table alone, the book was now in his hand as he watched you walk away. 

~

The guard stood quietly, hidden in the shadows as he kept a close eye on you. He had seen you speaking to Salazar earlier and now he was watching as Salazar grabbed onto your arm and pulled you into another corridor. He knew what this meant and his duty was fulfilled. He turned on his heel as he walked into the King’s office, quickly bowing before stepping up to King Manuel.

“My lord. You were right. Princess Y/N is conspiring with the enemy.” The guard spoke once the King waved his hand, signaling he could speak. The King looked from the letters on his desk to the guard, fury crossing every feature of his face. 

“Bring my wife and son. We need to discuss the future of our alliance with Mexico.” He orders once he was able to fully process what this meant for the future of his country and the future of his son. 

“Yes sir.” And the guard quickly left, looking for the prince and the queen as quickly as possible. 

Soon Queen Yenny and Christopher had found themselves in the King’s private office. He sat tall and serious as he looked at his queen and son. And he held Ecuador’s copy of the alliance with you and Chris in his hands, holding it dangerously close to the fire of one of his candles. Chris watched in confusion at his father’s actions, wanting to step forward to ensure the contract was safe but his father spoke before Chris could say anything.

“The alliance is over. Y/N has been seen with Salazar on multiple occasions.” The King informs. “This is treason and a crime against our family. And she will pay for it.” Chris could feel his heart stop at his father’s word. Even though he should feel angry at you for continuing to see Salazar, he was scared and worried for you. His father would go to great lengths to punish you for it and he knew that his father would take your life for it. He still loved you, even if everything was hard and tense between you, he had grown to love you and that love never leaves easily. But now he needed to save your life.

-

Taglist:  @phanislife124 @bbyyelyah  @zabdisamor @xxxstormyninixxx  @babecita-1 @yashuazbabygirl @getmealifepls @cyaneaa @codename-nyx @cncoh-damn @mamacamacho @smoljoelito @itsmaytimetosaygoodbye @ladykxxx08 @la-undercover-latina @lostpil52 @undeadspazzattack @plentyoffandomss @babyyynatty @juneninetynine @cnchoe-imagines @valeriiaaass @moonlitzabdiel @damnthoseyes  @ourkarlanicoleuniverse @niallisworld @multi-fandomgoddess @california-creator @ ego-allie-bap @zabdicl @chellybear98 @sometimesbadalwaysboujie​ @estoy-enamorado-de-ti @nochillnelly @ericksmamita @cncoamor @you-kinda-smell-like-christmas @pizzaspirits​ @josiemara​ @deniseasonrisa @nqbmf @afro-doll @h-bea92​ @the-almond-dinger​  @miericksongo​ @cncosoftie​  @ohitsnicolexo​  @midnightjmadness

Note: if you still are reading this, ily and the next chapter will have more action hehe and it will be longer. Also an Hasta chapter is coming soon too hehe

[jojo-reader-hell]

Time to show you all how we do it in the pinta cuh.

Gwess x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Uh, I guess just Gwess being Gwess. I don’t expect everyone to assume she’s not going to be abusive.

Also if I catch anyone complaining about the Spanglish it’s going down and I know for sure you’ve never kicked it with the 90’s cholas in your entire sheltered life.

...

“Oye, listen bollera.”

“Told you not to fuckin’ call me bollera cabrona.”

“Cállate tu boca. Escucha bollera. Esa machorras, they do shit differently in the pinta. I worry about your ass because you don’t got one mean bone in your body. Shit, you couldn’t even stand up to the guera who bullied you in eighth grade. But I’ll tell you how it is in there esa. Maybe you’ll have the advantage since you’re going in a bollera, not coming out one…”

“What’s bollera?”

She butchers the Spanish, and all you can do is fucking laugh at her poor attempts. Your girlfriend frowns from between your legs, but you tug at her hair to get her to shut up her whining.

Saturdays, she always bugs you in your free time from writing to spend time with her. What the hell is there for two girls to do in prison on a date anyways? You can play cards with her in the yard, have her spot you lifting weights, all that shit gets old. Instead the two of you stay in, she begs you to baby her and brush her hair, and you oblige. Treating it like your grandma did and telling her stories while she made sweet eyes at you.

“How come you always talk in Spanish whenever you tell me stories about us meeting and falling in love?” She asks, pouting her lips up at you.

“Because that’s how it happened esa.” You laugh, tugging on her hair again and making her squeal, “It’s rare that I even get to act like this, not easy being trapped in the middle of two cultures and not getting accepted by either or. But with my babe, I can do whatever the fuck I want.”

She pulls on your jailbird blues, wanting a kiss but you make her wait. It’s just how that shit goes. You still hold grudges from the time she made your first stint into prison some bullshit.

“As I was saying mensa, as every corresponding event would prove in the future, it seemed Little Mosca was, for lack of a better term, entirely full of shit.”

To a point though, as you would later find out. But when it came to it, she didn’t know you or your life.

Never the less you’d have never thought your time in the “pinta” was going to be as smooth sailing as it was. You expected to get into fights, possibly be violated, become “somebody’s bitch” as they so eloquently put it in every fucking prison movie you could get your little pizza hands on. That’s what they told you in your friend groups too. Stop doing loca shit with the girls and go back to school, school girl. You should be at home studying fool. You like to talk about stupid shit like rocks and fucking video games all fucking day. You’re still a kid.

It pisses you off and only serves to give you a Napoleon complex.

Maybe if you had listened, it wouldn’t have gotten you into a case of wrongful arrest that not even the best pro bono lawyer could get you out of. You expected to have no one to turn to in El Acuario. Especially when you didn’t seem to fit in any of the stereotypical niches that came from being an outsider in some bad ass peckerwood lands.

Last name is impossibly hard for the white kids to say? Three strikes you’re out and a beaner. Try to bond with the other people of color? Let’s face it, even if you’re on the same short end of the stick there’s no spot in that long history of oppression for you homes. Speak Spanglish even though you don’t know all that much Spanish because your parents took “English Only” as law? Now every homegirl at El Super is taking the piss out of you.

But say you get grudgingly accepted by the locas, but they’re the kind of girls that sport hoop earrings, lipliner no lipstick, and a neck covered in hickeys? Well, you had the last part, but when the hickeys were from another girl it tends to cause a ruckus in the barrio.

You didn’t expect to be led to your cell and recognize nearly every girl already locked up in there.

“A la verga! Es La Bollera guey!”

“Sad Girl?!” you exclaimed at the voice, only to be jostled into silence.

“Shut the fuck up!” Screams the guard who is leading you.

“Orale bollera! The fuck are you doing in here homegirl?!”

“Let her go homes, she ain’t do shit!”

“Ay loca! The fuck did you do to get in here foo? Get caught eating panocha again?!”

“She ain’t do shit pinche culero! Let her go!”

But somehow against every barrier, life worked in its own way. You went to school, tried to keep it straight to fit in, let your energy help you to fit in seamlessly no matter where you went. But the homegirls always warned you to stay out of shit. Even though they all loved you anyway, bollera y todo, they always claimed you barely survived outside when it came to your sweet nature, how the hell were you going to last a day in the pinta?

The way they seem to want your freedom, it seems like you’re going to incite a riot among the chicanas.

You’re almost embarrassed. Every mom friend on the block seems to be doing time the same way as you, but the camaraderie doesn’t last too long.

So far the worst part of Green Dolphin was being arrested. Slammed on the hot hood of a police cruiser and cuffed, thrown around like you were a rag doll. Granted it wasn’t any fun having la juda sticking their fingers into where you didn’t want anyone except your future partner to, but that and the mugshot, it came with the territory. Eventually your homegirls do have to quiet down, not before reassuring you that they got your “esquina”. Well, now that you’re trapped in a six by eight cell with some goo goo eyed chick that acts like she’s la reina of the whole fucking place, it doesn’t seem like that’s going to be an option anymore.

Even better… she’s not even Hispanic or Latina. Her skin is pasty white and clashes with her blue koolaid dyed lips.

No matter. You know how to deal with the white girls too. That’s the beauty of being able to chameleon your way into any situation.

“Uh… hey.” You say awkwardly. “Nice to meet you.”

She doesn’t say a word. Weird. You have to scoot by her to take your place on the bottom bunk, about four seconds from opening your mouth to ask the dreaded ice breaker “what are you in for”, when she suddenly yanks you by the coveralls.

Oh… Oh hell no.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?! Thats my bunk-…”

Earrings off. Let’s go fool. It goes down like Diddy Kong, or more like Donkey when that’s just the type of punch she gets seemingly out of nowhere. You don’t have to turn around to know. She was fucked the minute she tried to get you.

It’s a matter of seconds, after you’ve floored her to the enamel first and pretty much sat on her chest, your hands and an unseen force have her pinned below you with your hands around her skinny guerra neck. The homegirls must have thought the screams were coming from you, because immediately you hear the banging of iron bars as your homegirls are coming to back you up.

“Oh shit! Bollera! Que esta pasando guey?!”

“Get the fuck off her white bitch!”

Their spring into action is stopped dead in its tracks when they see you’re strangling the girl on the floor. It takes them a minute to really comprehend the predicament you’ve got the girl in. When they only knew you from hang outs at Burger King or some dude’s house, they don’t truly know the reason that you waltzed in among them. Unafraid. Unyielding. They only know you that you’re a real loca to be walking around with girls who claim to be so.

They’re dead silent. Don’t even say shit when the girl’s turning blue. Not a word of encouragement or a “ja guey” to keep you going. But it’s fine.

You knock her back and forth into the enamel. She keeps trying to kick you off but her arms are pinned. You’re too far up on her chest, almost sitting on her breasts, smothering her down and punctuating every sentence with a jolt of her head against the flooring as you press down on her windpipe.

“Andale puta, you wanna play that way, I’ll play too.”

She’s blue. Turning the same shade as her lipstick. But you let her stay conscious enough to squeak out an answer.

“Here’s a few rules home girl, keep your fucking hands off me and leave me the fuck alone. I don’t give a shit about you, I didn’t get thrown in the pinta to get fucked up by some gabacha. But you wanna play that shit with me? Al rato bitch!”

“Sueltalo Bollera!”

“You feel me bitch?” You growl.

“Sueltalo homegirl! She ain’t worth it!”

“Let her go!”

“You feel me?!” You insist.

A squeak. That’s all you get from her. A small squeak of affirmation and you let her neck go, continuing to to make your bed as she flounders on the floor, totally ignorant of your homegirl’s gawking but feeling proud of yourself none the less.

It’s no fanfare when you meet up with everyone else later on. They tell you to watch your shit and to leave your cellmate at that. If word gets out, you might have a couple more fights at this rate.

But it doesn’t matter. Smooth sailing from now on since you stood up to her before she could get a hit in.

“You hit me though!”

“Technically that was my Stand that hit you.”

Those same blue koolaid lips pout at you again, and this time you lean down to give her a kiss right on her mouth. She squeals, its that same familiar sound she made when you had her pinned to the floor all those months ago.

“Yeah and you tried to knock my ass out too, but the thing I wasn’t prepared for was to meet someone who liked it like that.” You laugh.

Gwess just huffs, making grabby hands at your coveralls and begging you for more affection.

That’s how it goes in the pinta though. At least Little Mosca was right about that part.

[savior-negan]

Plotted starter for @lovelylostminds

“You gotta be kidding me.” Negan called out in pure frustration and threw the file of his new assigned partner on the table, while his boss only raised a brow in an unimpressed gesture. “I’m most obviously not, Mr Kanon.” the older responded and folded his hands in front of his face as he leaned back into his chair. “Where is your problem with Miss Romanoff?”

There was only a growl coming from Negan as an answer while Mr Jones just smiled self righteously back at him.

“Where my problem is? Where my fucking problem is?”

“Yes, Mr Kanon. I still think you’re able to hear what I say, don’t you? She’s everything you need. She’s capable, she’s well trained, she’s tough and her cold shell will be even able to stand your dirty tongue for longer than ten minutes and we all know how difficult that skill is to find.”

Of course his boss was right: in the last months Negan proudly managed to scare away five officers who were assigned to work with him and he just thought they finally would allow him to work alone since Jones was the only man left that could stand him. But this? This was definitely a new way of torturing him.

“She is a woman.” he spat out and pointed at the picture on the first page with his bared teeth.

“Yes, congratulations for checking at least the first page, that’s even more far than I expected from you.” Jones laughed to himself and got up from his chair to walk over to the cupboard and fill himself a glass of bourbon and if Negan wasn’t convinced all of this was a way to tease him by now, he definitely was sure now.

“This will not work out. I decline.” he stated and turnt around to leave, but if there was one voice in this world that was still able to reach him, it was from the last man alive he respected: Jones.

“You stop right there. You misunderstood me, Mr Kanon. This is not a choice. It is a decision. And it’s also your last chance. If you don’t manage to work with this lady, then I will suspend you. Once and for all.”

“You’re doing what?” Negan furrowed his brows and turnt his head over his shoulder. “Chief, I...”

“This discussion is over. Romanoff will help you work on this case. Everything you do from now on will be shared with her. If you have a problem, talk to her. If you need support for your investigations: you contact me. But if this woman will come to me tomorrow to tell me what a fucking bastard you are, then we are done here, Negan. This is your last chance. Take it or leave.”

There was nothing Negan could say at this point cause he knew that whenever Jones used his first name, he was more than serious and this man did so much for him during everything that happened with Lucille and their daughter Alice, that Negans last bit of a moral codex forbid him to contradict. With his nails digging into his palms he turnt around to grit his teeth and just as he was about to scream in frustration, Jones gestured outside of his office blinds where the lady from the picture was walking over the hallway.

“It’s time to meet your new partner. Don’t screw it up.” Jones warned him one last time before the door opened and a gentle smile appeared on the chiefs face. “Miss Romanoff. It’s so good to see you and you’re coming just at the right moment. This is Mister Kanon, your new partner. I’m sure you two will just match like ice on my whiskey.” To underline his saying he raised the glass with the brown liquor and took a sip, while Negans dark look wandered over to the woman now stepping next to him.

“Everybody knows you drink good whiskey without ice.” Negan mumbled to himself and forced out a “Nice to meet you.” in a sarcastic tone, faking a wide smile before he grabbed the file back from the table to gesture at his office. “Mi casa es tu casa.” he asserted with a teasing bow and stomped out of the room with a loud smash of the door behind him. This was fucking ridiculous. How could his own destiny at the only thing he had left be dependent on a woman he never saw before and now should trust so easily? His chief either followed a big plan here why he chose her, why he chose a woman, or he just had lost his mind to think that Negan could work with anyone.

With a cuss to himself he entered his own office or better said his new shared office and sat down behind the desk to open the cases on his screen, his eyes immediately catching the unsolved file about his daughter. He shouldn’t click on it and he didn’t. For the first time in months it wasn’t his first act to read over the clues for the hundredth time cause he knew Natasha would follow him soon and no, she shouldn’t know about this shit. This was his thing, his alone and if they wanted him to prove he could work with someone to keep this job, then damn he would fake it until they would leave his ass alone again so he could focus on his real goal here: to kill the murderer of his daughter. But easier said than done.

[virgil-is-a-cutie]

Alya salt Alya and class (except Chloe and sweet tomato Nathaniel) destory Marinette's sketchbook but shes doesn't care cuz it was 4 the class and consequences happen (based on unmaskedagain fictattered remains and broken dreams(yours not mine))

Screwing Up (You Did, Not Me)

This has light salt cuz I'm too lazy to to continue. If y'all want a sequel tell me.

Marinette hums as she put her sketchbook of her designs in a metal box with a lock in it. She had bought the small vault after Chloé copied her hat design.

Chloé still winced and gave her a sheepish smile whenever they hanged out at the bluenette's room.

At least she showed she regretted it honestly.

She was glad she got the steel box, it was something she was glad she got once Lila came into the picture. She lost trust in her ex friends a week after Lila came back since they easily followed Rossi without taking into consideration what she was saying.

Sure the class have only known her for two years, but surely they've heard about her the four years that she's been at Dupont since moving from America at the age of 10 years old.

They acted like friends, but they honestly saw her as someone to only do stuff for them.

At least some did a commission unlike others in the class. That made it easier to have separate sketchbooks for the class really.

She puts a white sparkly sketchbook in her backpack since Sabrina and her had been discussing the designs for the school play that she and the rest of the theatre class were going to put on.

At least the theatre teacher commissioned her early on and Sabrina and her discussed with Marinette on what the style of the costumes they wanted for the play.

Mylene had been kicked out of the theatre club as well the class after they witnessed her verbally assaulting Marinette, who had been ignoring the shorter girl by listening to a P!ATD song. Mylene had protested, but Sabrina had ripped Mylene a new one. She may not get along well with the bluenette since Chloé and her became friends with the bluenette, but she didn't believe Marinette deserved to be treated harshly.

She wore a baby pink sundress with a black motorcycle jacket with pink flowers stitched into it and pink combat boots with spikes on them.

She had started to hang out with Gina more now and her outfits have changed a little because of that.

She fixes her hair in a side braid before grabbing a granola bar and a yogurt cup before grabbing her school bag before heading to school 40 minutes early. She had a small breakfast meeting to get to before class started.

She met with Sabrina and the theatre teacher in the theatre classroom to discuss any alterations and last minutes things needed on the classroom, which were not needed much to Marinette's relief.

So when there was about 10 minutes before class was set to start she went to her locker and put up her small make up bag that just contained eyeliner and light pink lipstick and a few nail polish containers. She noticed she was missing a white sketchbook with the design of a rainbow poop emoji, but she shrugged it off.

It wasn't that important. Well it was, but only for her class really, the classmates that deemed it a right to use up her time among other things for free things that she really believed they didn't deserve.

She hums listening to I Write Sins Not Tragedies as she walked to class, softly mumbling to the beginning of the song.

Nathaniel was pacing back and forth outside the classroom, he noticed her and tried to talk with her, but Chloé grabbed his hand and questioned him quietly as to what was worrying him.

A few of her classmates had a shameful look on their faces while a few smirked smugly at her or snickered as she walked passed them on her way to her seat in the back.

She frowns upon seeing shredded paper on her desk, but realization struck her when she saw the cover of the sketchbook her ex friends ripped up.

Nathaniel and Chloé watched from the door with a nervous and worried look on their faces.

She shrugs and sings along to the song softly as she takes a picture of it, grabs the cover of the sketchbook, saving it into her backpack.

For fun reasons only.

She then sent emails to whoever she needed to before grabbing the shredded paper and throwing it into the trash can that was beside the corner in the back. Making sure to clean up the mess well in her desk, and goes over to the front of the. She wanted to see their faces as she told them that they all screwed themselves over.

Well... a few of them did really.

Nathaniel tried to gently grab her shoulder, but she waved him off with a soft smile. She took off her headphones, music blaring loudly out of it as La Devotee played out.

She turns back around before groaning and pinching the bridge of her nose before smiling widely to the class.

Her ex friends were very much surprised, they thought she would be crying, or screaming really. Even Lila was a little shocked at the biracial girl's reaction to seeing her ripped up sketchbook. She wanted the Chinese Mexican American girl to at least cry.

They thought the the

"Aren't you.... aren't you at least a bit sad dudette?" Nino asked weakly.

He wasn't close to Marinette anymore because of Lila, but he knew that Alya went too far in destroying the bluenette's sketchbook.

He was honestly debating on breaking up with her ever since she started to beg for more dates and tell him to drop their younger siblings off with Marinette, who he knew was possibly too busy to even do so because the bluenette always had her schedule in order.

Marinette breaths in deeply and makes a praying gesture with her hands as she does this before giving them a toothy and wide eye grin.

A very wide toothy grin with wide eyes that sorta freaked out a few of her classmates. Possibly even Lila.

"I cannot stress this enough... but y'all fucked up, pendejos. Pinche brutos," she said slowly as if to let them understand as if they were children.

Which they were, but more on the teenager part really.

Everyone gaped as the small petite bluenette cursed at them. Lila blinked in surprise before smirking smugly, hiding her smirk as she dipped her head low.

"I would be, but not really. Ya ni me va importar ese cuaderno," she says with a small tilt of her head.

Everyone in the class blinked, except for Nathaniel and Chloé. Sabrina stepped in a second later and paused to take in what's happening.

She was about to speak when Chloé shook her head, making her frown, but she stayed quiet.

Marinette raised an eyebrow, "don't really care for that sketchbook really. It wasn't at all tan importante. Not at all that important to be frank with y'all."

Everyone blinked in shock at what they heard the bluenette say.

"What do yo-"

"WHAT DO YOU MEAN NOT IMPORTANT?! IT WAS YOUR SKETCHBOOK!" Alya screeched as she stood up.

Lila flinched and winced at the yell since Alya sat very close to her.

"It was a sketchbook yes, but not one that would break my heart if torn," the bluenette said with a shrug which shocked the class.

"Wait what," Nathaniel asked in shock making Mari lightly giggle before giving the class a shit eating grin.

"The sketchbook with all the designs that are worthwhile and deemed good are locked away at home in my room. I stopped bringing it to school a month after the hat contest," she said as she looked at her nails.

"The sketchbook with a rainbow poop emoji is for this class specifically. Specifically for the class members who demand for things for free, as well as class representative things."

Everyone in the classroom frown.

"What do you mean demand? We commission you for almost a lot of things," Ivan asked curiously.

He may have stopped being friends with the bluenette, but that didn't stop him from paying a commission early than necessary for things he needed since not many stores carried his size.

A few others nodded since they always commissioned the bluenette as well order a box or two full of pastries from the bakery when they wanted to bring a treat to the class that they have Marinette bring. However, only a few froze and sunk in their seats little at the implication.

Marinette raised her eyebrow at him and gestured with a nod towards Mylene, Alya, Kim, and Alix who all just sunk down in their seats from being called out.

Lila raised an eyebrow at the people who got called out.

Rose frowns as well did the rest of the class, "wait... hold up-"

"Wait... did you all four expect Marinette to make your stuff for free?" Nino asked in disbelief.

"It's just that she desi-"

"It doesn't matter if she's a designer Alya. Marinette may not be our friend anymore, but even if she was it doesn't mean to take advantage of the fact she designs clothes and other things," Rose said with a disappointed look on her face.

"Wait-"

"Don't worry to those who commissioned me, I have your commissions on a separate sketchbook and you all did the commission online so you're all good. I just need to work on them so that they can be finished in the intended date."

"THAT'S NOT FAIR! WHY-"

"Césiar she is wasting time on making things that you and the other three useless beings don't bother to commission that make her waste tons of material just to make your useless asses things that honestly none of the four of you really deserve to have made," Chloé bit out icily with a glare.

"But it's just small things! A dress here, a jacket here-"

"Yeah posters really," Kim interrupts Alya.

Chloé raised an eyebrow and smirked widely as she stepped towards her ex friend.

"Adrien, do tell how much a custom made design does your dear old dad charge someone."

Adrien blushed and mumbled softly.

"I'm sorry what?"

"$9,000 and that was for a simple black pantsuit with a a red rose stitched in one pocket," he said out loud. The blonde shaking a little, he had arrived a minute before Nathaniel so he didn't know what was going on until the commotion started.

Chloé hums and looks at her manicured nails.

"My mother would charge up to $3,000 depending on the 'simple' dress Alya asked for really. Up to 20 grand for the dresses Alya and Mylene basically demanded from you unless she had to hand sow herself," she said with a smug grin to the two girls that basically demanded Marinette to make them skirts among other things really.

The two girls paled as they realized how much money they basically would've saved if they hadn't ripped up the bluenette's sketchbook. Even if they basically demanded it to be made by her.

Alix paled as she realized that she demanded Marinette to design her a suit simply because she hated dresses. That would've cost her so much more than a simple measly $100 that she had somewhere really.

"B...but I need a dress for a date with Ivan!" she gasps out with wide eyes.

"So do I! I need a new skirt!" Alya growls out.

"Yeah too bad so sad, but you two are not going to get anything because my commissions are already full really," Marinette said.

"B...But the school's basketball's team needed new uniforms!" Kim out.

"That is a ridiculous thing you had asked of me Kim, even your basketball couch was appalled that you asked that of me," Marinette said with a raised eyebrow to her ex friend.

Kim blushed at the realization of what was said, "but-"

"Either way I gave him the number of a really nice cousin of mine, Carrie Ross-Snell. She does design for a living, but it's more of a hobby in the side to be honest. She doesn't mind really," she mumbles the last part.

"She gave him a good price really," she said out loud.

She really was going to have to thank the stars that Sue had used the bunny miraculous to have Carrie be placed in a new home when born after The Blood Prom occured. At least Fu saw it fit for the girl and her boyfriend see their error of their ways and wanting Carrie to have a happy childhood. Which led her to be adopted by Ms. Desjarden.

Their future P.E teacher. Who later married her uncle Chris.

Thank god Master Fu had been in a America for a short while when that happened.

At least Carrie was raised with love and was cared for. Even if she was still a very shy person.

"Either way I can't work on all the things that were on that journal, there were too many last minute demands you forced on me. They're gone, as well as the other things that were on that sketchbook," Marinette said with a shrug.

"W...what about fundraisers you promised to help?!" Alix screamed out.

The bluenette raised an eyebrow and placed her hands on her hips, "I never promised anything at all Alix. You and Kim bitched about wanting help and that's it. I just told y'all good luck really," she told the now embarrassed two.

"B...but my outfit for Kitty Section!" Mylene cries out.

"Can't really work on it, it wasn't a commission, although the rest of y'all didn't commission for anything so I don't really have a reason to work on anything," Marinette said with a shrug.

The members of Kitty Section nodded, but then everyone who commissioned her froze. She had her schedule she stuck by so they knew she was already swamped and all internally groaned.

Those who never commissioned her didn't think what the matter was but remembered how much they had to have paid if they even ever asked for a commission.

They paled after that remembering what Adrien said.

The others internally groaned remembering that they had a few things they knew couldn't be worked on because they forgot about them.

Marinette shrugs, "I also had a few of the class representative things there, but oh well, can't do those anymore. As well a few things that only a few other people asked for."

Everyone frowned, but shrugged it off really as the bell rang for the school day to start.

Ms. Bustier walked in and sighs before looking at Marinette with a soft concerned look before sighing.

"During lunch class we will decide the new class representative. Marinette unfortunately has to pull out due to reasons," the teacher said with a weak smile.

Marinette smiles brightly at the teacher before going to her desk.

"What a shame, we could've gotten to go see Luther Inc. and Oscorp," she says to herself, but she said it out loud for people to hear.

All of them heard and felt their hearts break at what they just heard.

The class will soon realize that those who destroyed Marinette's sketchbook for the class fucked them all over.

Because not only did it have things for class representatives and such.

It had their schedules and other important dates that Marinette always believed and told them were very much important for them.

Something they honestly believed wasn't until the last minute and caused them to feel dread at the thought of them forgetting something or anything they had scheduled.

All because Alya and the other three decided to tear up Marinette's sketchbook.

The wrong one at that.

[ieattaperecorders]

Something’s Different About You Lately - Chapter 5: Gentle, Cheerful Lies

Some doors are opened. Others are shut.

Read on Ao3

Jon stood outside the gate, checking the address against what he’d written down. This was it. He was in the right place.

He looked at his phone . . . he was early, but not too early. He’d expected her to be there before him, and as he waited he tried not to run through all of the possible ways this might go wrong. She could have checked his background and realized something was off. The agency could have decided to send a different person. Worst of all, he might have simply remembered the dates incorrectly and come too late to intervene.

His attention was so centered on trying not to think about these things that he didn’t notice the car until it was halfway into the driveway. There was a moment of shock as the driver exited, giving a polite little wave in his direction. Jon had grown used to seeing that face twisted subtly, with features that swam whenever you tried to focus on them. She seemed so solid now, so real, and it was oddly disorienting. He found himself wondering if there was such a thing as a reverse of the uncanny valley effect, the distress of seeing something that no longer looks wrong.

She’s a person, you ass, Jon thought to himself. And you’re staring at her. Say something.

“Ms. Richardson?” he asked, as if he was uncertain.

“That’s me,” Helen called as she approached. “And you must be - - forgive me, I’ve done five other viewings today, just need a moment to remember . . .” she glanced down at her clipboard. “Jonathan . . . er, Smith?”

“Go ahead and make a joke,” Jon smiled as best he could. “You won’t be the first.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it," she smiled back, crisp and professional. Her smile was not wider than her face, and it showed an ordinary number of teeth. "Shall we take a look inside, then?”

“Yes, ah,” he nodded. “Let’s do that.”

The house on Saint Albans avenue was big enough for a family of five, and if Jon had actually been looking to move anywhere it would have been astronomically out of his price range. He’d worn his best shoes. Hopefully he appeared more financially stable than he was.

“Is it just you today?” Helen asked casually as they walked across the entryway, her heels echoing against the hardwood.

“Er, yes. Just looking for myself.”

“Just curious,” she replied, though he suspected she was trying to size him up, “I’ve mostly been showing this property to families, or young couples planning to start one. It’s a lot of space for one person.”

“. . . I think I’m going to need a lot of space,” he said distractedly, eyes sweeping the walls of the room as if contemplating its size. He was actually looking for anything out of place, unnatural. Distorted. “I, ah . . . entertain frequently.”

“Right . . . well, in that case, you couldn’t do much better than this layout. The living room flows right into the kitchen, and beyond that is an entry to the outdoor patio . . . .”

Jon nodded and followed her from room to room, doing his best to pretend interest in the hardwood floors and the amount of closet space. He spent a particularly long moment in the second story hallway, silently counting and re-counting the doors, finding their number frustratingly consistent. Before long the two of them had returned to the front of the house, tour finished.

Now what, genius? he thought.

He’d been given months to prepare for this, and despite running through a thousand scenarios in his mind the only real plan he’d managed to settle on had been “find Helen.” He'd hoped that if Michael already had an interest in her, his presence would be enough to prompt it to appear. Wishful thinking, probably. But the Distortion was by nature unpredictable, and any scheme that had depended on guessing its movements would have fallen apart all the same, leaving him with no plan at all.

Then again, ‘left with no plan at all’ was where he found himself now. He tried to focus on what Helen was saying.

“If you’re interested in putting in an offer,” she continued, “the office is just down the street. You’re more than welcome to take some time to consider, of course, but I wouldn’t advise waiting long. Confidentially, there are a few other buyers who’ve taken an interest, and if you want to act while it’s still on the market it would probably be wisest to put something in today.”

“That’s a lie, isn’t it?” Jon didn’t speak with anger or reproach, only the pleasant surprise of realization. His search for Helen had led him across a few articles on less-honest tactics that home buyers should watch for. “I’ve heard about that. It’s to press someone into making a decision, get rid of time-wasters, right?”

It was hard not to frame a thing like that against what was going to happen to her. Did it mean anything? There were so many people who, in the course of their job, were expected to gently and cheerfully lie to people. Push false claims, press on anxieties, exaggerate things. Day after day, twisting a thousand tiny falsehoods into their interactions with people, until no longer felt like lying at all. Did that feed Es Mentiras all on its own?

Oh. Helen was staring at him now, and her mouth was a hard line. Perhaps saying that out loud had been a bad idea.

“Ah, sorry. Forget I said that, please.” Jon took a deep breath. He’d run out of pretense and wouldn’t have much time before she shooed him out. It was now or never. “Tell me, have you ever noticed anything unusual happening in this place?”

“Unusual?” Helen looked uncertain for a moment. Then realization struck, and she looked like she might be disappointed. “Ah. You mean . . . ghost stories? Hauntings, things like that?”

“Sort of? Not exactly,” Jon said. “Look, I’m from the Magnus Institute. . . .”

“Ah. Yes. I’ve heard of that one,” the disappointment that had been threatening a moment ago now fell thunderously across her face, as she realized she’d been wasting her time.

“Yes, well, ah, I know it has a reputation - ”

“As much as I’d love to discuss the many, many unlikely haunted house stories I’ve heard in my career, Mr. Smith, I have other viewings today,” her voice was polite, falsely pleasant and sincerely firm as she crossed past him to open the front door. “If you’re interested in making an offer on this property, you have my card, but for now I really have to ask you to - -”

“You’re in danger.” Jon blurted out.

Helen’s hand hesitated just over the doorknob, and she glanced back at him. She looked wary, though Jon suspected he’d only succeeded in making her wary of him. He kept talking, speaking quickly, afraid if he paused she’d resume throwing him out.

“Someone is going to come after you. Someone dangerous. There’s a - a being that calls itself Michael, it might be stalking you already. Look, you don’t have to believe me now,” he held up his hands, “you can think I’m absolutely unhinged now. But if a strange man with straw-colored hair who laughs like a headache shows up at a home you’re selling – I - I don’t know. Try to get away from him if you can? And don’t open any doors that shouldn’t be there. He can trap you behind the doors.”

Helen stared at him. Jon lowered his hands and sighed.

“Really,” he said, “you should quit real estate all together. But I doubt you’re going to do that because a total stranger came by and started raving about doors and monsters. Just remember what I said, if he shows up?”

“. . . Right. Will do.” Helen’s voice was tight. She opened the door - a normal door, one that opened only to the house’s exterior - and gestured for him to walk through. “Good afternoon, Mr. Smith.”

Jon wasn’t sure he’d helped at all, and he feared he might have blurted out too much if any eyes happened to be on him. But trying to push it further would probably make things worse, he ought to just leave before she decided to call the police on him. Resignedly, he walked out onto the porch.

“Straw-blond hair,” he added. “In ringlets, and the door will be yellow.”

“Understood,” she smiled insincerely, eager to move him along. “Thank you for the warning.”

Jon didn’t look back to see whether Helen returned to her car after he left, or just shut herself in a house she didn’t own until he was out of sight. He stuck his hands in his pockets and began the long walk back to the bus stop.

* * *

It was almost a month later when he heard her voice again. Not the bright sales tone that she’d had before or the uncanny echo he’d grown used to. It was shaky, unsteady, with an edge of desperation that was audible even muffled through his office door.

“- -sent me down here,” she said, “I know he works here, I know it. His name is - is Jonathan Smith. Or at least he said that it was - -”

“There is a Jon here,” that was Sasha. “Are you sure that it was ‘Smith’ he said? Not ‘Sims?’”

“If you want to sit down for a moment -” Martin’s voice, it sounded concerned. “We can go talk to him. And maybe you ought to sit down either way . . . .”

He stood and opened the door to his office, looking out. Helen was standing there, disheveled, clutching the back of a chair like it was all that was holding her up. Sasha and Martin hovered around her while Tim stood at the back wall, looking as though he was considering whether to physically insert himself into the situation. When she saw Jon, Helen’s eyes widened and she pointed in his direction.

“There. That’s him. It’s you?” Her voice began as confident, almost accusatory, but by the end it curved into uncertainty. As if hoping he would confirm that he’d met her before.

“It’s me,” he agreed, nodding. He glanced at the others. “Thank you, Martin, Sasha. I can speak to Ms. Richardson in my office.”

Helen nodded. She took a deep breath and straightened her blazer, trying to regain some sense of composure as she walked. Jon stepped aside to let her in. The second the door to his office closed she turned to face him, not bothering to sit down.

“How did you know?” she whispered, deep creases forming in her brow. “How did you know it would be there?”

Elias is watching, Jon thought.

“It’s a long story,” he said carefully. “One of my staff had a run-in with this 'Michael.' I’ve been trying to see what I can learn and, ah, my - - my research led me to think he might come after you. I take it he showed up?”

She nodded. “Yes.”

“Did you . . . ” Jon took a deep breath, fearful of the answer that he already knew, “go through the door?”

Helen’s face fell, and that told Jon all he needed. There was a sinking feeling in his stomach as she continued.

“I didn’t intend to. When he showed up I remembered what you had said about a man with straw blonde ringlets. I didn’t believe you, of course, can you blame me? But I did remember. And there was something off about him, something unsettling. I told myself I’d let you get inside my head, I was only startled since he matched your description. That plenty of people have blond, curly hair, and I was being irrational. But then he spoke, and his voice,” her breathing slowed, her speech grew calmer and more rhythmic, though the fear didn’t leave her eyes, “it reminded me of having fevers as a child, of trying to fall asleep with my head swimming and- -”

“Don’t!” Jon said, a little too loudly.

Helen was startled into silence, the statement that had been spilling out of her cut off.

“Don’t tell me. Please,” he crossed over to his desk and took out a form and a pen, placing them in front of her. “Write it down.”

She seemed confused, but nodded and sat, picking up the pen. Jon supposed that he’d already given her one bizarre, panicked warning that had turned out to be true, perhaps he’d gained some credit with her. She wrote and he stood anxiously nearby, the irregular scratch of pen on paper the only sound in the room.

Elias was watching. His attention was always a possibility, the paranoia of knowing you might be watched no less maddening than constant and certain surveillance. But Helen would have caught his attention, and Jon didn’t doubt that his eyes were on them now.

He wasn’t sure how much Elias Knew. Not everything, certainly. If he’d known everything he’d have made an attempt on Jon’s life by now. While he lived he was both a needed component to the ritual and a threat to it, and Elias couldn’t possibly allow that. It seemed, then, that he still had some secrets. But Jon knew he wasn’t hiding his contempt for the man well, and the steps he’d been taking to stay human had become a silent point of contention between them.

When Elias noted that he’d stopped recording statements, Jon had spent an afternoon reading out a stack of nonsense and conspiracy theory that went straight into the computer. After a few weeks of that, Elias began directing him to specific statements, real statements, marking them as higher priority. Jon lied about recording them, claiming the audio files were corrupted and unusable. When Elias suggested the tape recorder that he’d been using before, Jon said it was broken. Which it was. Most things become broken when you hit them with a hammer.

It was a strange sort of fencing match that neither would acknowledge they were having.

A week ago, Elias had walked into Jon’s office and placed a folder on his desk. He’d told Jon to make a recording with him in the room, so that he could get a better idea of what the problem was. There’d been nothing hostile in his manner, he maintained a smiling, genial, let’s-work-this-out-together tone. But it couldn’t have been more aggressive if he’d walked in with a gun.

No unnatural hunger had pulled Jon towards the statement, that wasn’t there yet. But still, part of him had wanted to give in. Something in the back of his mind whispered that he could do it just once, just to satisfy Elias, get him off his back for a while. That he needed to or this would keep escalating. That it would be a while before the dreams began, before things would get truly bad. That he’d have to give in sooner or later.

He’d slid the folder across the desk, and spoken in a tight, controlled voice.

You know, he’d said, I’ve been thinking lately that I may not have been the right choice for this position. If you’re so unsatisfied with my job performance, maybe you should just fire me.

It had felt like a dare. He wasn’t sure what the dare was, since firing him wasn’t possible. Maybe he just hoped Elias would drop the pretense. Admit his reasons for wanting Jon to read statements out loud - to a recorder, a computer, an empty room if necessary - had nothing to do with document preservation. One of them would have to blink first.

It wouldn’t be Elias, though. He’d sighed and told Jon not to be so dramatic, that this was only a technical issue after all, and Jon’s overall work had been adequate. He said that perhaps he’d been micromanaging too much, that he would try to be more hands-off in the future. That he was sure Jon would figure out something on his own.

As Elias turned towards the door, Jon had been just foolish enough to feel victorious. Then he paused in the doorframe, smiling with knowing satisfaction.

Don’t worry, Jon, he’d said. I have every confidence that you were the right choice for this. You’ll take to it in time.

Jon had kept silent at that, sure if he said anything he’d say something he’d regret.

If not, Elias had added, pulling the door shut, I’m sure that one of your assistants would be up to the task.

And there it was. The threat that he’d been waiting for.

Jon glanced over Helen’s shoulder. She’d scribbled a maze of overlapping lines at the top of the page - a frustrated attempt to map out the impossible architecture of the Distortion’s hallways. He blinked, feeling ill, and turned away.

When he had the full powers of the Archivist, Jon had pierced the Unknowing and navigated the Lonely. Now he was so human that he couldn’t look directly at Helen’s drawings without his head swimming and his eyes going glassy. How was he going to stop Elias when he couldn’t See him coming? What did he think that he could do for Helen, already claimed by the Spiral? Did he really believe he had a chance of keeping anyone safe when he was so thoroughly defenseless?

It worries me, said a voice in Jon’s memory, when you do the whole ‘curse this flesh prison’ thing.

This was what he wanted, wasn’t it? To stay human? To keep himself as free of the Beholding’s power as possible? It was what he needed to do, or everything else would be forfeit. Being human meant being helpless. It meant being toyed with and taken apart by the uncaring world. There was nothing for him to do but accept that, and try to stay alive.

The pen stopped moving. Helen cleared her throat. “I’ve finished."

Jon picked up the small stack of paper from the desk in front of her. He had to read it, if only to find out what was different this time. Maybe there was something in her story that could help her. Maybe he could bring some insight to it.

The beginning was as she’d already described. Michael came to the house on Saint Albans avenue, and she dismissed her own wariness as a sign that she’d let Jon get to her. At least, until the door appeared.

For some reason, it was the color that scared me the most, she wrote. That you’d specified a yellow door. As if a blue or brown or white door appearing there would have been any less impossible, as if that one detail being wrong would have meant anything at all. I suppose it was something to grab onto, though, because it gave me the certainty I needed.

The man was standing between me and the stairs, which were the only way down to the first floor. Getting there would have meant pushing past him and I wasn’t sure what would happen if I tried, so I turned and walked into the master bedroom. Didn’t say anything, didn’t answer his question, just left. There was a tree that grew close to the window, and it was sturdy enough to climb down. No easy task in heels and nylons, but I managed. The man didn’t try to follow me. For all I know he just stayed in the hallway, perfectly still, where I left him.

I didn’t bother to cancel my other viewings, just got into my car and drove. I wanted to get home, to a place that felt safe and normal where I could gather my thoughts. But when I got to my apartment, the door, well, it wasn’t mine anymore. I’m on the fourth floor, apartment B. 4A was there. 4C was there. But between them was that dark yellow door with the matte black handle.

I didn’t know what to do. Obviously I wasn’t going to open it, but there was no other place where the real door, my door could have been. After pacing back and forth for a while and trying to get my hands to stop shaking, I called a friend who lived outside the city and arranged to stay the night with her. But when I reached her house . . . well, it was there too. It was the front door, and the back door. I didn’t dare knock.

I’ll spare you the repetitiveness of the next few hours – finding it waiting for me wherever I went, being dragged screaming from a hotel after looking down the hallway and seeing rows of identical yellow doors. I slept in my car, and the next morning I went back to the house on Saint Albans. I wasn’t sure what I was hoping to find, really. I just knew that if I didn’t want to spend the rest of my life out of doors I’d have to find some way to resolve this.

I kept seeing it in my peripheral vision as I drove. It was on every single building, except one. The house where it had all started. You’ve seen the front door there - it’s a very distinctive bright blue, isn’t it? I can’t tell you how friendly that color looked as I approached. In hindsight, I should have realized it could only be a trap.

She had opened what she believed was the front door to the house on Saint Albans avenue and found herself trapped in a maze of endless corridors. From there the statement became depressingly familiar - wandering, fleeing from a distorted figure, finally being found on the street and taken to the hospital.

“Er . . . yes,” Helen looked at him oddly. “That’s pretty much what happened.”

Jon blinked, feeling dazed, and only then realized he’d been reading the statement out loud. That . . . wasn’t a good sign. But probably nothing he could deal with at that moment.

“Have you seen it since then,��� he asked, “the door, or the man for that matter?”

“No. I’ve mostly stayed in my apartment for the last few days.”

Helen’s thin fingers fidgeted in her lap, knitting themselves together. The thing that took her and later became her retained that habit, but its hands moved in ways best not considered for long. Was there anything he could even do for her now? He’d tried to warn her and it had changed nothing but details. Even if she escaped his office unscathed, Michael could find her anywhere. He'd come for her eventually, someplace where Jon couldn't intervene.

Dekkar’s description of Bernadette Delcour as having ‘the look of an unfinished meal' came back to him, and he felt something fierce and stubborn rise. There had to be something. He knew so much that he hadn’t known the first time, somewhere in his brain there had to be something useful. Maybe if she wasn’t afraid . . . people who survive an encounter with acceptance and calm tend to do better. But fear isn’t something you can start and stop at will.

“I’m glad you managed to escape,” he tried.

“Yes. So am I, I suppose. But, look, you know about this sort of thing. This is what you study here, isn’t it?” She looked at him, “what do I do now?”

It hurt to see that look on her face – tired, strained and pleading. It was the look she’d worn the first time he’d met her, when she came in desperate for someone to believe her. Hoping someone else would hear her story, know what she had been through. She couldn’t have made a worse choice in where to tell it.

“Move on with your life,” he said after a moment, “and maybe consider a change of career.”

“That’s all?”

“You could switch to an open-plan apartment?”

She laughed at that, sharp and with release. “More or less have one already. I took all the doors off by the hinges as soon as I got home.”

“I think I’d have done the same.” He smiled weakly. “You’ve had a brush with something unnatural, and you’re still here. That’s not something a lot of people can claim. The best advice I can give you is to try and get back to normal. And maybe stay with a friend . . . being alone, obsessing over it, you’ll end up-” he was not going to say spiraling, “- end up tormenting yourself. Better to let it fade, until it’s just another bad memory.”

She was quiet for a while, then nodded slowly. “It was real, wasn’t it?”

“It was,” he said. “All of it was real.”

She took in a slow breath and stood, straightening her clothes, gaining back a sliver of the closed-off, professional demeanor he had seen in her a month prior.

“Well. Then I’ll - -” she sighed. “Suppose I’ll take your advice. Do my best to move on - -”

A tug of panic hit Jon as she turned to leave, and his hand shot out to grab her.

She jumped, turning back to him with surprise. Of course she was surprised. He was grabbing her arm.

“Sorry,” he said. He looked at his own hand and frowned. He should let her go. He didn’t let her go. “Sorry, I, ah . . . .”

Why was he grabbing her arm? He – he shouldn’t be doing that. It was entirely inappropriate. But there was a reason, something important. Something he remembered happening. Or didn’t remember happening. Or didn’t remember not happening? Helen’s confusion was turning to alarm, and he knew, he really knew he should let go. But why did he feel certain that if he let her go she'd slip through his fingers and dissolve?

He looked down at the piece of paper in his hand, hoping it might have an answer. His eyes settled on one word, and it fell into place.

“Ms. Richardson,” he said, voice low, eyes on the opposite wall. “What color was the door in your statement?”

Helen followed his gaze to the office door and gasped, as if only now seeing what she’d been reaching for. She took a step backwards.

“No. . . oh, God, please . . . .”

His office had one door. It had always had one door. The wall they were facing now had two, both painted the same dark yellow.

“Don’t open it,” he said.

“Of course not!” Helen snapped. “But . . . .”

“We can work this out.” Jon forced a confidence he didn’t have into his voice. He tried to remember what color his door normally was and came up blank. “These things, they play tricks on your mind, fool your senses. But it’s possible to see through them.”

“How?”

The doubt in Helen’s voice was painful. Lord, he wished he could see properly again. Just for one moment. But, no, Basira had done it without Seeing. She put her mind back together one brick at a time, with brute force, until she was able to walk out of the Unknowing. If it was possible there, it was possible here. They just needed something to start with.

He loosened his grip on Helen’s arm, reluctantly. It was a relief when she slid her hand up to take his, gripping it with a furious strength – he wanted to keep a hold of her. If he held onto her, she couldn’t slip through any more cracks. No, cracks was someone else, wasn’t it? The one who cleaned houses. Houses and doors and cracks and – focus. Focus.

“How many doors do you see right now?” He asked. “Let’s start with that.”

“One,” she answered. The quaver that had faded from her voice while they spoke was returning, as she stared at the dark yellow wood. “Just one. The . . . the same one.”

One door? That was wrong. There were two doors to his office. There had always been two doors.

“I see two. But both of them look the same.”

Helen swallowed. “How many does your office usually have?”

“I . . . I don’t know. I think - twenty? No, that’s . . .” he laughed nervously. “That’s way too many, isn’t it? That doesn’t make sense.”

“It does sound like a lot,” Helen agreed.

They stood in helpless silence for a while, looking from one wall to the other. Each one had a door. Some had more than one. Some had less than one. All of them had one.

“Don’t suppose you keep a week’s worth of water and camping supplies in here,” she said weakly. “Just in case?”

“Afraid not.”

“Worth trying.” Helen's eyes traced the walls. “Do you think he’s going to come through one of them?”

“I don’t think so. He might, but -” Jon frowned, trying to remember something. “But he wants us to open his door. It . . . choices matter.”

Choices matter, except when they don’t. Infinite tiny decisions and paths, countless choices with uncountable consequences. Wandering through life, stomping on butterflies.

“Focus,” he muttered to himself. “Helen – ah, Ms. Ms Richardson –”

“Oh, Helen is fine. If we’re going to die together we may as well be on a first name basis.”

“Helen, then. When you came into my office, what did you see? What was the first thing you noticed?

“Wh- I don’t know. Your desk?”

“Picture it. What angle were you seeing it from?”

“You mean . . . oh,” realization hit her, and she turned to face the eastern wall. “The front! I was seeing it from the front . . . so the door I came through must have been on that wall.”

“Right. We can ignore all the others,” Jon turned to face the wall with her. “It’s down to the three on this wall.”

“Four.” Helen corrected him.

“Right, two,” he agreed.

He closed his eyes, trying to picture the door to his office, the real one. It was light stained wood, unpainted, with a bright brass handle. That was right, it felt right.

When he opened his eyes, everything was clear. There was one door on the wall he was facing. Light stained wood, unpainted, the door that led back to the world. Keeping hold of Helen, he stepped forward to open it.

His hand closed around the matte black handle and turned.

Everything stopped making sense after that.

* * *

The door opened again in document storage and spit Jon out. He tumbled onto the floor, stumbling on his hands and knees. He was alone. The first coherent thought he had was that Helen was gone again. She'd been pulled into the corridors and he'd tried to keep hold of her hand, but it was impossible to hold onto anything in there.

A fever-dream laugh echoed from behind him. The Distortion hovered nearby, watching with an expression of amusement.

“That was a very stupid thing to do,” it observed.

“Give her back,” Jon tried to sound aggressive, commanding, but it wasn’t in him and his words came out like a whimper. “Y-you. . . you don’t need her. You’ll take other victims . . . you don’t need this one.”

“Oh?” It laughed, and his teeth ached. “Do you have anyone to recommend?”

“N-no, I meant. . . .” Jon swallowed. “Just give her back.”

“. . . No.”

“Hnn.” Jon found he was laughing, hollowly and without amusement. “You’ll regret that.”

“Are you threatening me?” It sounded entertained at the idea.

“No,” he replied. “It’s just a fact. Keeping her won’t turn out well for you.”

Michael said nothing. Jon stared at the floor, trying to get his bearings. Twisted afterimages were still swarming in his brain, and he felt exhausted. Without looking, he sensed the Distortion moving closer – the dizzy-sick feeling growing stronger with its presence. He grimaced as it touched one sharp finger to his head.

“Do you know that you have spiders in your hair?” It asked.

Jon felt his stomach drop.

“Wh-what?”

A door shut behind him, and he was alone.

[quixotic-writer]

The Impractical Gattosby: Chapter 1

~Oh???? My god???? This was fucking INCREDIBLE!!!! Thank you for this spectacular submission! I’m truly blown away! Please please PLEASE post this on AO3 or Wattpad because I want you properly credited with this work and I want so many others to read this!

In Murr’s younger and more vulnerable years his father gave him some advice that he’s been turning over in his mind ever since.

“James, whenever you feel like criticizing any one,” he told him, “just remember that all the people in this world haven’t had the advantages that you’ve had.”

He didn’t say any more but they’ve always been unusually communicative in a reserved way, and he understood that he meant a great deal more than that. In consequence he is inclined to reserve all judgments, a habit that has opened up many curious natures to Murr and also made him the victim of not a few veteran bores. The abnormal mind is quick to detect and attach itself to this quality when it appears in a normal person, and so it came about that at college, Murr was unjustly accused of being a ferret, because he was privy to the secret griefs of wild, unknown men. Most of the confidences were unsought—frequently he has feigned sleep, preoccupation, or a hostile levity when Murr realized by some unmistakable sign that an intimate revelation was quivering on the horizon—for the intimate revelations of young men or at least the terms in which they express them are usually plagiaristic and marred by obvious suppressions. Reserving judgments is a matter of infinite hope. He is still a little afraid of missing something if he forgot that, as his father snobbishly suggested, and Murr would snobbishly repeat, a sense of the fundamental decencies is parcelled out unequally at birth.

And, after boasting this way of his tolerance, Murr came to the admission that it has a limit. Conduct may be founded on the hard rock or the wet marshes but after a certain point he didn’t care what it’s founded on. When he came back from Staten Island last autumn he felt that he wanted the world to be in uniform and at a sort of moral attention forever; he wanted no more riotous excursions with privileged glimpses into the human heart. Only Gattosby, the man who gives his name to this book, was exempt from Murr’s reaction—Joe Gattosby who represented everything for which Murr has an unaffected scorn. If personality is an unbroken series of successful gestures, then there was something gorgeous about him, some heightened sensitivity to the promises of life, as if he were related to one of those intricate machines that register earthquakes ten thousand miles away. This responsiveness had nothing to do with that flabby impressionability which is dignified under the name of the “comedic genius"—it was an extraordinary gift for confidence, a type of shamelessness such as Murr has never found in any other person and which it is not likely he should ever find again. No—Gattosby turned out all right at the end; it is what preyed on Gattosby, what foul dust floated in the wake of his dreams that temporarily closed out his interest in the abortive sorrows and short-winded elations of men.

Murr’s family were prominent, well-to-do people in the northeast for three generations. The Murrays are something of a clan and they have a tradition that they’ve descended from Italian and Irish nobility, but the actual founder of his line was his grandfather’s brother who came here in fifty-one, sent a substitute to the Civil War and started the wholesale business that Murr’s father carries on today.

He never saw this great-uncle but he’s supposed to look like him—with special reference to the rather hard-boiled painting that hangs in Father’s office, sporting a shiny bald head. Murr graduated from Georgetown University in 1915, and after he decided to go to New York and learn the motion picture industry. Everybody he knew was in the motion picture industry so he supposed it could support one more single man. All his aunts and uncles talked it over as if they were choosing a prep-school for him and finally said, “Why—ye-es” with very grave, hesitant faces. Father agreed to finance him for a year, using the funds that would have otherwise gone towards purchasing for him an automobile, and after various delays he went to New York, permanently, he thought, in the spring of twenty-two.

The practical thing was to find rooms in the city but it was a warm season and he had just left a country of wide lawns and friendly trees, so when a young man at the office suggested that they take an apartment together in a commuting town it sounded like a great idea. He found the place, a weather beaten cardboard apartment at eighty a month, but at the last minute the firm ordered him to Los Angeles and he went out to the country alone. Murr had a dog, Penny, at least he had her for a few days until she ran away, and an old Dodge and a Finnish woman who made his bed and cooked breakfast and muttered Finnish wisdom to herself over the electric stove.

It was lonely for a day or so until one morning some man, more recently arrived than Murr, stopped him on the road.

“How do you get to Staten Island?” he asked helplessly.

Murr told him. And as he walked on he was lonely no longer. Murr was a guide, a pathfinder, an original settler. He had casually conferred on him the freedom of the neighborhood.

And so with the sunshine and the great bursts of leaves growing on the trees—just as things grow in fast movies—he had that familiar conviction that life was beginning over again with the summer.

There was so much to read for one thing and so much fine health to be pulled down out of the young breath-giving air. Murr bought a dozen volumes on motion pictures and cameras and they stood on his shelf in red and gold like new money from the mint, promising to unfold the shining secrets that only Charlie Chaplin and Buster Keaton and Rudolph Valentino knew. And he had the high intention of reading many other books besides. He was rather literary in college—not only was he an English major, but one year Murr wrote a series of very solemn and obvious editorials for the “Georgetown News"—and now he was going to bring back all such things into his life and become again that most limited of all specialists, the "well-rounded man.” This isn’t just an epigram—life is much more successfully looked at from a single window, after all.

It was a matter of chance that he rented an apartment in one of the strangest communities in North America. It was on that slender riotous island which extends itself due east of New York and where there are, among other natural curiosities, two unusual formations of land. Twenty miles from the city a pair of enormous boroughs, identical in contour and separated only by water, jut out into the most domesticated body of salt water in the Western Hemisphere, the great wet barnyard of Upper New York Bay.

Murr lived at Staten Island, the—well, the less fashionable of the two boroughs, though this is a most superficial tag to express the bizarre and not a little sinister contrast between them. His apartment was at the very tip of the island, only fifty yards from the Bay, and squeezed between two huge places that rented for twelve or fifteen thousand a season. The one on his right was a colossal affair by any standard—it was a factual imitation of some Hôtel de Ville in Normandy, with a tower on one side, spanking new under a thin beard of raw ivy, and a marble swimming pool and more than forty acres of lawn and garden. It was Gattosby’s mansion. Or rather, as he didn’t know Mr. Joe Gattosby it was a mansion inhabited by a gentleman of that name. His own apartment was an eye-sore, but it was a small eye-sore, and it had been overlooked, so he had a view of the water, a partial view of his neighbor’s lawn, and the consoling proximity of millionaires—all for eighty dollars a month.

Across the courtesy bay the white palaces of fashionable Brooklyn glittered along the water, and the history of the summer really begins on the evening he took the Staten Island Ferry there to have dinner with the  Vulcano-Quinns. Sal Vulcano was his former brother-in-law from when Murr had married Sal’s sister for three days, and he’d known Brian “Q” Quinn in his Monsignor Farrell High School days.

Sal’s husband, among various physical accomplishments, had been one of the most powerful ends that ever worked for the Fire Department of New York—a national figure in a way, one of those men who reach such an acute limited excellence at twenty-one that everything afterward savors of anti-climax. His family was enormously wealthy—even in college his freedom with money was a matter for reproach—but now he’d come to Brooklyn in a fashion that rather took one’s breath away: for instance he’d bought three cats named Benjamin, Brooklyn, and Chessie. It was hard to realize that a man in Murr’s own generation was wealthy enough to do that.

Why they came to New York, Murr doesn’t know. They had spent a year in France, for no particular reason, and then drifted here and there unrestfully wherever people played polo and were rich together. This was a permanent move, said Sal over the telephone, but Murr didn’t believe it—he had no sight into Sal’s heart but he felt that Q would drift on forever seeking a little wistfully for the dramatic turbulence of some irrecoverable fire to fight.

And so it happened that on a warm windy evening he rode the Staten Island Ferry over to Brooklyn to see two old friends whom he scarcely knew at all. Their house was even more elaborate than Murr had expected, a cheerful red and white Georgian Colonial mansion overlooking the bay. The lawn started at the beach and ran toward the front door for a quarter of a mile, jumping over sun-dials and brick walks and burning gardens—finally when it reached the house drifting up the side in bright vines as though from the momentum of its run. The front was broken by a line of French windows, glowing now with reflected gold, and wide open to the warm windy afternoon, and Brian Quinn was at the front porch.

He had changed since his Monsignor Farrell High years. Now he was a sturdy, dark-haired man of thirty with a rather magnificent beard and a supercilious manner. Two shining, arrogant hazel eyes had established dominance over his face and gave him the appearance of always leaning aggressively forward. Not even the effeminate swank of his newsboy cap and silk American-flag print scarf could hide the enormous power of that body—he seemed to fill those glistening boots until he strained the top lacing and you could see a great pack of muscle shifting when his shoulder moved under his thin coat. It was a body capable of enormous leverage—a cruel body.

His speaking voice, a gruff husky tenor, added to the impression of fractiousness he conveyed. There was a touch of paternal contempt in it, even toward people he liked—and there were guys at high school who had hated his guts.

“Now, don’t think my opinion on these matters is final,” he seemed to say, “just because I’m stronger and more of a man than you are.” They were in the same Improv Club, and while they were never intimate Murr always had the impression that Q approved of him and wanted him to like him with some harsh, defiant wistfulness of his own.

They talked for a few minutes on the sunny porch.

“I’ve got a nice place here,” he said, his eyes flashing about restlessly.

Turning me around by one arm he moved a broad flat hand along the front vista, including in its sweep a sunken Italian garden, a half acre of deep pungent roses and a snub-nosed motor boat that bumped the tide off shore.

“It belonged to Mrs. Calabash, my neighbor.” He turned me around again, politely and abruptly. “We’ll go inside.”

They walked through a high hallway into a bright rosy-colored space, fragilely bound into the house by French windows at either end. The windows were ajar and gleaming white against the fresh grass outside that seemed to grow a little way into the house. A breeze blew through the room, blew curtains in at one end and out the other like pale flags, twisting them up toward the frosted wedding cake of the ceiling—and then rippled over the wine-colored rug, making a shadow on it as wind does on the sea.

The only completely stationary object in the room was an enormous couch on which two men were buoyed up as though upon an anchored balloon. They were both in white and their clothes were rippling and fluttering as if they had just been blown back in after a short flight around the house. Murr must have stood for a few moments listening to the whip and snap of the curtains and the groan of a picture on the wall. Then there was a boom as Q shut the rear windows and the caught wind died out about the room and the curtains and the rugs and the two men ballooned slowly to the floor.

The younger of the two was a stranger to me. He was extended full length at his end of the divan, completely motionless and with his chin raised a little as if he were balancing something on it which was quite likely to fall. If he saw me out of the corner of his eyes he gave no hint of it—indeed, Murr was almost surprised into murmuring an apology for having disturbed him by coming in.

The other man, Sal, made an attempt to rise—he leaned slightly forward with a conscientious expression—then he laughed, a loud boisterous laugh that soon had him falling to the floor, and he laughed too and came forward into the room.

“Oh my gawd, I’m p-paralyzed with happiness.”

He got up to  only laugh and almost fell to the floor once again, as if he said something very witty, and held his hand for a moment, looking up into Murr’s face, promising that there was no one in the world he so much wanted to see. That was a way he had. Sal hinted in a murmur that the surname of the balancing man was Jost. (Murr has heard it said that Sal’s murmur was only to make people lean toward him; an irrelevant criticism that made it no less charming.)

At any rate Casey Jost’s lips fluttered, he nodded at Murr almost imperceptibly and then quickly tipped his head back again—the object he was balancing had obviously tottered a little and given him something of a fright. Again a sort of apology arose to Murr’s lips. Almost any exhibition of complete self sufficiency draws a stunned tribute from him.

Murr looked back at his former brother-in-law who began to ask him questions in his low, thrilling voice. It was the kind of voice that the ear follows up and down as if each speech is an arrangement of notes that will never be played again. His face was sad and lovely with bright things in it, bright green eyes and a bright passionate mouth—but there was an excitement in his voice that men who had cared for him found difficult to forget: a singing compulsion, a whispered “Listen,” a promise that he had done gay, exciting things just a while since and that there were gay, exciting things hovering in the next hour.