#i literally have spent the last three nights AT THE VERY LEAST wanting to fucking kill myself. because every single day its the same shit.

[seventh-district]

.

[sc0tters]

Littlest C | Alex Turcotte

summary: at the lake house is it finally time for you both to confront your feelings, or just remain roommates forever?

request: yes/no

trope: brothers best friend

warnings: minimal swearing

word count: 3.15k

authors note: I haven't written for Alex in a long time and I have to say out of all of the 500 celly pieces that were left needing to be writte, this was one of the ones I most looked forward to. Luke and Trevor in this might have been my favourite things to write.

You were always meant to just be Cole’s little sister. 

The one who tried so desperately to join in on those late night games of pool that the boys had in the basement. The one who remained Cole’s biggest supporter throughout his career and the events leading up to it. 

You were meant to be this untouchable entity that he had promised to protect with his life as you settled into LA. Now ten months in with you living down the hall in his apartment, Alex was ready to butcher that promise entirely. 

Not because he wanted to put you into harms way, but instead because he was craving your company in a way that would make Cole put him six feet under. Alex found you changing from his best friend’s little sister, who he remembered with braces and those godawful comebacks when Cole pushed your buttons. Now you were freshly twenty and in the thick of college, and a full on woman. Possibly not in the form of experiences but you had grown into your body and now had this fiery personality.  

You made Alex feel weak in the knees 9/10 times but as time went on, he knew he was fucked. Because for him, you were all that he wanted. 

So with the constant thought of Cole literally killing him, Alex started to pull away from you about three months ago. Sure he couldn’t make it too obvious as he still had to live under the same roof as you, but he started to realise that it was a lot easier if he spent nights away from you. Having a girl in his bed that wasn’t you, made it just bearable to push you out of his mind. And it helped that you were close to finishing your semester.

It was a plan that actually managed to work, or at least it did until the both of you ended up at the lake house, where the risks increased tenfold when you seemed to only pack swimsuits. This year Luke had invited you along as your brothers spent so much time together, it was only right that the two of you eventually became friends “Lukey!” Your cheered seeing the boy walk out of the house. 

His grin matched yours as he practically raced down the stairs, leaving his brother’s friends up on the porch “took you damn long enough.” He laughed pulling you into a hug “yeah don’t worry bout me, I’ll get all your damn bags.” Cole grumbled, breaking your hug as you tuned to look at your brother. 

There was a shit-eating look on your face “since you asked so nicely.” You joked taking your bag from the older boy. 

Alex stood on the porch as his eyes turned to a scowl watching the scene unfold in front of him. He was jealous of the fact that you seemed to be so free when you hugged Luke. The smile on your face as the boy nodded along to whatever you whispered in his ear “missed me Turcotte?” You teased now stood in front of your roommate. 

The familiar scent of your perfume was captured in his nostrils as he shook his head “please I get to now sit in silence.” His words were cheerful as you reached over to flick his arm with a scoff. 

It was masked by a grin that spread across your face “know ya missed me.” Your voice was soft as you pulled him into a hug, he knew it was wrong but he couldn’t help but want to moan at the smell of your familiar shampoo. 

The very same shampoo that he had used the last three weeks before he left the apartment because of how much he had missed you. Cole gagged at the sight “you want to let go of each other, or should we just stand out here all day?” His question made Trevor smirk as he saw how Alex’s cheeks turned red when he let his arms drop from around you as you rolled your eyes “don’t be jealous your friends like me more than you.” You were amused as Cole put his sweaty hat on your head which made you groan. 

That made the boy laugh “it’s good to be back!” Cole cheered as he walked into the house. 

Luke walked up and grabbed your bag from you “we are in a new room this time.” He was excited to show the girl the room as this year they weren’t fighting the other guys for the bathroom this year.

Trevor kept Alex on the porch as the rest of the group trickled inside. He had seen how Alex’s eyes didn’t seem to leave you until you turned to go upstairs “you sure you aren’t sleeping with her?” The question made the hairs on the back of Alex’s neck stand up. It was something that the Ducks player had joked about more than once after he had seen you in one of Alex’s old Kings hoodies when you all went to dinner. What he refused to believe was the fact that you were cold, and it was the only thing that was in Alex’s car.

But as Alex stayed silent it made the younger boy think that he was right “I don’t give a shit.” Trevor confessed as he was just more curious as to if he was indeed right or not “I just don’t think that it would be the best thing if Cole found out.” Alex felt his cheeks turn red at the idea of Cole finding out. Because if Trevor connected the wrong dots, then who was to say someone wouldn’t connect the right ones?

Alex shook his head “I am not sleeping with her.” He mumbled wishing that he could have been lying as he said that.

You were reminded of the joy of being with your best friend as he shut the door behind you both “you finally tell him?” Luke asked as he sat on his bed. 

He had known about the crush you had on Alex since you confessed to him about how you had a wet dream about the Kings player when he was thankfully on a roadie. Luke was able to remind you that it was a one-time thing, but then it became more like a weekly thing before you accepted that you definitely had feelings for him.

Luke had been convincing you that you needed to tell him about it before it was all too late, “I can’t,” you sighed, letting yourself drop onto the bed next to him “my friend found his profile on hinge, and he keeps on going on these dates.” You groaned, kicking your legs as Luke lay flat next to you.

The boy stared at the frown on your face “either tell him about how you want to rip his clothes off-“ his words were cut off when you grabbed the pillow from next to you and hit him with it. 

It made him laugh as he took the pillow and propped himself up with it “you didn’t have to say it verbatim.” He shot back, looking at your suitcase, “and if you don’t want to say it, then encourage him to be the one to do it.” Luke added, bending down to show you exactly what he had planned. 

It was day three of your time at the lake house and Alex hadn’t been able to interact with you much. Not out of choice though, because every time he wanted to talk to you Cole seemed to step in. And earlier that morning a boy from down the road seemed to pique your interest. 

His name might have been Brad, Chad, Thad or whatever, really. Alex just knew that he didn’t like the boy or how his eyes seemed to be stuck on your breasts. That part Alex couldn’t exactly blame him for because you knew how to pick a great bikini, but Alex at least knew you were so much more than just a good body. And that was something that this boy definitely didn’t appreciate.

The boys had finally left the house as they were going to a bar “you should come with.” The offer was sent with a smile but was cut short “sorry dude, we’re in the middle of a darts tournament.” Alex’s voice came from behind you. 

That was true, the last few evenings the guys had found that a game of darts was a great little competition “why don’t you just get Luke to stand in for you.” The boy in front of you ignored Alex “I’ve got bad aim.” Luke was definitely the worst out of all of you but you weren’t about to leave the boys.

When you let out a sigh Alex knew you were staying “maybe some other night?” You offered, which made the boy nod. Alex wanted to cheer as he saw ChadBrad, whom he now opted to refer to leave the house. 

Luke sent you a smile before he walked away from you both “you two seem to be close?” Alex was certain he knew the answer, but still he asked the question “he is a nice guy Al.” You shrugged as you placed your hands on your hips.

This felt like the longest you two had properly spoken since your arrival “you feeling neglected by me?” Alex wanted to scream, of course, but he opted to remain stoic “of some frat boy?” He forced out a laugh as he watched you lick your lips.

At that moment, he was so close to dropping his head to kiss that smirk off of your face “Turcs, you want a new beer?” Trevor called out as he walked into the room almost cutting himself off as he looked at the sight with a grin on his face “can get you something too if you want it.” His eyes locked with yours as you shook your head.

Your hand brushed against Alex’s side “I think Luke has my drink Z.” You nodded your head at him before you left the boys. 

It took him until you were no longer in earshot to turn back to Alex “if you’re not sleeping with her then you like her.” He finally connected the dots as his eyes lit up “shush!” Alex placed his hand on the younger boys mouth.

When it seemed that Trevor wasn’t going to talk anymore Trevor ran his tongue across his friend’s palm “ew!” Alex shrieked, almost jumping away when he wiped his hand on his shorts “you’re fucking disgusting.”  Alex grumbled as he shook his head. 

Trevor just smirked in response “take it she doesn’t know about it?” He asked as Alex scoffed “of course she doesn’t!” He went to hit him but when Cole walked into the lounge area making them both freeze.

Cole raised his eyebrows as he watched them both turn to him “you two are so weird.” Cole muttered to himself before he shook his head, turning back to go where he came from “you can’t tell anyone.” Alex warned Trevor knowing that all the boys could soon hear about it. 

He raised his hands in defence “my lips are sealed.” Trevor was honest as he said “all I ask is that if you end up dating her just let me be the godfather to your future babies.” The words made Alex groan as Trevor patted him on the back before he was left alone. 

The rest of that evening was calm, but by the next day Alex was ready to kill Trevor for the constant looks “how much are you putting in, sis?” Cole called out as you walked out of the sliding doors. 

You looked up from your phone as you smiled “for what?” You cocked your head seeing Quinn hold a notepad and pen “we are all betting on who is going to be the most drunk tonight.” He explained as you let out a soft laugh. 

The Fourth of July always seemed to be the day that everyone got flat-out drunk at the lakehouse. People played music till the early hours of the next morning, and drinking was a great partner to dancing till your feet hurt. 

Your fingers rubbed together “I’ll put twenty on Cole.’ You watched as your brother’s face dropped, acting as if you had just spoiled the ending of Game of Thrones again.

Quinn nodded, writing down your bet “let me get my wallet so I can cash in on this.” You grinned sending Cole a wink “I want to change my bet to be on her.” Was the last thing you heard before you went back into the house.

The place was empty with few reminders of last night’s dart game on the table as they had turned a shot glass into a miniature trophy for Quinn.

You walked out of the car wanting to grab your handbag “look dude I’m telling you I know what I am doing.” The boy you had been talking to was on the phone by his own car “I am gonna get her to fuck me by the end of the night, and then I’ll leave her.” His words made you freeze as you knew he was talking about you.

But it didn’t stop there “being around all those guys she has got to be easy.” You had finally had enough as you turned around to go back inside.

You walked straight into a chest that you recognised from many early mornings, rushing to get ready for lectures. Alex had been behind you after he saw you frozen on the porch when he went to grab his own wallet. Based on his reaction, he too, had heard the majority of what you had “sorry.” Your words were soft as you dropped the keys on the porch and pushed past him to go back into the house. 

Alex leaned down to pick them up as he knew what you needed to grab “what an asshole.” Sure, Alex loved being right, but at the point of you being hurt, he would have wished that maybe this time he was wrong.

You knew you were stupid for getting all upset about Micheal telling his friends that he thought he would get into your pants before the end of the night “there you are.” Alex let out a sigh as he saw you hidden between your bed and Luke’s “just wanted some quiet.” You confessed as you pursed your lips together making the boy frown when he placed your bag on your bed.

He could see the hurt that laced your face “he doesn’t know what he is talking about.” Alex mumbled making turn to look him in the eye. 

An irritated laugh escaped your lips “maybe he should have been.” You grumbled as you turned to finally face him “no any guy would be fucking lucky to have you.” He walked towards you but you still shook your head. 

The hockey player watched as you rubbed your face with your hands “you’re only saying that because you’re friends with Cole and are my roommate.” After all, it would have been a little weird if he agreed with the boy in front of you and with your brother steps away.

But still, he moved to sit in front of you “have you ever wondered why I started going on those dates when you broke up with your boyfriend?” Alex stood in front of you as you remained silent “cause it sure as hell wasn’t me trying to avoid you.” He laughed at the joke that you had created.

You crossed your arms still showing that you were irritated “you are on my mind all the damn time and it kills me.” The hockey player grabbed your hand and opened his legs to pull you closer to him “don’t say things you don’t mean Al.” Your voice was soft as your facial expressions softened. 

His head dropped to rest on the crook of your neck “I’m so fucking in love with you it makes me sick.” His words made your body squirm as you ran your fingers through his hair letting out a giggle. 

It made him look up at you with a confused look on his face “me telling you my feelings is funny?” He grumbled wanting to send you a glare. 

You brought your hand up to cup his cheek “thought you knew I broke up with him cause I started thinking bout you.” A smile formed on his face as he stood up straight “damn my girl is already smitten.” He teased as you rolled your eyes. 

The sound of fireworks having started already echoed in your ears “don’t remember that happening Turcotte.” Your words made him click his tongue “so you didn’t want to rip all my clothes off?” He teased making you realise that he had heard that conversation with Luke.

His smirk made you scoff “careful because I can go find Micheal still.’ You warned making him furrow his eyebrows “who?” He asked as if he had never heard that name in his life.

Your jaw fell agape “the fucking dude who said I’d be a good fuck tonight!” Your words made his eyes go wide “thought his name was Brad.” You laughed as you shook your head “Idiot.” You mumbled, leaning back in to kiss him again.

Your cherry lipgloss was sweet on his tongue as he gripped at your sides “has anyone seen my sister?” Cole’s words echoed through an open window as the two of you were reminded that you weren’t alone. 

The older boy pulled away from you as he smiled “think we should get you out there.” Alex tapped your ass as you gasped, “but first let me enjoy the peace with my girl once more.” He pulled you back into his arms knew this wasn’t a sight he was going to get used to. 

But as time went on and the relationship grew, and of course Cole tried to kill Alex many times. Alex believed that your relationship was built on the moment when it all became official. 

You swore he was sickly cheesy each time he spoke of the story, but Alex saw your relationship as fireworks. You made him feel the joys of each high and low, and it helped that you kept him in check because you’ve got a damn fiery tongue. 

But Alex wouldn’t have had it any other way, because he was in love with you and he wouldn’t have believed in soulmates if he didn’t have you. Because in the puzzle that was his life, you made him feel complete.

And it wasn’t to say that he wasn’t just as in love with you as you were with him because Alex would have followed you to the ends of the earth if you asked him to.

[bella-rose29]

Deck the Halls (and not your partner) ~ Christmas Special

utterly insane that I'm able to write this??? DTH has gained so much love and it was literally just a very self-indulgent crappy christmas romcom I wrote for myself, so to everyone who has come this far with me: thank you!!!

so merry christmas everyone! this is my present to you all 💕

word count: 1.2k

warnings: a couple of swear words

deck the halls series master list

(not my gif but I cannot remember who's it is sorry)

“Lockwood, really?”

“What? It’s Christmas!” You wish you could stop yourself from smiling, but your boyfriend’s optimism and love for the holidays is infectious. He looks completely ridiculous but then again that’s Lockwood, through and through. 

“You cannot wear that.”

“Why not?” he retorts, and you sigh and pinch the bridge of your nose. He’s got a shit-eating grin on his face and his hands on his hips, and the stupid Christmas jumper that your mum knit him covering his torso. “Your mum will be so upset if I don’t, especially when I already told her on the phone this morning that I would wear it.”

“How often do you speak to my mother, Ant? I swear you spoke to her last night as well.”

“Emma and I are practically best friends at this point,” he says as he moves to the oven. You’d been sceptical about letting him help cook lunch for your parents, but he could at least use a peeler for the vegetables without hurting anyone. 

“George might have something to say about that. Are the potatoes done?” You ask from the sink, watching him peer through the door. 

“Nearly. They’re looking great.” Lockwood straightens and comes to stand behind you, wrapping his arms around your waist and pressing a kiss to your temple. “Just like me in this jumper.” You scoff, feeling his grin against the back of your head, and flick some soap suds at him. The jumper in question is the most horrific colour of green (you have no idea where your mother got it from and you don’t want to know), with pompoms and little lights covering it to such an extent you can’t really see the badly knitted reindeer that takes up the majority of the garment. “I’m not taking it off, darling,” he hums as he dips his head to rest in the crook of your neck. 

It’s these moments that make you think Christmas is worth all the stress. You’d decided that after the complete mess of last year (although there were some pros to the whole thing, such as Steph and Linda refusing to speak to any of you again), you would stay home in London while your parents, Will and Olivia came down to see you. Nana Jean and Gramps’ knees were getting worse and couldn’t make the journey so your other siblings had stayed behind to keep them company, but you’d called them all earlier to wish them a happy holiday. “Well if you have to keep it on to win points with mum, then can you make yourself useful and get the table ready.”

“Anything for you, Schmoopie.” He still uses the ridiculous nickname, and it still makes you smile. He’s spent every day since you got home last year making sure that you feel as loved as possible, in every way he can, and Lucy regularly takes the piss out of both of you for it. 

“How’s my kitchen? You haven’t burnt it down yet have you?” You glance over your shoulder as you dry your hands, the washing up finished, and spot a head of messy curls. 

“Hi Georgie! I haven’t let him near the oven, don’t worry.”

“Oh thank fuck.”

Anthony looks up from where he’s drawing something on the table (bastard, you’d told him to set it up) and mutters “language” at George, earning himself a middle finger. Your boyfriend only laughs and goes back to drawing, covering it with his hand when he notices you trying to see what it is. You don’t have time to make him show you though, because just as you step towards him the doorbell rings. 

“Shit, they’re here. George, are you sure you don’t mind being around them?” It’s only the three of you in the house, Lucy and Holly off with their loved ones while George had decided against spending Christmas with his family. 

“I’ve spoken to your family multiple times, Y/n, I think I’ll be fine.” His tone is as matter-of-fact as always, but you don’t miss the tiny smile he gives you. You smile back, then let out a slow breath as you make for the front door. The latch is on and your fingers tremble slightly as you open it, nerves and excitement setting in now that your family is just on the other side. 

You’ve barely opened the door enough to show your face when someone is barrelling through and wrapping you in a hug, and instantly you relax into your mother’s arms. “Hi, mum. Merry Christmas.”

“Merry Christmas! Oh, it’s been far too long, hasn’t it?”

Over her shoulder (she hasn’t let go yet) you spot Will mouthing sorry and your sister rolling her eyes. There’s a smile on both of their faces though, and when your dad appears after locking the car he’s grinning too. “Hi, love.”

“Hi dad,” you chirp, your mum finally letting go of you. The three of them fight to be the next to hug you while your mum pulls their bags inside, greeting Anthony behind you with a happy shriek when she notices the jumper as he appears from the kitchen, and your dad comes out victorious. Will and Olivia bicker in the background over who’s going last, and when you finish with your dad you drag both your siblings into a hug. “No fighting,” you say, pulling back so you can stare them down. “I don’t want any extra stress, okay?”

“Alright, Squeak. We’ll behave.” The shit-eating grin on his face says otherwise, but before you can say anything else there’s a flurry of excitement from your mother and boyfriend. Presents are shoved under the tree that you and Holly had spent far too much time decorating (she’s the only one in the house you would let near it; the other three were too messy), George awkwardly waves to everyone, and then the oven timer is beeping and telling you to take things out. 

“Okay, lunch is nearly ready, so - Ant, could you-? Thanks,” you half shout as you rush into the kitchen, George hot on your heels ready to help. Anthony has at least laid the table in the time you were greeting family, and there’s enough room for the dishes you’d been cooking all morning. The two of you work fluidly, twisting around each other with practiced ease (George refuses to let anyone else cook in here but you, a privilege you hadn’t taken for granted) until the table is covered in hot food and serving implements and you’re yelling for people to come and sit down. 

Without thinking you take your usual seat, plopping down with a sigh and smiling when Anthony presses a kiss to the top of your head before sitting next to you. “Proud of you, darling. This looks amazing,” he murmurs with a small smile. 

“You’ve outdone yourself, love,” your dad says, squishing in on one of the extra chairs you’d had to drag in from the basement. 

“Thanks dad,” you smile. “Oh, tuck in, guys. Before it gets cold!”

You decide you’ll wait until everyone else has served themselves, and as you look down at your currently empty plate you notice a new drawing poking out from under it. Anthony must have done it earlier when he was meant to be doing a job and curiosity gets the better of you, making you push your plate just a little so you can see the whole picture. 

It’s the two of you in your current outfits (he somehow managed to draw his jumper), holding hands and smiling. He’s written Merry Christmas, darling above it, and even though his artistic skills have not improved, it’s one of your favourite pieces. You tap his leg to get his attention, and after looking gently concerned for a moment he sees that you’ve uncovered his drawing and smiles. 

“You alright?”

“I’m alright, Ant. Merry Christmas.”

[mediumgayitalian]

When Nico asks him out, there is vomit on his scrubs. His hair is disgusting. The bags under his eyes are actually the size of Texas, and he was born there so he says it in good confidence.

Also, it goes right over his head.

“Gods, yeah,” Will sighs, relieved. “Yeah, I could —” He laughs, a little hysterically, scrubbing his hand over his face and trying to blink the sudden onslaught of dizzy away. “I’m starving. I am — tired of this stupid room. I could use dinner out.”

“Great,” Nico says, rocking back on his heels. He twists his skull ring around his finger, like he does when he’s nervous, but there’s a tiny twitch at the corner of his mouth that Will has learned, in the past few weeks of his help in the infirmary, is a smile. “I’ll — um, I’ll pick you up at seven?”

Will glances down at the rapidly-drying splatter of vomit spreading from his right shoulder all the way down to his belly button. The nasty brown-yellow colour of it clashes so violently with the mint-green of his scrubs that it might be a felony, actually. The one whole spaghetti noodle smack in the middle of it does not help.

“Yeah, I’ll need at least that long in the shower.”

Nico’s face goes through a very complicated string of emotions. “I think you look nice,” he offers.

“You and I have very different definitions of ‘nice’, di Angelo,” Will snorts. He gestures behind him. “Bye, Nico. I’ll see you in a few hours?”

“Right. Bye, Will.”

“Hey, first name status!”

“Shut up, Solace. Go change your shirt.”

Will snickers, jogging down the Big House stairs with a backwards wave. He hustles past campers jogging towards their daily activities, ducking into the Apollo cabin before someone can ask him for something.

It’s been a busy few weeks.

The Giant War was…well. It’s over, now, is the point, but it was not without casualties, and it was not without injury, and injury, and injury. Plus the flu that just had to hit right before the Romans were about to head back to California. Will has spent more nights in the infirmary in the last few weeks than he ever has, including after the Titan War. Understaffed does not begin to cover it. He had to beg Cecil for his secret Redbull stash after his third straight day on his feet, praying to his father, his aunt, and any other god who was listening to keep his hands from shaking. Without Nico’s help — well, he doesn’t want to think about how things would have gone without Nico’s help.

He’d slept through his promised three days in the infirmary. Will had restitched his werewolf scratching (—his werewolf scratches his fucking werewolf scratches his fucking shitting goddamn werewolf scratches that he stitched with sewing thread and left for gods know how many days and Will is going to quit his job, he is, he is going to live in a hut in the Florida Everglades and chase questers away with a fucking broom—) as he slept on the first day, then spent the next days glaring at him in seething jealousy.

He had wanted to sleep. He had wanted to sleep so godsdamn badly. And yet. He was plastering salve on the translucent fingers of a dumbass who pushed himself too hard.

“You can’t tell me what to do,” Will had mocked, ignoring the yelled you’re losing it, Willy! from Kayla as she passed by. “Nyeh nyeh nyeh. I can shadow travel wherever I want. Nyeh nyeh nyeh. Catch me I’m about to pass out. Nyeh nyeh nyeh.”

“I never asked you to catch me,” muttered Nico, groggily, and Will had screamed.

Not his best moment.

Luckily, his string of colourful cursing had killed any idea that Will was scared of him, or something, and the list of chores he’d doled out the second he made sure Nico could walk had put the idea in the grave.

He still can’t quite believe that Nico actually, like…listened. But he’s a good bandage cutter (very accurate) and, as a super fun bonus, the Romans were all scared of him, so when they tried to get out of their cots while their limbs were literally hanging onto them by a thread, Will just had Nico stand behind him and glare at them until they sat their asses back down.

(“You are without a doubt the best nurse I’ve ever had,” Will had grumbled, sticking his tongue out at Austin, who lazily tried to trip him. Nico had rolled his eyes, huffing as if he thought Will was joking.)

“Wow,” says Cecil, sitting in Will’s bed for some reason. He rakes his eyes up and down his body, whistling appreciatively at the towel around his waist. Will rolls his eyes and starts digging through his dresser drawers. “Look at you! So human-like! No zombie eyebags to be seen!”

“Showers don’t erase eyebags, dick for brains.”

“True, but you’re so hot when you’re not covered in blood and vomit that I can overlook them.”

“Kiss my ass, Cecil.”

“Really? Is that permission?”

Will laughs, admitting defeat. He tugs on a pair of boxers, then tosses a few clothing options on his bed.

“Yeah, yeah. It’s good to be out, Zeus’ beard. Nico’s taking me to dinner; d’you know if it’s cold in the city? And I should probably wear real shoes, right, Annabeth mentioned something about New York bacteria —”

“Woah, woah, hold on, William, pause there for a second.”

Will looks up, frowning. “What?”

“Nico’s taking you to dinner?”

Cecil’s eyes are wide. Reflexively, Will pats his chin, paranoid he’s got something on his face.

“…Yes? Why are you looking at me like that?”

“Nothing! Nothing, nothing.” Quickly, Cecil schools his face back to its usual smirk, leaning casually against the bedpost. (He misses. Mercifully, Will decides to let it slide and wait for him to straighten himself. He’s a good friend, like that.)

“Well, obviously something.”

“Nope! I’m just —” He softens. “I’m glad you’re taking a break, Willy. We’ve been worried about you. Remind me to send him a lock pick set.”

“Most people send fruit,” Will suggests gently. He cuffs Cecil playfully on the jaw, rolling his eyes when Cecil catches his hand and presses a loudly exaggerated kiss to it. “Or flowers. Also, don’t call me Willy.”

“Sorry, Willy.”

“Gods, you’re infuriating.”

“Mhm. And yet you adore me. Oou, wear the grey plaid shirt, it makes your eyes look bluer. And for the love of Hermes, do not wear shorts.”

———

At seven o’clock sharp, there’s a knock on the doorframe.

“Uh, hi?”

“Nico!” Will says brightly. “Hi! You don’t have to wait by the door, dorkus. Come in.”

With a second of hesitation, Nico steps in. The usually creaky floorboards are silent under his black Chucks. Will chooses to believe that’s on purpose, because it’s cooler.

“You can sit if you want! Unless we gotta leave right away. I wasn’t actually sure, are we just going to McDonald’s or something? Also, I told Cecil he couldn’t come, I figured three would make it a party or something but lemme know if we’re bringing friends along and —”

“We’re not,” Nico interrupts.

“—tell them.” Will blinks at him, then smiles. “Just you and me, then.”

Nico clears his throat. “Yeah.” He glances up at Will, and away again, like he can’t hold his gaze for too long. He looks a little flushed. “You, uh. You braided your hair.”

“What? Oh!” Will touches the French braids on either side of his head, smiling. “Yeah, I finally had the time. Keeps my hair back better than much else. Hey, Nico, you good? You looked flushed, maybe you should —”

Nico catches his hand. He smiles.

“I’m fine, Solace. You just look nice, is all.”

Will snorts. “No kidding. Anything’s better than the vomit shirt.”

———

Nico refuses to answer any of his questions about where they’re going.

Or, well. Will asks him and endless string of questions and receives only hums or nods in response, except for the odd huff of laughter when Will pouts.

“C’mon! Can’t I just know where we’re going?”

“You’re about to.”

“I mean now, Death Breath.”

“Well, now I’m definitely not telling you.”

“Ugh.”

Nico places a fleeting hand on his elbow as they reach the base of Half-Blood Hill, stalling him.

“Wait.”

Will pauses, listening. His heartbeat picks up. Monster? Monsters?

He glances over at Nico, noticing the tension in his face, the twist to his mouth, the —

Oh, no he doesn’t.

“Hold it, Gerard Way!”

Nico startles.

“What?”

“I know that face! You are not shadow-travelling us to the city, no way, no how, do you want to dissolve —”

“Will,” Nico interrupts, laughing softly, “Will, trust me for a second. Do you trust me?”

“Yes.”

Nico blinks. Will flushes.

“That was fast.”

“Well! Well.”

“I’m not shadow-travelling,” Nico promises, changing the subject when it’s clear Will has nothing to say. “I’m just summoning our ride. I promise it won’t drain me.”

“…Fine.”

Rolling his eyes fondly, Nico screws up his face again. The tiny freckles on the bridge of his nose are more obvious when he wrinkles it. Will has to shove his hands in his pockets to keep from touching them.

One moment, there’s nothing but empty road in front of them. The next, there’s a massive fucking limo, driven by what Will can only describe as a ghoul.

“There,” Nico says happily. “Our ride!”

He jogs over to the sleek black limo, leaving Will gaping. With a quick hand to keep the driver from getting up, he opens the back door, gesturing broadly.

“C’mon, Sunshine.”

Will recovers quickly. He’s never been in a limo before — hell, he’s hardly ever been in cars. He slides into the black leather seats, gaping, barely noticing Nico ducking in and closing the door behind him.

“Cleveland and Merrick, please, Jules-Albert.”

Limos are crazy.

If hotel mini bars were, like, physical places rather than tiny bottles in mini fridges, they would look like limos. The windows are tinted, so the interior is dark, illuminated a softly glowing red by strips of LEDs. There is an actual TV screen, although it’s not on. Will feels like James Bond.

“Gift from my dad,” Nico explains. “He knows he can’t always be there to drive me around, so he got Jules-Albert to take me places. He’s cool. He even answers to me, technically, and not my dad, so if anything happens back here he won’t snitch.” Nico gets so violently red he damn near goes invisible under the LEDs. “Not that — I mean, it’s more like —”

“That is so cool,” Will breathes. “Oh my gods, Nico, you are literally the coolest demigod in the world.”

“Hah,” says Nico weakly. The limo (!!) slows to a stop. “We are — here, let’s go!”

Nico practically throws himself out of the limo. Will takes one last look, thanks Jules-Albert, and hurries out after him.

———

“You gotta be kidding me.”

“What?” Nico looks at him defensively. The corner of his mouth twitches. “I thought it was pretty funny.”

Apollo Restaurant Diner, reads the garish, flashing yellow sign. Seniors half-off!

Will nudges Nico’s side as they walk in. “You should ask for the discount.”

“Keep it up and you’re paying for yourself, Solace.”

Nico guides them into a booth by the window before he can say anything. In seconds, a server is strolling up to them, popping their bubblegum and grinning.

“Welcome to Apollo’s, where if we don’t predict your order, it’s free! I’ll get you guys some sodas, and…hm. Fries to share, I think.”

They’re off, ponytail bouncing, before either of them can say anything.

“Well,” says Nico after a moment. “I guess we’re having fries.”

Will snorts. “You love fries. You love anything fried and battered, because there is nothing you love more than poor decision making.”

“Caught me, Solace.”

“Aw. I thought —”

Their server pops back in with their sodas, nodding as they thank them.

“— I thought I was bumped up to first name status! You called me Will earlier.”

Nico slurps obnoxiously at his cherry coke.

“No, I didn’t.”

“Did too!”

“Not a jury in the world will believe you, Solace.”

Will blows his straw wrapper at him. Nico barely dodges, laughing — a real, open laugh, where some of the guard drops from his shoulders, where his smile is wide enough to show his teeth, where his dark eyes cringe near shut.

“You’re so lame. Get your stupid straw wrapper away from me.”

Will feels like he doesn’t respond for ages, mesmerized by the crooked curve of Nico’s smile. There’s mischief in that smile, and oddly it makes shyness bloom in Will’s chest, it makes the tips of his ears red, makes him duck his head.

Will’s saved from trying to come up with a comment by the massive — truly gigantic — platter of fries set between them.

“Holy shit,” breathes Will, alarmed.

“Holy shit,” breathes Nico, eyes wide. The smile grows wider. “Holy shit!”

Will’s stomach growls. He’s reminded how truly hungry he is, and without another word, the two of them dig in.

They end up ordering another platter. Will theorizes that, in total, they eat at least seven whole potatoes.

“How many fries do you think is in one potato?”

“A yukon?” says Will. “Like, twenty-five, at least. Wait, hold on, pass me your napkin, lemme do the math.”

“Gods, you are such a nerd.”

Will loses count of how many times they refill their sodas. Too many. Camp food is usually very healthy — as head medic, Will has to set an example, but it’s just Nico, here. Will eats himself into a minor food coma and relishes in it. When Nico asks if he wants to order one of the giant milkshakes, he doesn’t hesitate.

“Duh. Strawberry.”

“Gross, Solace. Vanilla or nothing.”

“Basic ass bitch.”

“At least I’m not vying for strawberry!”

By the time Nico gets up to go get their bill, the sun has long since set. Will realises he forgot to put his watch back on after his shower, and has no idea what time it actually is.

“Nine-thirty ish,” Nico says, opening the limo door for him. “We’ll be back at camp at ten.”

Will grimaces. “Fuck. Will Jules-Albert chill overnight? If we try to go back to our cabins, the curfew harpies are gonna eat us.”

“Scared, Solace?”

Nico’s eyes are bright and teasing. Will wonders how the hell other campers find him so frightening — the little twitches of his mouth are so obvious. Some people are just oblivious.

“Of course I’m scared, you dickhead. What am I gonna do, sing a hymn until they go away?”

Nico snorts. “You worry too much. They’re afraid of me, you know. They’ll steer clear.”

“You have a lot of confidence in how much you scare people, which is crazy for someone who’s five eight.”

“Oh, piss off.”

Will grins. “Never.”

The drive back to camp feels shorter than it is. The limo’s seats are stupid comfortable, and Nico is a warm presence beside him, and more than anything, Will is exhausted. Last time he slept was — Thursday? He’s pretty sure? He definitely slept on Wednesday, and he’s pretty sure Kayla locked him in the back office with a pillow on Thursday. But maybe that was this morning.

“Will, hey.” A cool, calloused hand brushes over his forehead, and he leans into it, humming. “Get up, you loser. We’re here.”

Will groans. “Five more minutes.”

The soft, gravelly chuckles are the most musical things he’s ever heard. “Up you get, Sunshine, or I’ll let the harpies eat you.”

That gets Will up fast. He shoves Nico away, who’s still snickering at him, grumbling as he crawls out of the limo.

“It’s like you want me to die of stress.”

“Nah.”

They wave goodbye to Jules-Albert, who disappears in a blink. Halfway up the hill, a hand closes around his. Will glances over to Nico in surprise, but he looks resolutely ahead.

“I can feel you freaking out.” He clears his throat. “I told you, Solace. I’ll protect you.”

“That’s not what you said,” Will grumbles, but it’s hard to get his attitude across when his cheeks ache from smiling.

Nico ends up being right — the harpies steer clear of them. He looks very smug about being right, smirking all the way up to the Apollo Cabin door. He walks him up the creaking steps, pausing at the door. He lets go of Will’s hand, which is kind of a bummer. Will had liked holding his hand — physical proof that Nico was becoming more comfortable with him.

“So,” Nico says, rocking back and forth on his heels.

“So,” Will parrots, grinning. He grins wider at Nico’s scowl, gently illuminated by the soft glow of the Apollo cabin. “I had fun tonight, Nico. I needed that.”

Nico’s whole face softens. “Yeah?”

“Yes.” Will smiles at him again. “Thank you.”

For a second, Nico’s slight smile melts into a more serious expression. Will finds himself lingering, searching Nico’s face. Waiting.

Quick as a dart, Nico leans up and presses a kiss to Will’s cheek.

“Oh,” Will breathes, eyes wide. His fingers come up and brush the spot Nico kissed, skin tingling.

Nico looks at him nervously. “Was that okay?”

It takes Will a solid few seconds to answer. Even then, it’s not any recognizable words — more of an embarrassing hnnnnngh wha.

Nico grins. “Goodnight, Sunshine.”

“Nico — wait.”

“Harpies, Sunshine.”

Will could swear he sees Nico’s shoulders shaking with laughter as he walks away. Which — huh! Pardon! Excuse.

“Nico! Was! Was this a date!”

“I’ll see you in the morning, Will.”

“Nico!”

Nico disappears down the bend without answering. Will manages to catch the curve of his smile before he goes.

He doesn’t sleep a wink.

[stop-talking]

So I'm stuck on this shithole island, and I can't even have a smoke? (pt. 4)

Derek Danforth x fem reader

Word count: 2.9k

Tags: 18+, Derek x fem reader, no use of y/n, angst, lots of fluff, enemies, enemies to lovers, fluff, (very) slowburn, sass, banter, misogynistic undertones, (Derek is a prick), suggestive themes, mentions of drug use, withdrawals, rehab, masturbating, caught masturbating, overall mature themes.

slight trigger warning for thoughts of death?? (except Derek isn't really suicidal he's just a drama queen)

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 5

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It's been nearly twelve hours since you accidentally walked in on Derek doing the unspeakable, and you're still kicking yourself for it.

In an attempt to make it up to him, you'd spent the morning making a nice breakfast. Unfortunately, it's almost noon now, and he hasn't left his room.

No way in hell are you going to go knocking on his door. Not after last night. The image of him finishing into his own hand while making eye contact with you is still burned into your brain. Fuck, he ended up covered in cum. And that stupid fucking face he made...

Oh god, think of something else. ANYTHING else.

You turn your attention to the breakfast you'd prepared for the two of you. The cold breakfast. Sighing, you scrape the eggs and bacon into a container for later.

Why did you even open the damn door? Obviously he was jerking off. Horny bastard. Of course, when you'd heard the whimpers and moans coming from his room, you'd assumed he wasn't feeling well.

Which was a valid assumption to make, right?? I mean, he sounded absolutely pitiful, what were you supposed to think? You swore up and down he even called out your name once or twice, but fuck, you didn't want to think about the implications of that.

And so, after knocking and saying his name a few times, you had decided to just go for it. How were you supposed to know he was doing... that??

"It's not my fault." You grumble to yourself, blindly shoving the leftovers into the fridge and trying to shrug it off.

Then again, even if the initial situation wasn't your fault, you still owed him an apology. You'd absolutely been staring. Gawking, even. It probably took a good five seconds before you'd come to your senses and slammed the door, but five seconds was enough for him to... oh god. Stop thinking about it.

You try physically shaking your head to dismiss the perverted images plaguing your mind. It works... sort of. As you make your way up the stairs to his bedroom, your stomach knots with guilt.

Just about anything sounds more appealing than knocking on his door right now. Unfortunately, that's what you're about to do.

・○・・・・・・○・・・・・・○・・・・・・○・・・・・・○・

Derek's plans for the day only include one thing, really. Rotting in bed and wishing he was dead.

He figures if he locks himself in his room long enough, the three weeks will eventually pass without him having to show his face to you ever again.

Or he'd die first. With the way he felt right now, that would honestly be fine too.

He groans into a pillow, desperate to hear something than the pounding in his head. He's been trembling all morning, a sign he really needed a fix.

The guilt has been eating away at him almost as much as his stupid withdrawals. He replays the scene from last night over in his head for the millionth time, internally screaming at himself for not covering up. Or locking the damn door.

He knows there's nothing he could have done to change what happened. The timing was just too... perfect. Looking at your pretty face while he came was literally a dream come true.

The aftermath, unfortunately, was a nightmare.

There's no way you don't hate him now. Or at least feel completely disgusted. After all, you'd slammed the door and left him.

So this is his fate. Rot in bed until he wastes away. It's all he deserves, really, for being such a fucking pervert.

"Derek? You still alive?"

He nearly falls off the bed in his scramble to make himself look presentable.

"...Yeah." He eventually croaks out, trying to smooth his curls with one hand and pull the blanket over himself with the other.

"Can I come in?"

Derek begrudgingly agrees, sitting up against the headboard in an attempt to look less pathetic.

You slowly swing the door open, looking visibly relieved when he isn't... exposed. Like last time.

Before he can even think about what he's saying, the words roll off his tongue.

"I'm sorry." You both say at the same time.

Wait, that doesn't make sense. What do YOU have to be sorry for? He's the one that fucked up. Derek's brow furrows as you take a seat on the edge of his bed.

"I- I mean it." He stutters. "I really didn't... didn't mean for you to see that."

He avoids your gaze, turning away as you place a hand on his leg. Well, on the comforter covering his legs, but close enough.

"I know." You seem equally uncomfortable, silently looking around and examining his bedroom. And it is HIS room, decorated to suit his tastes. Unlike the other guest rooms in the house, which are all decorated in shades of pastels and beach-themed paraphernalia.

He squirms a bit, starting to get self-conscious of his own design choices. The dark wood furniture with gold accents stand out against the emerald green walls. Under usual circumstances, he'd feel proud of the expensive atmosphere. Right now... It all felt gaudy.

"I love all the animal print." You say, eyeing a pelt hanging on the wall above his dresser.

Derek winces. Yeah, okay, maybe it was a bit much.

"I picked out these decorations, like, 5 years ago. Cut me some slack." He grumbles, crossing his arms and giving you a pouty look.

"It looks nice." You smile, scooting a little closer to him on the bed, your hand trailing further up his covered legs.

"Don't lie."

"..."

"Okay, It looks like you gave a redneck with no prior knowledge of interior design an unlimited budget and a kilo of cocaine, then set him loose and told him to go crazy."

Damn. He'd be pissed at that if you didn't look so... warm. Even with the harsh words, he could tell you were only teasing.

"To be fair, I probably was on cocaine when I picked all this shit out." Derek snorts, gesturing around to the clashing animal prints, gold-rimmed mirrors and paintings, and wood accent pieces.

That little comment seems to make you waver. Shit. Bad joke?

"Not anymore." He tries to assure you, putting his hand on top of yours. You still haven't moved it from his thigh. "I haven't had anything like that since I got here, and it sucks. I feel like shit."

He slumps slightly against the headboard, letting his put-together act fall. Not like it was a very good act, anyways.

"I believe you, just... I feel bad. I'm sorry for last night."

Derek winces as the topic gets turned back to last night's activities. You didn't even have anything to apologize for, as far as he was concerned. He'd let you watch him cum any day. Make a show of it, if that's what you wanted.

Fuck. Stop thinking about it.

Derek struggles to listen as you ramble, instead staring into your pretty eyes and overthinking the way his hand is still on top of yours. You're saying something about how he shouldn't stay in bed all day, how he needs to keep a routine or he'll end up in a slump.

"...so can we just forget about what happened and move on? I don't think I can stand 17 more days of awkwardness." You finish, giving him a pleading look.

Forget about what happened? Derek's heart sinks into his stomach. He doesn't want to forget. Even though he hates himself for it, he loves what happened last night. He'd re-live it over and over again if he could, minus the part where you freak out and slam the door.

"Derek?" You ask again, snapping him out of his thoughts.

"Oh. Yeah. Forget about it, please." His face heats up and he finally takes his hand back from yours, nervously running it through his hair instead. He might not what to forget about what happened, but he sure as hell wanted you to forget about it.

"Done." You give him a relieved smile and hop off his bed. "Alright, I'm gonna wait for you downstairs. Come meet me soon or I'll drag you down myself."

Derek does as asked, going through the motions of his normal morning routine. That didn't go as bad as it could have, all things considered.

At least you don't hate him.

・○・・・・・・○・・・・・・○・・・・・・○・・・・・・○・

When Derek eventually trudges downstairs, you already have lunch heated up for him. Or... breakfast? It doesn't really matter.

He refuses to eat at first. Stubborn man. He says he feels nauseous, but how does he expect to get better with no food in his stomach?

After practically forcing him to eat, you settle down on the couch with him and try to decide on a movie.

"We are not watching another stupid action movie." You grumble, snuggling up in one corner of the couch while Derek takes a seat on the other end.

"Well I'm not watching some cheesy chick flick."

"Then what do you want to watch?"

Derek shrugs.

"Oh my god, Danforth. Just pick. Comedy or Horror?"

"Comedy."

"Okay, Adam Sandler or Jim Carrey?"

He pauses for a bit, furrowing his brow in a way that you might find adorable if he wasn't being so damn difficult.

"Sandler."

"Okay then, we're watching Billy Madison." You turn your attention back to the television and smile to yourself as you search for the movie.

"I don't think I've seen that one." He starts to shift in his seat as the movie starts, looking restless. What's his problem?

"Do you want to...?" You look over at him, trailing off and patting your lap.

He nods, and immediately lies down on his side, cheek against your thigh.

"Thanks." He mumbles, looking more relaxed by the second as he makes himself comfortable on your lap.

"Mhm." You hum, turning your attention back to the movie.

Unsurprisingly, it doesn't take long for him to start getting restless again. You pretend not to notice the way he occasionally glances up at you, keeping your gaze fixed on the television.

His hand finds yours, slowly tugging it towards his head. You take the hint and run your fingers through his hair, chuckling at how needy he's being.

"Don't laugh." He groans, leaning his head back slightly and melting into your touch. "It feels nice. And I've been feeling like death."

"You'd better not die on me, Danforth. No one would come to pick me up for another two weeks, and I don't think your corpse would fit in the freezer."

"You could chop me up." He offers, shifting so that he's lying on his back, looking up at you with his head across your thighs.

God, that smug look on his face. Why did the bastard have to be so cute?

"Okay, this is getting morbid. Shut up and watch the movie." You do your best to scold him, but it's hard to keep up the façade while gently carding your fingers through his hair.

"Make me."

Without hesitation, you slap your free hand over his mouth. His eyes widen for a moment, the smug look replaced with... something else.

Muffled noises come from his mouth as he attempts to speak through your hand, but you just laugh and continue petting him.

That is, until you feel his tongue on your hand.

"You're lucky you look so pitiful, Danforth, or I'd push you off the couch." You grumble, wiping your hand off on his shirt as he smirks up at you.

"Pitiful?" He scoffs, shoving your hand away from his chest.

"Yeah, sad and pitiful. You're a mess." You taunt him a bit, but your words are just as soft as the gentle touches you've been giving him.

Derek straightens best he can while lying your lap. "I'm not pitiful." He grumbles. "Stop pitying me."

His little act gets another chuckle out of you.

"It'll be easier if you stop looking at me like that."

"Like what?"

"With those puppy eyes."

Derek's brow furrows, and he frowns up at you while you tug at his curls.

"I have puppy eyes?"

・○・・・・・・○・・・・・・○・・・・・・○・・・・・・○・

Derek spends the rest of a movie in a blissed-out state on your lap. Physically, his body is a wreck. He feels weak, shaky, and all-around ill.

But emotionally? He's giddy. The way you've been treating him lately... there's no way you don't like him.

Fuck, no, don't jump to conclusions. Just ask. Yeah. Simple.

As the credits roll, Derek finally works up the courage to speak up.

"Why do you put up with me?" He asks, shifting to look up at you while his head rests against your thigh.

You pause mid-way through stroking his hair, and Derek is scared you might be able to hear how fast his heart is beating. He can sure hear it, at least.

"What do you mean, love?" You finally respond, untangling your fingers from his curls and setting your hand aside.

That makes him groan out loud. See? Exactly that sort of thing. Always calling him love. It drives him crazy.

"You're just so damn nice to me." He sighs, tossing his head back slightly and closing his eyes.

"Oh? Should I be mean?"

"Maybe." He lets out an amused huff, but there's a twinge of bitterness in his voice. It isn't really a joke. You're just too nice. He doesn't deserve it.

You seem to pick up on his shift in attitude, because you start running your fingers through his hair again.

"It's my job to take care of you, you know. At least for the next... 17 days or so."

Right. Your job. Derek can't help but sigh. He finally finds someone who seems to be interested in him for reasons that aren't monetary... but only because his mother is literally paying them.

"Oh, don't be like that." You scold him, and start to nudge him off your lap.

Derek takes the hint, sitting up. Before he can stew over your words further, he feels you pulling him into an embrace.

The angle is slightly awkward, with his back against your chest and his head resting on your shoulder, but he appreciates it nonetheless.

"Stop... you're gonna make me soft." He grumbles, but makes absolutely no effort to stop your arms from wrapping around him. He melts back into your touch, eyes fluttering closed.

From this close, he can smell your perfume. He's caught a whiff of it a few times before, usually when you get up close and personal with him in the kitchen. It's a soft, sweet, floral scent. Extremely different than the expensive, in-your-face scents of most women in his social circle. He's started associating the smell with comfort.

"Maybe that's my plan." You muse, giving him a tight squeeze before finally letting him go.

If only you knew just how well it's working.

・○・・・・・・○・・・・・・○・・・・・・○・・・・・・○・

"Stop! You're getting sand everywhere!" You swat at Derek as he accidentally kicks sand onto the blanket you've spent nearly ten minutes arranging.

"It's a beach, sweetheart. There's gonna be sand." He scoffs, but carefully brushes off his legs before returning them to the large quilt.

After dinner, you'd realized you accidentally let him go an entire day without going outside. So, you'd dragged him out to go stargazing with nothing more than a blanket and a couple of flashlights.

"There's a difference between lying on top of it and being buried in it." You elbow him as he gets just a little bit too close. There's plenty of room for you to both stretch out, why does he have to be so clingy?

"I'm cold." He whines, grabbing at your arm.

"I told you to bring a jacket."

"I didn't think you were serious?! What kind of a beach is cold?"

You roll your eyes at him. It's not even cold, honestly. Just a bit brisk. There's a soft breeze coming from the ocean, smelling slightly of salt.

"Just cover up with the blanket."

"It's covered in sand."

"And who's fault is that?"

"..."

"Please?"

You finally turn to look at him, and you can feel yourself giving in almost immediately. God damn it. There's no way this man didn't know he had puppy eyes. Fuckin' manipulator.

"Fine. C'mere."

Derek scoots closer and you throw an arm around him, letting him rest his head on you.

You both lay like that for a while, staring up at the sky and listening to the soft crashing of the waves.

The moon is full tonight, illuminating the seemingly endless sand and water. There's a forest made of palms and ferns off to the side, and the leaves all ripple in the breeze.

"It's really pretty." Derek finally sighs, eyes still looking skyward.

"I know. You can actually see all the stars out here. In the city it's harder... light pollution or something." You shrug, making his head bob slightly as it rests on your shoulder.

Derek just hums in agreement. Poor thing. He looks exhausted, even though he slept until midday.

"Hey, don't fall asleep on me now. Not sure I could carry you back."

"I won't... promise..." He yawns and scoots a little closer, his arm reaching over and wrapping around your waist.

You should probably push him off, but damnit... he just looks so peaceful.

You rest your free arm on his, keeping him glued to you. It feels nice, all of it. His warmth, the cool breeze, the sound of the ocean, the twinkling stars... fuck. He's really growing on you.

Derek doesn't keep his promise, falling asleep in minutes.

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Author's note: This chapter took FOREVER!! There were just so many different directions I could have taken the story from the last chapter. Hope y'all enjoyed the one I ended up with!! It was mostly fluff, I know... but Derek is just so cute. I can't help it.

Thanks so much for being patient, and for all the kind comments & asks!!! Feel free to send in literally anything, I don't get many messages in my inbox.

Part 5

[valkirswrath]

For better or worse YouTube has realised I'm a sucker for clips of dramatic scenes from animes, fight scenes in particular. So it was that last night I spent a few hours watching clips of solo leveling. I have some thoughts.

Disclaimer; these are my thoughts based on clips of the anime and some wiki reading to fill in the blanks, if I'm completely off the mark I'm sure you'll tell me so.

For one, this is one insane case of same face syndrome. Ignoring that most female characters have the same thin body shape with minor deviation only being found in height and hair, there's at least three characters close to the protagonist with such similar faces I couldn't tell them apart at a glance. Jin-woo's sister, Jin-ah, Cha Hae-in and Lee Joohee. It was honestly absurd, there were scenes with Joohee that I thought were scenes with Jin-ah. At least Hae-in has short hair. But it lended itself to a feeling that these characters were interchangeable from a visual language standpoint, held together by their proximity to Jin-woo.

The bigger thing that really struck me again and again was how the story was just pure male power fantasy. I've been watching a lot of Jessie Gender recently so the hero's journey and it's issues are bouncing around my mind, which is why it stuck out to me. Ultimately this kind of power fantasy show is common, it's what a lot of shonen is. But I'll be honest this feels closer to harem isekai like in another world with my smartphone than it does I dunno, mha?

Gonna start approaching spoiler territory here folks, heads up.

Like okay, we've got the wimpy weak kid getting a second chance with an op system letting him grow in unprecedented ways. When he gets suddenly buff in the hospital he immediately has the nurses fawning over him. He's often portrayed as the silent protector type not wanting to tread on other group's turfs but still stealthily helping them out to not you know, die. But most often he's shown doing one of four things.

1) strategising (very video game nerd style a bit like Ainz in overlord? My pool of references is limited).

2) fighting through impossible odds with sheer determination and anger

3) badass ruthless killer mode fighting (I put the sparring match with Goto under this too)

4) protecting someone (usually women but not always).

It's a story explicitly about individualistic self growth, gotta get stronger, survival of the fittest kill or be killed. He literally raises his dead foes as shadows to fight with. Most female characters are sidelined in fights, or need to be protected, or are fawning over him, or fall in love with him over him not smelling bad (okay that's just Hae-in).

I do like that he genuinely does break down in tears when he manages to cure his mother's illness. Parental bonds in media are always fraught for me due to my own issues on the topic, but the way he let's the dam break and the pain and emotions and tears flow free at seeing his mother smile is good. Props for that. He's allowed to let the stoic facade drop and be vulnerable in that moment at the very least.

Overall though I am left thinking about how toxic the mentality and fantasy displayed here is. Toxic, and one dimensional. This is a pure power fantasy character, a male ideal for the presumably male reader to project onto. Strong, ruthless to protect his family, self sacrificing to support them, not overly attention seeking, always looking kind of fashionable in his modern clothing and beyond conventionally attractive without seeming to acknowledge it. I want to intuitively compare him to other op as fuck protagonists because the comparison writes itself. But how does he compare to contemporary super op protagonists like Saitama, Mob, Ainz?

Well, not particularly favorably imo. All these characters have flaws, some more than others. Mob psycho and one punch man are shows deconstructing ultimate power and the interesting parts of the characters are how they deal with that and what it does to their personalities. Mob is incredibly kind and empathic, he's anxious to the point of stunting himself emotionally cause he fears the damage his powers can do. Saitama is bored out of his mind and takes nothing seriously cause why would he, he's practically invincible. Even Ainz in overlord, a show that is a power fantasy isekai where the fantasy is being an evil overlord, is regularly shown to be insecure and posturing his way to success, thanks to his incredible power and the forces he commands. He's Mr impostor syndrome who, despite his now undead nature, still host an urge to play the hero and help people as seen in his alter ego Momonga, and he is prone to fickle fits of cruelty when what he cares about is threatened.

What is Jin-woo's flaw? Cocky overconfidence? Callousness? Those are shown to be positives in the context of the story. He ruthlessly cuts down and then raises into his service another human that's mad at him just to get a strong soldier in the fight. He has flaws sure, but they're never highlighted or confronted in the story at least not from what I've seen. And his callous disregard for other people is not even consistent! When he raises Byung-gyu as a shadow to heal Hae-in of her wounds, he has a powerful healing shadow in his repertoire. But at the request of another of the S-rank hunters he releases the shadow of Byung-gyu. It would have been so much more interesting if he refused. If they'd allowed him to ignore the request cause the shadow was too strong of an addition to his forces.

TL;DR Jin-woo is a boring character with no real flaws, the way the story treats women is reprehensible, it's pure male power fantasy glorifying the strength of the individual and a might makes right ideology. But fuck me if the fight scenes ain't cool as hell. Jin-woo vs Beru compares favorably to Saitama vs Boros to me.

[desceros]

Okay I have something of a long post/ask/critical analysis of Symphony AU that I want to address. you're free to ignore it if I'm just spouting off insane copium. Or whatever you want to do with it lol. This is more about the turtles that about the Violist.

First I'm gonna talk about Donnie because he's arguably the easiest one to talk about. And take less time. He spent at the very least 15 years of his life knowing exactly five people, three brothers, his dad, and a bestie/pseudo big sister. They're all people who completely understand/grew up with him. And he's used to people adapting to his needs without having to say anything because he's, well, they're brother/son. Speaking from a purely canon standpoint in Rise you can see it, Raph refuses to tell Donnie they hate his gifts because it'll crush him. Stuff like that. Leo calling him a "weirdo" doesn't really mean much of anything considering he's Donnie's brother, and this is about pineapple on pizza.

This is all to say I see how Donnie just didn't bother communicating this was all for his touch experiment. As far as he's basically aware, she already knew. He wasn't going to read between the lines because he'd grown accustomed to the way his brothers, April, and dads act. Which, in hindsight, bit him in the ass because the violist literally doesn't know him aside from "purple turtle science man".

So. I get him. I get where he's coming from even if it ended up kinda fucking up the violist. That's all part of the learning curve of knowing people who don't already know who you are and whatever.

Now for Leo, maybe this is REALLY just me on my copium life support but I see where he's coming from too. Again, when you look at it from a canon lens I see where Leo is coming from. He's always been protective of his family, even more so than Raph at points. He didn't trust Big Mama immediately, even though the rest of his brothers did. He was perfectly willing and happy to DIE IN THE PRISON DIMENSION to keep his family safe. Like, let's not forget he, as well as the others, has a ton of unchecked trauma that he's definitely not willing to address to anyone. A decade of unaddressed trauma will do things to someone's psyche, intentionally or not. The guilt of almost killing his brothers has been festering inside him for over a decade now, this doesn't really seem entirely like a "my brother touches you and not me >:(" thing.

The way I see it Leo's acting out because he's actually just terrified of someone hurting his family again. It's definitely not okay, and it's condemnable. But as someone who's done some pretty fucked shit when I was dealing with my depression before meds, I've been Leo before. That man needs help, and fast.

We've also seen, from Symphony AU that he's mostly accepted the violist as part of the family now. The comments he makes about her being "Donnie's toy" are, again, things he seems to be saying to get a rise out of Donnie. We know he's been doing that for a while. And I wouldn't really put it past him for continuing to try and do it now that Donnie's not allowed to do his experiments anymore.

I had a way better way of wording this last night but I ended up watching TMNT 1987 instead but to summarize my thoughts, I sympathize with both Leo and Donnie and don't believe either of them are irredeemable monsters. If I'm somehow wrong about Leo and this is all just conduit to getting Donnie and the violist together then I'm gonna be so :(. Mafuyu Main Story chapter 14 even.

Or, again, maybe I'm just coping lol.

oh i'm all about symphony copium. breathe deep, anon-chan, hahahaha

aaaaand in true desceros fashion this got way too long so i'm tucking it under a cut. rolls eyes at myself soooooo hard

you're largely correct, though i will specify that for donnie it's not that he "didn't bother" to communicate what he thought was going on, so much as he thought he did.

i invite you-slash-everyone to read this passage from when the agreement was struck to see what i mean. i've removed all of viola-chan's thoughts and interpretations for you, and left you with just the core of the conversation, color-coded for clarity on who's speaking:

“We have… exhausted the limits of touching that I would perform with most people.”  [...] “…What do you mean?”  “I mean that all of the myriad mechanical touches I have experienced so far in my life, we’ve covered together. [...] I’ve become completely enured to them all, so long as you’re the one doing them. There is, of course, an obvious next step, but I wanted to discuss it before we begin.”  “To… touches you haven’t done?” [...] “Correct." [...] “I… don’t understand." [...] “I’m referring to more… intimate touches. We’ve… already been pushing at the boundary a bit, so I wanted to be very specific and clear." [...]

“I… take it you don’t scent your brothers.” “No, I don’t." [...] “Donnie, I—[...] I like you. You know that, right?”  “You aren’t very good at hiding it, no. [...] I, of course, like you as well, though I’d like to think that has been well demonstrated over our time together.”

[...]"…Intimate touches. [...] Like… what, petting? Kissing? Sex? What are we talking about, exactly?”  “All of it, ideally. [...] I’m quite curious to study how I’ll react, especially considering the whole touch aversion situation.” [...] “…Do… Do you wanna try it? [...] …Us, together, I mean?”  [...] “Really? With… With me?” [...] “Of course, I—[...]Donnie, I… of course. I’d be stupid to say no, right?” “Oh, that’s such a relief. [...] I’ve been making spreadsheets of things I’ve wanted to try for several days and wondering how best to bring it up, especially considering—well. It’s quite helpful that you did so yourself. Excellent work, consultant.” [...] “Well, I’d like to amend our agreement on how turtle time is going to go, from now on in light of all this, [...] We’re partners, now, so we have to take care of each other. [...]” “[...]Very well. If those are your terms for partnership, I accept.”

see how differently it reads without viola-chan's thoughts staining it? stripped of her thoughts, you can easily see where the miscommunication happened. other than a few incidental pieces of dialogue that don't affect the meaning of the convo, this is it.

in donnie's mind, he and viola-chan were very much on the same page. "partnership". "agreement". these are words that viola-chan uses. when he refers to spreadsheets, she just rolls with it. as far as he's concerned, they're talking about a scientific study here. he did communicate, and well. it's just... viola-chan put things there that he didn't. and that's not her fault, because at this point she hasn't picked up on how to communicate with donnie yet. and it's completely rational to assume, when discussing sex and romance and hearing someone say "i like you"--and then going on to kiss and have sex with that person--that it's a romantic relationship. as stated in the fic, my personal opinion (which to be clear, as someone who stands on death of the author, this *is* just my opinion) neither of them did the other ill. they literally just didn't know how to communicate yet. so i 100% agree with you on being able to see donnie's side of this. i have another long-ass ask somewhere in the meta tag discussing the lack of socializing specifically, if you're curious for more of my thoughts on that.

i also agree with you largely with the leo portion of your analysis. i... can't go into as much detail on his side of things, but rest assured that before everything is over, viola-chan and leo are going to have more than one conversation. and the two of them, despite everything, really do mesh well and talk about things, so it'll be a satisfying resolution, i think.

anyway WOW that got way too long but teal deer, i agree and love deep meta-analysis of my stuff so don't apologize in the slighest, yeehaw

[smolcinnamonchipmunk]

Im very sorry, but I need to vent, even if it's out in the void because the whole missing stray thing is getting to me way more than it should be, but I tagged the things (animal death mention) and am going to trauma dump a bit, IGNORE THIS IF YOU DONT WANT THAT. It's messy, and whatever, but I've sobbed more the last two days than I have since the end of last year

I think one of the reasons the stray going missing is hitting me so hard is because literally day before the storm came in one of the people who's seen me frequent the area with her (I've talked to him a couple of times with her) was like "I'm moving tomorrow, and I wish I could take her, but she always runs away when I try. Guess you're her human. Try to find a good home for her, yeah?" and all the staff at the cornerstore who I've badgered the last several days if they've seen her have all said something similar about me being 'her human', and how she likes me, and 'she never lets me pet her or anything' (yeah, because I've spent the last TWO MONTHS TRYING TO MAKE HER COMFORTABLE AROUND ME) and I promised him I'd take care of her, and literally the next day a massive storm and flooding and she's been missing, and I just

Idk, I literally looked at her Wednesday as the guy told me to help her and thought "Should I try to scoop her up again tonight?" because I've tried picking her up before and she freaked out, so I was like "Nah, I'll wait til she's a little more comfortable", and IM SO MAD AT MYSELF NOW

I know there's not really a way for me to know that there would have been flash flooding even if I knew the storm was coming (which I had no clue about until it happened the next day), but I'm still so angry at myself because even if I didn't succeed in wrangling her back to my place, at least there's the chance that she'd be safe inside with me right now instead of potentially drowned or eaten by coyotes. I was supposed to protect her, I was already going to, but then I PROMISED I WAS GOING TO TAKE CARE OF HER AND I FAILED NEXT DAY. And now, I might never see her again, and I've just been wandering around calling her name and waiting three hours a night for a cat who'll probably never come again, and I wish I didnt care as much as I do

I feel like I need to stop caring, at least enough so the universe leaves me the fuck alone with irony because this whole thing is just reminding me of when I called my mother to say I was staying at my apartment for the holidays because I didn't know how much time my KD elderly cat had, came home to her already passed, AND when I dropped her off in the middle of the night for a necropsy because this was my first time dealing with a deceased pet and checked the mail, THE FUCKING INK PAWPAD SET I GOT TO GET HER PAWPRINT BEFORE SHE PASSED WAS IN THE MAIL

[grayskies2525]

A Year of Falling | Ben & Arlo | M/M | Part 7

Part 7 is shorter and continues from the last chapter. This one's definitely more care-taking heavy with less emphasis on sneezing. Part 8 will jump forward in time.

CW: The first scene shows Ben dealing with the grief he feels over losing his parents. Be careful going into it, and if you want to skip it, you can just start after the  dividing line thingy. If you do skip, there are a few tidbits about Ben's childhood and family you will miss, but ultimately, they're not *too* important.

Link to all parts: A Year of Falling

________________________

Chapter Seven: June - Fourth Cold of the Year (cont.)

Ben has never cooked with tofu before, but the challenge awakens something inside of him he’d forgotten. Well, it’s not so much that he forgot — more like he deliberately pushed it away into the farthest recesses of his mind. Ben’s not someone who creates; he’s never been one to add to the world. He takes and takes without offering anything in return. That’s just who Ben is. But the closest he’s ever come to feeling like he can contribute something positive to the world is when he cooks.

These days, cooking conjures too many memories of his parents — lazy Saturdays as a child spent dancing around the kitchen with his mom, some classic rock song his dad chose playing in the background, usually Queen. His parents had been busy with work — his mom at Dairy Queen, his dad as a mechanic. As busy as they were, they still had a home-cooked dinner together most nights — even if the meal was only hamburger helper. His mom insisted that Ben help in preparing the food. As a child, this involved standing to assist, often stirring or simply handing his mom ingredients. As he entered his teens, Ben started cooking entire meals himself. He’d serve them to his parents with pride after they came home from their long shifts. As someone who barely passed his classes and participated in no sports or extracurriculars or did anything that warranted special notice, the compliments about his food meant the world to him. 

He thinks about this as he seasons the tofu for Arlo’s soup. Would his mom eat tofu if Ben cooked it? Ben considers this and is sure she would, but would she like it? She was definitely a fan of eating meat, especially red meat — a fact that likely contributed to the heart attack that killed her at only the age of fifty-three. Well, that and the smoking. And the lack of exercise. And her disdain for going to the doctor. And, well, everything about her lifestyle. Ben smiles as he remembers his mom’s stubbornness. Then, as always, the smile dissolves and he closes his eyes and grits his teeth in anger at how if she just would have taken care of herself — at all, to literally any degree — she would probably still be here. He knows he can’t actually be certain of that, especially considering the heart attack happened a month after his dad died in a car crash. The sudden and extreme grief undoubtedly put stress on her heart. Still, though, if she had taken care of her heart better, she may have been able to recover.

Ben stares at the tofu. He’s sure his mom would, at the very least, scoff at Ben if he handed her a bowl of “chicken noodle soup” made with tofu. But she’d still take it, say something like “I can’t believe my own son would subject me to such horrors,” then proceed to eat every bite just to appease Ben. 

He hates that she only exists now in these hypothetical scenarios. He wants to just fucking ask her what she would say if he cooked her tofu, but he can’t and every time he’s reminded of that fact, it hits him with more force and pain than he imagines it would to get hit by a car.

 Ben uses the back of his hand to swipe at the sudden moisture on his cheeks.

Three years after their deaths, he still can’t disentangle these associations. Will he always tear up every time he so much as chops a carrot?

And it’s not even just cooking. Sometimes it feels like everything. Every single day, without fail, he thinks about how appalled his dad would be to see the current state of Ben’s car. He’d helped Ben buy it when Ben had been eighteen. As a mechanic, his dad taught him everything Ben needed to do to maintain the car, and Ben has done literally none of it since he passed. Ben would never admit it to anyone — he barely can to himself — but that’s what makes taking care of his car so damn hard now. Bringing his Corolla to a stranger always proves to be nausea inducing — grief-laced memories crashing over him, taking away his breath, causing him to dig his nails into the palms of his hands to keep the tears from spilling over. 

He bought a new vacuum last month — a vacuum — and, removing it from the box, his throat had tightened as an unwelcome thought lodged itself into his mind that he couldn’t shake for several minutes.

Mom’s never going to get to see this.

It was entirely absurd. If his mom had been alive, she wouldn’t have given two shits about his new vacuum because, again, it’s a vacuum. But she had seen his old one and now she would never get to see this one and for some reason that matters.

These thoughts seem to hit him after any kind of change. The same thing happened when the Walmart in town changed their layout and moved everything to a different place. A normal person would react to the change as though it were an annoying but minor inconvenience. Ben, of course, is not normal. So he, instead, reacted by standing still in the middle of an aisle, his breath catching in his throat, as decades of  memories of shopping with his parents raced through his mind. Again, the same kind of thought attacked him.

They’ll never get to see this.

Ben wanted to slap himself for the thought because they wouldn’t even want to see it. It’s Walmart. If they had a choice in the matter, they’d probably choose not to experience the shitty store moving its shitty items all around in a way that seemingly served no purpose other than to confuse people.

But it’s like all these changes — regardless of how small — are reminders of how time just keeps going. And as it keeps going, it’s taking him farther and farther away from a time when his parents were still a part of this world — from a time when regardless of how much he fucked up, the one thing he knew with no doubt was that there would still be two people loving him, unconditionally.

And time is only going to keep going. There’s going to keep being new vacuums, new cars, new stores, and eventually an entirely new Ben that his parents wouldn’t even recognize. 

Would they even recognize me now?

Through watery eyes, he stares at the bowls of chopped ingredients on the counter. He pulls the handkerchief he’s been using to deal with the remnants of his cold out from his jeans back pocket. He swipes at his eyes, blows his nose, then stands with his hands gripping the counter as he takes a deep breath before going to wash his hands. 

This is why he doesn’t cook. 

But, then, he hears a volley of harsh coughs come from the bedroom and he remembers Arlo — sick as can be in bed — and he’s reminded that he has a purpose right now. He can actually do something to help someone for once.

He shakes away his lingering sadness as he continues cooking the soup. But after three years of this, Ben knows better than to think it will stay gone for long. The emotions are still there, lurking inside him waiting for another mundane, innocuous moment before they attack.

___________

Ben is finishing up the soup when he hears footsteps coming toward the kitchen. Footsteps accompanied by coughing. He turns away from the pot and sees Arlo standing there, wearing his thick comforter like a cape and rubbing his eyes.

“Hey, what are you doing out of bed?” Ben asks gently.

Arlo doesn’t answer — just stares at him then blinks. Ben feels the corners of his mouth twitch in amusement at how lost Arlo looks. They are literally in Arlo’s own kitchen, yet he looks like he’s stepped onto another planet.

“Arlo, you still with me?” Ben asks, brow arched. Arlo lets out a small groan before shuffling over to Ben, his comforter dragging across the floor. 

He stops in front of Ben, sniffles, then looks at Ben with watery eyes behind his black-framed glasses. He told Ben once that he only wears his glasses when he knows he’ll be spending his day in bed — otherwise, he chooses contacts. Ben holds back a smile at how Arlo manages to look adorable even in this incredibly pitiable state.

“What are you making?” Arlo asks, sniffling again. He wraps his comforter around himself more tightly before coming in closer, clearly wanting Ben to embrace him. So, he does.

Arlo’s only an inch or so shorter than him, so his head rests comfortable against Ben’s shoulder as Ben extends his arm around Arlo to rub soothing circles on his back. 

“You okay?” Ben asks, concern building as Arlo remains still against him.

“Hm, yeah, just needed to stretch a little,” Arlo says, words muffled against Ben’s shoulder. “I’ve been in bed for so long. Why are you still here? I thought you had to work today."

Ben’s grip on Arlo tightens slightly at the unexpected question. “I work tomorrow,” he says, not exactly lying, but definitely not telling the truth. It’s such a transparent way to avoid the question that if Arlo weren’t a sleepy, sniffly mess right now, he surely would have clocked it immediately. There’s definitely guilt there, but Ben doesn’t want Arlo to feel bad about Ben staying home from work just to take care of him. “I’m making you some soup for dinner,” Ben says, quickly. “I know you’ve had nothing but ice cream today. I’ve loaded it with vegetables, since you for some reason seem to like that kind of thing,” Ben says, rolling his eyes fondly as Arlo continues to just rest against him. “Uh, you’re not, like, falling asleep on me, are you?” Ben asks.

“Maybe,” Arlo mutters.

Ben laughs, then guides the very dazed Arlo to the small kitchen table. Arlo sits down, then immediately snaps forward into a sneeze.

“HEG’Nkx’t!”

“Bless you,” Ben says with a frown. “Just in case you need a reminder — it’s so completely okay to let your sneezes out. I heavily advise it, even.”

Arlo throws his head back and scrunches his nose as if in an attempt to scratch an itch without using his hands. “Sorry, it’s just a habit, I guess,” he says, sniffling thickly.

“It’s a habit you need to break,” Ben says, seriously. “You’re going to wind up with a sinus infection or ear infection if you keep up with that.”

“You don’t know that,” Arlo mumbles, mid-nose scrunch.

“I do,” Ben says. “I Googled it before starting the soup. You’re supposed to sneeze, Arlo. It’s, like, one of the body’s most basic defense mechanisms.”

“You Googled it?” Arlo asks, brow raised. 

“Of course I Googled it. Wanted to make sure you weren’t at risk of an aneurysm or something.”

Arlo stares at him, his expression impossibly soft. So soft and full of warmth and possibly something else that Ben doesn’t want to analyze, so he clears his throat. “But, yeah. I made soup. Chicken noodle soup,” he says, gesturing to the simmering pot on the stove.

Arlo’s soft expression contorts into something much less affectionate. “Ben… I don’t eat — hold on I heh —" Arlo says, looking desperate and adorably confused.

“Need to sneeze?” Ben asks, corner of his mouth twitching.

“Yes, I have to… have to? — hh hh heh — gonna ng’t ip-gnkx’t-chuh! Ow!” Arlo takes a deep breath before bringing his closed fist up. “Ih’chieew! Chiew! Ep’chieww!”

Arlo sits in that position for a long moment, gaze seeming fixed on the wall. Slowly he brings his fist down and begins the process of uncurling his fingers. Ben watches and frowns at the amount of effort such a simple movement seems to necessitate. Arlo stretches his fingers slowly outward, grimacing, before he finally lowers his hand.

“Bless you, and thank you for letting them out. But, Arlo, really… don’t worry about covering. They’re literally my germs, first of all, and even if they weren’t I really couldn’t care less, okay?”

Arlo’s still staring down at his hand, his mouth in a tight line. “I should be able to cover a sneeze without being in pain,” he says, sounding uncharacteristically frustrated. “It’s summer. Usually the meds work decently enough for my fingers not to feel this bad when the weather’s warm.”

Ben looks at Arlo for a moment, at a loss for what to say. Supporting someone with a chronic illness is a completely new territory to him and he’s undoubtedly going to say or do something wrong, so he naively thinks it would possibly be best to simply not say or do anything. 

But Arlo looks so sad. He continues to stare at his hands as though he feels personally betrayed by them, and Ben realizes he probably does. 

“You said getting sick can trigger flare-ups, right?” Ben asks, choosing his words carefully. “I honestly don’t know anything about arthritis, or uh, rheumatoid arthritis, I guess? Honestly, I don’t really know the difference between the two,” Ben says, feeling his cheeks warm. 

Arlo looks up, looking tired. “The symptoms are similar, but the causes are different. And usually older people are the ones who get the regular type of arthritis. RA affects younger people and it’s an auto-immune disorder. So it’s my own stupid immune system attacking my joints. For basically no reason. And yeah, being sick triggers flares, which is just…” Arlo lets out a long sigh. “Which is really frustrating because I already feel sick enough during a flare. I usually get fevers with them even when I’m not sick. So when I am… it’s like twice as bad, you know?” Arlo says, looking down at the table.

“Yeah, so… honestly I can’t imagine what that’s like, at all,’ Ben says, rubbing the back of his neck. “But um, it looks really, really shitty.”

Arlo huffs out an amused laugh. “Yes, really shitty may be the best way to describe it, actually.”

Ben grins, his eyes lighting up. “Mr. Thompson, did you just cuss?” Ben asks, clutching his chest dramatically.

Arlo blushes, but he’s smiling. “I’m thirty-two years old and I’m not in the classroom,” he says, looking sheepish.

 “Yeah, but still. You never say bad words,” Ben continues teasing, his smile growing wider. “You always say things like ‘this is quite wretched,’ or like, ‘how dreadful,’ or like ‘what a bother.’ But never shitty.”

Arlo’s laughing in earnest now. “First of all, I don’t say any of those words. It’s like you perceive me as a British old man, or something.”

“Can I be honest?” Ben asks, amusement lacing his tone. “That kind of is how I perceive you. I mean, those are totally the vibes you give off.”

“Shutup, they are not” Arlo says, cheeks pink, though still smiling. “You’re a bad influence on me. Your much less sophisticated vernacular is obviously infectious.”

“This is what I’m saying,” Ben says with a playful roll of his eyes. “I mean who even says words like ‘vernacular’?”

Arlo snorts. “An English teacher, I guess,” he says. Then his head, once again jerks forward in another set of sneezes. “Ets’chieww! T’schiew! ET’schiew! Chiew!”

Ben is oddly pleased to see the sneezes spray out over the table. It’s certainly not sanitary, but they’re past the point of that mattering, and it’s relieving to see Arlo not putting himself through pain for the sake of being polite. 

“Bless you,” Ben says before he turns around to the pot of soup. He ladles out a bowl for Arlo, puts a spoon in it, then brings it over. “I was kidding earlier, in case that wasn’t clear. I made it with vegetable broth and tofu, so don’t worry — your weird vegetarian morals aren’t at stake,” Ben teases.

Arlo stares at the soup, frowning. “Ben?”

Ben’s eyes widen at the apprehension written all over Arlo’s face. “What?” he asks hesitantly. 

“You know that I get easily embarrassed, right?” 

“Yeah, I may have noticed that.”

“Well, I feel less embarrassed around you than I do pretty much everyone else, except for maybe my parents and my sisters,” Arlo says.

“Okay…” Ben says, dragging the word out because he doesn’t understand the direction of this conversation.

Arlo closes his eyes, then lets out another sigh. “I’m telling you this because I’m going to ask you to do something that I would feel embarrassed to ask anyone else.”

“Okay…” Ben says, again, his heart starting to race.

“I — I need you…” He sighs and Ben’s heart is now pounding in his chest. What could he possibly be wanting to ask that’s deserving of so much leadup and anxiety? “I need you to get my giant spoon. It’s in the second drawer down on the right side of the sink,” he says, finally.

“Your… your what?” Ben asks, the words not computing.

“Well, I guess it’s a misnomer to call it a giant spoon when really it’s the handle that’s giant, but it’s just easier to call it ‘giant spoon’ than to call it ‘giant-handled’ spoon,” Arlo rambles, his cheeks growing pinker. 

Ben stares before finally turning around and heading to the specified drawer. He pulls it open and, sure enough, there’s several “giant spoons,” and other similarly designed eating utensils filling the drawer.

Ben pulls out a spoon with a thick, black rubber handle. It reminds him of the spoons and forks made for kids who haven’t yet developed fine motor skills, though this handle is definitely thicker than any of the toddler utensils he’s seen before.

Ben looks at the spoon, face contorted in confusion, until it clicks. “Oh. Arlo, this is amazing! This will make eating easier, right? Like, you won’t need to use as tight of a grip on it, I assume?”

Ben smiles down at the spoon, feeling relief settle across him. He was honestly worried about the process of Arlo eating the soup, since it would require so much movement with the spoon from bowl to mouth.

“Yeah, it helps. It’s not a perfect solution, especially since my elbows are, uh… not feeling especially great today. So I’ll still have to bring the spoon up and down, which isn’t ideal, but they’ve been worse before, so I’ll manage,” Arlo says with a shrug. 

Ben has the oddest compulsion to say he’ll spoon-feed the soup to Arlo. The fact that someone as gentle and sweet as Arlo has to endure pain — any amount — just to lift a spoon to his mouth, quite frankly, pisses Ben off. Anger builds in him as he contemplates the situation, but it quickly dissolves into helplessness as he realizes he can’t do anything about a disease. There’s no one he can fight or argue with. He would spoon-feed the soup to Arlo — happily, if it kept him from dealing with pain — but he also knows the mere suggestion would likely cause Arlo to combust from embarrassment. 

So, he’s thrilled for the existence of this spoon if it can provide anything at all to ease the process for Arlo.

Ben switches out the spoon already in the bowl with the “giant” one. Arlo’s comforter falls off his shoulders and hangs off him awkwardly as he picks up the spoon, but Arlo doesn’t seem to mind.

Arlo glances sheepishly at Ben, biting his lip. “So I know I say I feel less embarrassed around you, but it is still pretty mortifying to be sitting here with my big freaking spoon.” Arlo sighs. “Ben, this is… uh, this is what dating me is going to be like, okay? You’re um… you’re going to feel like you’re dating an old man sometimes. My medication, generally, does a good job at handling the worst of it, but I still have bad days. And on those days, I have to use silly things like this,” Arlo says, glancing down at the spoon. “And I guess I want to know if you’re okay with it?”

Ben blinks several times. “You’re asking if I’m okay dating you because… because what? Because sometimes you have to use a spoon with a thick handle?” Ben can’t hold back a light laugh. “Arlo, you know, I’ve dated a few people before and I have to say, if that’s the worst thing you’re bringing to our relationship, then I really don’t think we have anything to worry about.”

“I won’t use it in public or anything,” Arlo says quickly. “I usually only use it when I’m completely alone.”

Ben narrows his eyes. “Arlo — I mean this in the kindest way possible, but why the fuck do you think I’d care about what kind of spoon you use in public?”

Arlo looks down at his soup. “I mean, some people do.”

“Some people?” Ben asks, giving Arlo a knowing look.

“Some people,” Arlo says, nodding, still looking down at his soup.

“And is ‘some people’ perhaps another way of saying Jeremy?”

Arlo looks at Ben, then winces. “Maybe.”

“For fuck’s sake,” Ben says in exasperation. “Please tell me this guy moved far, far away to, like… Australia. Yes, Australia sounds like the perfect place for him. There’s all kinds of weird, scary shit there. Felix made me watch this documentary once and they talked about this one snake that lives in Australia and it can kill people with its bite in, like, under fifteen minutes.” He pauses, seeing Arlo’s expression of horror. “Which is a fact totally unrelated to why I think Jeremy should live there,” he adds quickly, flashing Arlo a broad smile.

Arlo rolls his eyes. “No, he doesn’t live in Australia. He lives here — works at a bank. I see him around sometimes still, but mostly avoid him. But… he wasn’t all bad. Not all the time. And I mean, it was kind of attention grabbing to just bring out my giant spoon out, you know? I’d have to carry it into a restaurant, and out… It was awkward. I only did it once before it became clear it was a horrible idea. And usually when my fingers are so bad that I need my spoon, I’m not really feeling up to going out anyway because it’s never just my fingers. RA likes to attack a bunch of joints at once. But, Jeremy was tired of staying in and… well, it was only Wendy’s — not some fine dining establishment or anything, so I didn’t think it’d be a massive deal to bring it, but Jeremy was mortified, and honestly, so was I. I mean, usually the people using these things are, like, ninety. ” Arlos dips the spoon in the bowl, and Ben suspects it’s his way of avoiding eye contact with Ben.

“Arlo, what the hell are you talking about? Like, what the hell? Ninety-year olds are also the demographic for people who need to carry around oxygen tanks. But do you point and laugh when you see a seven year old with, like, cystic fibrosis, using one? No, because that’s fucking insane,” Ben says, unable to stop staring at Arlo with wide eyes. “If the spoon helps, then the spoon helps, and I will not tolerate any embarrassment over it,” Ben says, definitively. “You can take the damn thing anywhere, for all I care.”

Arlo looks up from his soup, cheeks burning. “And you say you aren’t nice,” he finally says after staring at Ben for a long time.

“I’m.. I’m not,” Ben sputters. “Didn’t you hear the threat in that statement? And all my very strong language?”

Arlo rolls his eyes, but he’s smirking as he brings a spoonful of soup up to his lips. After he takes a bite, he goes for another — his movements slow and take obvious effort. “Ben, this tastes really, really good. Have you cooked tofu before? It’s the perfect consistency,” he says before going for another bite.

It’s Ben’s turn to blush. “Well, no, but it wasn’t too hard to figure out after I pressed all the water out of it. I was not prepared for the obscene amount of water tofu has.”

Arlo laughs. “Yeah, most people are surprised by that. Ben, this is really good,” he says again, then sniffles.

“Thank you,” Ben says, sheepishly.

“I never see you cook, but you obviously can. Why do you live off Cheetos if you can cook like this?” Arlo asks, dipping his spoon back into the bowl. 

Ben looks away quickly, then turns to grab some water from the fridge. “Cooking is… you know… boring,” he lies. It’s a minor lie. A very mundane, innocuous lie that he refuses to feel bad about, even if it does make it the second time he’s told this type of lie in the past hour.

He joins Arlo at the table with his own bowl of soup. They eat in a comfortable silence for a minute or two when Arlo breaks it.

“IP’shhhhhhh! HIH’shhhhh HIH’tshooo ‘shhh ‘shhhh ep’chhh! Ep’chhh! Ep’chhhooo! Chiew chiew chiew chiew HEH chiEW ep’shhhhh ep’shhh ep’shhh HHEH! Ngt’shuuh!

“Jesus, Arlo. Bless you,” Ben says, spoon stopped midair while he stares open-mouthed at Arlo.

“Whoa, I am sorry. I don’t know why they just took over like that there. I just —” Arlo shakes his head, then turns it to the side again to avoid spraying Ben. “Et’shhh! Et’shiew! Et’shhh t’shhhiew t’shiew EP’shieeww!”

“Bless —”

“ETS’SHIEEW! EPt’SHIIEEWW! HEhh hhh HE EH’PTSHIEW!”

“Bless you, Arlo. My god. Are you okay?” Ben asks. 

“Yeah… just…” Arlo sniffles thickly — the sound wet and gurgling. “I think I’m going to lie back down. The exhaustion is hitting pretty hard again. I’ll heat up the rest of the soup later, okay? Thank you so much for making it. That was so kind of you to do. And I really don’t deserve it and ET’SHHIEW! ETS’shhhhhh!”

He feels the mist hit his face. If Ben hadn’t been sick already, he definitely would be now. 

“Ben —” Arlo starts, his eyes wide, brows drawn close together.

“Nope,” Ben interrupts. “You are forbidden from making any more apologies tonight. Especially if it’s for sneezing on me. We’ll just say we’re even now, okay?”

“But I should have covered. I —”

“You should be in bed,” Ben says before even the beginnings of an apology can fall from his lips. 

“I am suddenly very tired,” Arlo says. “Sorry I’m not the best company, right now.”

“Arlo, go to bed right now before you have the chance to apologize for something else silly.”

While Arlo gets up to do just that, Ben works on putting Arlo’s soup into Tupperware. After everything is cleaned up and put away, he heads to the bedroom. Arlo is already fast asleep, his kangaroo stuffed animal tucked into the crook of an arm, and the cat curled up on his stomach.

Ben winces at the image —not because something is wrong, but because the emotions welling up inside him are strong and unfamiliar.

He’s sure, at this moment, that he’s never come close to feeling this way about a partner before and a thought has never terrified him more because there's not even a miniscule chance of him not messing this up.

Part 8

[songliili]

2023 writing roundup

i was tagged by @hgejfmw-hgejhsf and @rockyroadkylers!

i feel like i've spent my whole year writing, but i also know that i've spent months without doing it so i can't say how much it was month by month. but i posted three fics this year so like. that's an achievement!

let's see what we got.

January:

the great dean court off - Supernatural, 21.8k, M (chapter update) [someday i will finish it, i promise]

Of all the things Dean expected to find when he came back from the bathroom break, a folded piece of paper with "hey, if you’re not gay, my friend thinks you’re cute. here’s her number 316-557-9608 (and if you’re gay, here’s mine 316-997-2018)" written on, was not it. - Or the one where Dean organises a dating contest because he's bi and can't decide between two options.

September:

I Had Some Time (With You) - Supernatural, 23.9k, E

It's 2005 when things go to hell. Well. They go to hell for everyone except Dean, ‘cause he was ready for it. Well. He was ready for the apocalypse, not for the gorgeous man who fell into his life, quite literally. OR A Destiel rewrite of Bill and Frank's love story as shown on HBO's The Last of Us episode 3: Long Long Time that uses elements of both universes.

November:

we all have a hunger - RWRB, 22.9k, E

Alex’s journey of self discovery started one random night five years ago, when he was scrolling his favorite porn website to relax after midterms. He chose a video with the preview of two guys in the threesome category, thinking nothing of it, and came so hard he thought he was going to pass out. The threesome didn’t happen, the girl just sat there looking at the two guys going at it, just like Alex did. After that night, saying that the tall, blond and gorgeous actor with a fucking sinful shoulder to waist ratio didn’t do it for him was a complete lie, so maybe, maybe, Alex could be excused when he freezes up when said man - even more tall, blond and gorgeous in real life - stretches a hand toward him and says “I’m Henry, Pez’s ‘best mate of honor’, as he says.” with his perfectly infuriating British accent. — OR: Henry is a porn star, Alex is a fan.

December:

Fill My Stocking - RWRB, 6k, E

Alex has spent the past fifteen minutes talking with David about his favourite treats. Not that the dog answered, but Alex was undeterred and kept going, uncaring that Henry had asked him to give him an hour and then he’d join him in hanging up fairy lights and mistletoe everywhere. Very well. If Alex wants Henry’s attention, he'll have it. It's probably not what Alex thought he’d accomplish with his little scheme, but it's a compromise between Henry's needs and Alex's wants, and that's all that can be done. OR: Alex wants some attention and Henry has to get creative.

Upcoming in 2024:

part 2 of the pornstar verse (title undecided):

picks up the day after the ending of part one, it's alex's first christmas in london

Like Father, Like Son:

alex is a horse trainer and has a crush on arthur fox. he's the trainer on set for arthur fox's new movie (a queer western). his son, henry fox, visits the set and well. alex is fucked.

I hope you don't mind. (part 3 of the pornstar verse):

henry's bad days and how alex helps him go through them

Other things I hope I manage to put out next year (or at least start writing):

Your body is the Sistine Chapel:

what if dean was as tattooed as he was supposed to be? which tattoos would he get? for whom would he get them?

untitled airbnb fic:

alex travels to london as a reward for finishing college, and henry is his airbnb host whose dog likes alex a little too much.

untitled mandalorian!alex fic:

alex is the mandalorian, david is grogu. that's all i have for now.

untitled scarlet witch!henry/sword agent!alex fic:

inspired by this tweet. i have nothing more than this to give you atm.

i posted 62.406 words this year, and written many more. i'm fairly new to writing, so this is a real accomplishment for me. my biggest goal was to post a fully finished chaptered fic, and i did! then i started a series, and wrote something shorter than 7k, and i have so many ideas for future fics that i genuinely don't know where to start. i hope i manage to post at least a couple next year!

tagging: @affectionatelyrs @firenati0n @absoluteaudacitywrites @gayrootvegetable @leojfitz @anincompletelist @ssmtskw @littlemisskittentoes @cactusdragon517 @read-and-write- and everyone else that wants to join!

[transmutationisms]

I apologize if there's something already on your blog about this and I didn't find it, but I was watching tailgate party and realized that Shiv had spent the entire episode pacing around one apartment complex 6000 steps over and that the Roys do this a lot.

My memory of the last few seasons is fuzzy (<- binged it before and now doesn't remember shit) but I feel like the Roys spend a lot of time in very large, usually open spaces, with wide walls and tall ceilings, and usually ones we've seen before or are expected to see again and that a lot of important scenes happen *outside* of these spaces. Important meaning either big moments or iconic ones or sometimes just transitonary. Kendall had his Next-Jesus moment out in the ocean, Tom started throwing water bottles in that cramped ass escape room or talked about his marriage out on the beach, the entirety of Kill List happens outside of ATN offices, Logan meets Mattson for the first time on a personal island, Roman went to a random one story office environment for a fucking business school and was never the same character (well. compared to S1 Roman) again, they have that reverse Jesus thing over cruises on a cruise ship, etc. I feel like plane scenes could both fit into this or break it depending on the season but at least for other scenes I feel like there's a pattern here.

Outdoor spaces or parts where they actually put their shoes outside onto sidewalk always feel semi important to me but it doesn't even have to be outdoors specifically. Like, even just the honeymoon suite was different enough from every other building we'd seen the show have, and that's when Shiv admitted to cheating!

Do you think there's something to this, or do you have your own thoughts? I'd be interested to hear more if only to appeal to my ego ;-). There's other things that could connect to this like the grey-white-brown-dark blue color palette damn near every scene is in vs. scenes with real color inside of them and Kendall's asking why Sophie was "on the street" being indicative of how he thinks she should be raised (based on how he was raised and also how he can recognize the manipulation and abusive inherent to his father's parenting but not the more subtle isolation and neglect) and the fact the Roys are literally running an actual rat race while trapped inside Waystair Rocyo 1/2 the time but I have to stay focused on one thing when I write shit down even if I'm connecting dots in my head or else this ask won't even be remotely legible.

[If you already wrote about this - sorry! I hope this makes sense. Either way, have a good night, and fingers crossed something fun happens at Logan's funeral. I still want Tom to fight someone. It won't happen but it'd be funny as hell lol]

yeah i haven't really written anything comprehensive on this, but i do think there are a few interesting points with regards to how the show uses the characters' environments. forgive me for bullet-pointing lol, maybe you can help string these things together into something more cohesive. but:

yes, the characters often spend most of an episode trapped in one location, even one building. in part i think this is a function of the presence of playwrights on the writing staff, and the way many episodes flirt with the three classical unities of tragedy writing (time / place / action). so, lots of episodes are 1 day only, or 2 or 3 max, and often a character will be mostly confined to one location during that span. in part this helps make each individual episode really tight internally, but it also contributes to that persistent sense that the characters are trapped (within their circumstances, company, family, etc)

indoor vs outdoor is an interesting thread. one thing that has always stood out to me is that the show has a tendency to use natural sunlight not as refreshing, enlightening, etc, but as blinding, overwhelming, and even dangerous. the sun almost kills logan in s3, there are those shots in 2x10 and 3x09 where everyone's squinting in the bright light, there's a similar effect in 'austerlitz', etc. this contributed to the overall sense of discomfort that the roys experience, despite all their material luxuries; it also contributes to the sense that nature and the natural world is an alien, external force that appears threatening—this sense also comes out in all of the animal metaphors they use, which emphasise the brutality they see in the animal kingdom and in nature generally

if we're talking places, i also must bring up the presence of bathrooms on the show. these are quotidian rooms, but also dangerous ones, in the sense that they exist to purge a civilised society of its filth, and the whole process tends to be marginalised and wilfuly ignored. so, i've always liked that succession has a lot of scenes set in bathrooms, and often characters are able to speak differently in the bathroom—sometimes more intimate (kendall and stewy, tom and logan in 3x05), or more direct (greg and logan in 2x08), or they're allowed to say things they couldn't elsewhere (roman and mencken). bathrooms are also sheltered personal spaces, where the characters can retreat and hide (kendall using them to do coke, shiv practicing a smile in 1x02, greg rehearsing his congressional testimony)

the waystar offices obviously have that very 21st-century glass-and-steel aesthetic that telegraphs new money, a certain neoliberal attempt at severance from systems of social and cultural meaning-making, etc. so, moving the characters to other locations is effective because, in contrast to the kind of soullessness of the waystar building, it makes the other places stand out and emphasises the meaning we can glean from the sets alone (like, the gut-punch of dodds's house in contrast to the sort of corporate default)

in regards to the idea of control and confinement within luxe spaces—yes, this is clearly something we see many of the environments convey (the ultimate expression of this being the anti-suicide wall that logan puts up to pen kendall in). this is really a discrete material expression of how waystar operates in a broader sense, constraining people whilst appearing to create more options and more freedom (also a basic characteristic of neoliberal modes of production, lol)

again i'm not sure i have a thesis statement here unifying all of these observations lol. but i do think the show does well at using its environments and settings to tell us a lot about the characters, the company, and the broader world they inhabit.

[eldritch-queern-magicat]

So. I have such a what the fuck situation going on. At the beginning of the year, Charles went and moved out to Indiana with someone he'd started dating online. And he's already back in town, here in Maryland, with a second ex.

Now, he has mental health struggles to deal with. Obviously he needs help of his own, but this put him in a really bad headspace. He was literally accused of holding his ex's daughter's head in a bowling ball return for ten whole fucking MINUTES by her friends. Her family didn't buy it, her dad gave him money to get back to town. She's fully convinced, even though the story is nonsense. If it was true, the cops and paramedics would have been there and nothing like that happened. Charles would never have gotten out of Indiana in the first place.

Melissa told me on Friday after I got home from college, and gave me the basic rundown of what happened. Charles called me Saturday while he was around Columbus Ohio to give me all the details. He also filled me in on her previous ex currently has custody of their daughter.

Pardon me if I'm upset at not being his most insane ex at this point. But she's actually fucking delusional. She literally had a three post shit fit on Facebook Sunday. I figured it would be alright to accept her friend request because he is still one of my closest friends ever. And comments indicate her family has all decided to cut contact with her, but she also brought up that they should block her over it if they didn't believe her. I 100% took screenshots and sent them to Melissa, who printed them out.

Oh, and some time probably yesterday, she apparently blocked me on Facebook. I'm not really shocked, though. But I got really pissed at the whole mess. Last Wednesday was Alex's birthday, and I spent the entire night up with her drinking and playing Magic the Gathering. I literally was telling her that I suspected Charles would end up moving back to Maryland. I didn't expect that to happen so damn fast.

I'm worried about her trying to go after him, though he could counter with defamation if she did. The thing is, she did help him out financially with some things, like his car. He also mentioned that she was apparently still expecting half of his next check. That's going to get complicated real fast, but I don't know if she's got enough sense to realize it's a bad idea.

This is a mess and I just want to make sure Charles is going to be ok. So does Alex, even though things are messy between them, too, in major part because of her last ex.

Why am I, the one from the forest, the one most able to deal with this? Probably because I had to very consciously learn how to work with people and manage conflicts. If this mess also helps bring Melissa and Alex back together as friends, as Dad has suggested, I'm just going to have to accept whatever people start calling me. That being said, I'm bringing in the cavalry to mediate whatever I need the help with.

At least what I learned in my Speech Communication class before covid is coming in very handy.

[frogsandfries]

Apparently, at least creatively, I had a way more productive day than I thought. I'm not breaking down my story chapter to chapter with the source material; I'm kind of just letting each chapter vibe, as long as it's ideally about a thousand words (like seven hundred will be fine, or seven thousand).

I got those pages archived into my digital notebook on my tablet for later rework.

I wish there was a cafe nearby that I could walk to...... I keep saying this. There is, in my opinion, a distinct lack of coffee in most places that are not Oregon (I didn't spend much time in WA, maybe a handful of hours). Like, the two major cities in Wisconsin, Madison and Milwaukee, are the coffee hubs, but still relatively barren. I mean, look, okay, my time in New Mexico was hardly spent indulging in the local coffee scene. I believe there was one purely local place, and then a bunch of like, diners that would show up because they had coffee on the menu, but mostly major chains. Like the green one 🙄😮‍💨

But at least I could leave my home at my leisure. Walk or take a bus, depending on how I felt. Bring my tablet or sketchbook or whatever, and go hang out somewhere that I didn't live.

And worse, right now, I can hardly breathe the cold air without falling into fits of gagging. So even going up the street to the library is out of the question. And my sister went out last night and tonight, like fucking good for her I guess. This place is going to fall apart while I'm out of state.

Speaking of being out of state, on the one hand, I don't know why I'm bitching. I'm getting on a plane and going to NM. I'm going for business, but hey, it'll be a chance to be out of the house, a chance to see my home again. I'm going to be the built in house sitter next year if my sister gets deployed. And then..........who knows..... Not to mention, moving is hard enough. Moving from one state to another is.......not really something I want to do again right away...... Even if Wisconsin does make me literally physically sick.

I kind of wish there was a way I could stay in NM for a few days or weeks, here and there. But air travel alone is like three or four hundred bucks, and then there's the stress and hassle of actually traveling. A cheap shitty room could be less than a hundred bucks a night, but at what cost? And I still have to eat while I'm there. Hhhhhhhhh too much. Too complicated. Too messy.

But........idk, a thousand bucks every six months, to go home for a few days? It could buy me a lot more time here, if need be.

Anyway, I can definitely think about and discuss my job issues later. I just miss my freedom, y'know? For a while there, I had all the freedom I wanted. I had more freedom than I've ever had in my entire life. And now I feel like I have the least freedom I've ever had in my life.

But the thought of completely packing up everything--🤢 nope, uh-uh, nope no.

I'm just being edgy because I'm sick and cooped up and frustrated. I'm seriously in a bad mood this week. Like, a really nasty fucking mood. I'm sick of taking care of the dogs, I'm sick of feeling like I'm doing everything around the house. I'm sick of being stuck in the house and if I want to like, go out and have lunch or chill at a shitty coffee shop, I'm not paying for it myself and my sister doesn't want to sit on the other side of the table staring at me working on whatever project. I'm sick of constantly needing a nap. It's pissing me off that there's next to nothing in the house to eat. I can't make bread, it causes me pain. I can't make pizza. Making the dough causes me pain. I could hardly make biscuits, which you're not supposed to knead very much.

And now I absolutely have to take a plane and I'm going to spend the longest number of nights ever away from my cats. And not just nights, days.

I want some fucking red meat. I want a fucking steak. I want something to gnaw on, but in a pleasurable, rewarding way. I'm so fucking sick of chicken and fucking legumes and spinach. How can anyone live this fucking way.

When I get back, some of the things I had to replace after losing my wallet should be in. I'm going to buy a fucking steak. Fuck everything. Steak and cold smoked salmon. I'm gonna make a motherfucking Ketchikan pizza.

[the-rivers-sad-gift]

Well, the other night, a chunk of the outside of one of my molars just… fell off. I take spectacular care of my teeth. I always have. It’s not decayed or anything, it’s just… gone. Exposed the inside of the tooth. After last year got bad, I kept getting cavities and having tooth issues and didn’t know why. I kept upping my brushing care, added in baking soda and swished with peroxide more often. Didn’t make a difference. I’ve spent months now doing my absolute best to eat better. And it’s been working. I thought it had been working. My hair stopped falling out, my nails grew back, and hey… I even started gaining weight.

Yet,

as always,

My body has simply decided to give up.

Despite eating as close to “properly” as I can for three(???) months now, all I really have to show for it is a higher number on the scale and a rounder face. So, I have made an executive decision:

If my body is just going to throw in the towel and let itself rot despite being given hundreds and hundreds of dollars worth of food, vitamins, medicine, and healthcare, then you know what?

It can fucking rot.

I genuinely do not care anymore. If it’s gonna just wilt and decay, then I might as well enjoy myself on the ride down. Right? So, yesterday, I f4st€d for the first time in months.

It wasn’t for very long, I’m starting off slowly. I only hit around 15 hours. Mind you, all I’ve had c4l0ric4lly is tequila. But I don’t count “liquid f4sts” or anything like that. When that timer starts, I’m not allowed to have anything with c4l0r1es. The ONLY exception to that is my medication, because I do have to take that. Though, I guess if things are really going down the drain, there is quite a bit I can do without.

My goal is to hit a week by the end of February or so, and I want to top that by at least mid March. If I’m lucky, I’ll get “stuck” on the fast like I did last time I did a big f4st and that’ll be it. Wont be able to break it even if I wanted to.

At this point, it feels like that’s what I deserve.

I really did try. I really did try really hard. But I am never good enough. I always end up doing a passable job at things, most do the time. Enough to make me useful for others at least. But I am NEVER actually good enough. Frankly, I’m tired of it. Tired of all of this. Tired of this body. Tired of fighting myself. Tired of relying on literal handfuls of medication to get through the day. Tired of trying. I’m just tired. That should be okay…

That should be okay. That should be reason enough. I should get to decide when I say I am done.

I should be allowed to make that choice. I keep fucking up, or stopping, or getting stopped.

Now I can say I’ve tried.

I tried to recover my body.

It did not work.

I don’t know why my body suddenly decided that it couldn’t handle this. Suddenly decided it couldn’t do something it had been doing for over half a decade. Almost ten years of r€str|ct|0n without any ill effects. My skin was perfect, my hair was… my hair was still fucked… but everything else was fine. My body itself did just fine. Why has it decided NOW that it can’t do this anymore?

Lazy mf.

The thought of having to eat? Forever?? Is beyond sickening.

If I am lucky, one day soon, I will start that timer and I’ll never be able to turn it off. That will be the last time I ever eat anything and I won’t even know it. That’s what I need right now.

That’s what I deserve now.

I deserve less than nothing.

If it’s just going to waste away, no matter what I do for it, how do I not take that as a message that the above is correct?

I guess the sad thing is that, before I relapsed, I was actually doing alright. Things were really pretty good actually. Which is just, too bad, I guess. I know recovery has its ups and downs, I get that. Eventually though, this kind of thing does run its course. It does wear down the body until it can’t even keep itself up. I just went a bit too far, for a bit too long.

It’s really too bad.

I was almost there, I really did almost have it.

Again, though,

I am just never quite good enough.

[gennyanydots]

Forced to go to the strip club

Jake ‘Hangman’ Seresin x spitfire!wife

Part of the “Spitfire Universe”

Not necessary to read the other parts but helpful.

Summary: It’s Bob’s bachelor party and their babysitter cannot handle them. Reinforcements must be called in. Reinforcements are sleepy.

“Hello?” You say as you answer the phone sleepily. Who the fuck would be calling at this time? What time was it anyway? You went to bed way later than normal and you feel like you were pretty asleep so it’s got to at least be 2 in the morning or something.

“Is this Mrs. Hangman?” A male voice, that you don’t recognize, on the other line asks. You laugh at that. You didn’t realize when you married Jake you were actually gaining two new names instead of one. You were expecting Jake to be the one calling since his name came up on your phone when you looked for half a second before answering. Whoever this is must have gotten a hold of Jake’s phone somehow.

“Yes, this is she,” you say with a yawn.

“Hi, umm, this is Bob’s cousin. I was the designated babysitter tonight and umm I was told well uhhhh,” the man trails off, clearly trying to figure out how to describe whatever is happening to you.

“You were told what?” You ask. Tonight was Bob’s bachelor party. You figured that the squad would be getting into some sort of shenanigans, hence the need for a babysitter. You specifically didn’t ask any questions. You didn’t want to know. You also didn’t want to have to answer questions when you went out for the bachelorette party tomorrow night. So you knew literally nothing about what your husband and his friends were doing. Bob’s wife to be had come over along with Natasha and the three of you spent the evening watching trashy tv shows together while painting your nails and doing face masks to look your best for the tomorrow night. A girls night in before the girls night out. Plus, someone had to stay home with Eli and Radar. Jake’s on kids duty tomorrow.

The three of you ended up going to bed around midnight, way past your normal bedtime. Natasha passed out first on your couch before you lead Bob’s girl upstairs to the guest bedroom. Usually you try to go to bed at the same time as your son, you feel like you should have tonight since you knew he’d be up at 5 just like normal, only you would be the one getting up with him instead of Jake. You were not looking forward to that. Damn your husband for his early morning runs. You wish you would have taken Penny up on her offer to watch Eli tonight for you so you could have a stress free night in and a nice morning to sleep in tomorrow so you’re well rested for the fun.

“ Umm, you see, Bob told me earlier that if I uhh couldn’t umm,” the man trails off again. How long does this man expect this conversation to last? You have sleeping to do and you’re moving past being annoyed straight into being pissed off at this man.

You roll your eyes and huff, “Give the phone to Rooster.” You figure Bob’s cousin wouldn’t know who Bradley was if you used his real name. Bradley’s the easiest to distinguish from everyone else. Easy to spot.

“I don’t remember which one that is,” the man replies. Of course he didn’t. That would have been too easy for you.

You sigh, why did it have to be your husband doing something dumb, “Hawaiian shirt.”

“He’s drunk.” At a bachelor party? Shocking. You would have never guessed. You’re gonna lose it on this man. You really are.

“Yeah, I’m sure he is. He’ll at least tell me what’s going on without pussyfooting around so please hand the phone to the very tall man with a mustache wearing the obnoxious shirt before I start yelling at you and wake up my baby,” you say, very quickly losing your patience.

“Yes ma’am,” he says before you hear the background noise get louder until you hear Bradley say, “Why are you handing me a phone? I have my phone. It’s not mine!” to Bob’s cousin and then some mumbling.

Finally you hear Bradley say, “Hello?”

“Bradley,” you say.

“Hey! Hangman’s been talking about you! Hey Hangman! It’s your wife! Hi hangman’s wife. How are you? We miss you!” Bradley says, all a little too loudly.

You laugh, “Hi Bradley. I’m good. How are you? Miss you too.”

“I’m so good. I’m having so much fun. Not as much fun as your husband though.”

“How much fun is he having?” You ask.

“So much fun,” Bradley says laughing.

You roll your eyes, at least you’re getting farther than you had with Bob’s cousin. Bradley is at least answering you, “What’s he doing? Where are you guys?”

“He’s dancing on the stripper pole! Very badly. He’s bad at this. I’m sorry your husband can’t dance. I’ll teach him if you want. I’m surprised Coyote’s best friend is this bad at dancing,” Bradley says. You’re starting to hear a slur to his voice.

“It’s okay. He’s usually better when he’s not drunk like that,” you explain.

“He’s really, really drunk, me too, but he’s like bad really drunk. If he spins much more he’s gonna throw up. Gross. I don’t want to see that. We should have someone come get him,” Bradley says then you hear him gasp, “I should call his wife! She’ll come get him.”

You shake your head as you listen to him and wonder exactly how much alcohol is in his system, “I’ll come get him.”

“Oh my God did I call you with my mind?! I don’t remember calling you! I’m magic! I knew it!” Bradley says, excitedly.

“Sure Bradley, you’re magic. I need you to text me where you are so I can come get him, okay?” You ask.

“Okay. I gotta use my phone. This isn’t my phone. I don’t even know whose it is. The background is you and your son. Weird. That’s creepy. Honey, I think you have a stalker. I’ll protect you. Don’t worry. Nobody will get you or Eli on my watch. Uncle Rooster will protect you both!”

“My hero,” you say and yawn again. “Okay, Bradley take out your phone.”

You hear shuffling and then hear, “Okay. Done.”

“Good job. Now I need you to share your location with me.”

You hear a few taps then receive a notification from his phone then hear, “Boom! Crushed it!”

You laugh then smile, “Perfect. You did so good, Bradley. So proud. I’ll see you soon, okay? Don’t leave, none of you, until I get there. That poor man Bob put in charge did not sound like he had you all under control. Lord knows you’re all a handful and a half. Bye Bradley.”

“Bye bye!”

You hang up and stretch your arms over your head. This isn’t what you wanted to be doing. You wanted to sleep. You don’t want to go to a strip club to corral a group of drunk men, including your husband, and get them all to leave. This wasn’t your job. You weren’t on Dagger duty, and yet, here you were pulling on a pair of sweatpants and throwing on a sweatshirt to get in the car. Why wasn’t Pete babysitting? Unless he’s also there and drunk off his ass. Or maybe he’s sick of them after being with them all week and instead stayed home for some peace and quiet. Smart man.

You tiptoe into the guest bedroom and quickly but quietly wake the soon to be Mrs. Floyd to let her know what was happening. You couldn’t see well in the dark but you’re sure she rolled her eyes at the situation then held her hand out for the baby monitor. Thank goodness for friends who get it. You handed it to her with a quiet, “Thanks, I’ll be back soon! Hopefully.” before you quietly went down the stairs and slipped your feet into some flip flops.

You just grabbed your keys and wallet and stuck them in your hoodie pocket along with your phone. It felt weird not taking a diaper bag with you for once. You quietly went into your garage and open the door to get your car out. You really hope the noise doesn’t wake up Eli or Natasha who had still been snoring on the couch. You grab some water bottles from the garage fridge and toss them onto the front passenger seat as you get in your car and soon you’re on your way to the strip club. Thankfully it was only about 15 minutes from your house so it doesn’t take long for you to get there.

You park your car and climb out then head to the door. The bouncer looks at you funny but doesn’t question you as you hand him your ID. He checks it and hands it back as he tells you to have fun. You roll your eyes. Does it look like you’re there to have fun? You’re pretty sure your hair is a mess and you might even have pillow marks on your face still. If anything he probably thought you were some jealous wife coming down here in a blaze of fury but that’s not the case at all. You have no problem with strip clubs. You couldn’t care less that your husband is here. These women and some men potentially are just doing their job. Your only problem is you’re here when you want to be fast asleep. You’re pretty sure if the guys don’t immediately listen to you that the party is over that you’re going to have a full on temper tantrum. You’ve watched your toddler have enough of them so you’re basically an expert.

You look around and don’t find anyone who looks familiar. You spot a waitress and quickly walk over to her and ask where a bachelor party might be. She points you towards the VIP room and you thank her before heading in that direction.

There’s another bouncer in front of the door who stops you before you can enter and you just sigh, “Listen, you close in like a half an hour. It’s probably going to take me that long to round up all those guys in there and convince them it’s time to go home. Do you want to deal with their drunk asses and it take you three times as long for you to get them to listen or do you want me to do it and I’ll have them outta here in no time? Because if you want to then by all means go ahead. I’ll go back home and go back to sleep. My son is going to be up in like three hours. If you don’t want to then I’m gonna need you to let me through so I can collect them. I promise you I know them all. This is Robert Floyd’s bachelor party.”

The bouncer nods and holds the door open for you, “Yes ma’am. I apologize ma’am.”

You nod at him and walk in to a mess. There are guys everywhere. A couple you don’t know. One very scared looking man by the small bar. You assume that’s Bob’s cousin. You head over to the bartender, completely ignoring Bob’s cousin, and ask them to turn the room’s music off which they do as you stand on a chair you find. Once the musics off, immediately you hear a bunch of groans and hey’s and you roll your eyes. Whiny babies.

“Hey!” You yell to get their attention.

They all turn to look at you and you take the site in. Bob has a bra hanging from his neck and lipstick kisses on his cheek, you quickly take out your phone and snap a couple shots of that. Bradley’s Hawaiian shirt is inside out. Your husband is holding onto a stripper pole leaning backwards, couple pictures of that one too. Javy was getting a lap dance but the stripper stopped when you yelled, picture of that. Mickey was on Rueben’s back for some very odd reason, picture of that one. Logan and Billy were seated on a couch, double fisting some beers. And both Brigham and Neil have their heads down at the bar and you took a picture of that too. The men you don’t know were all scattered about amongst the others. You honestly expected worse but it didn’t sound like Bob’s cousin could handle anything worse.

When the men all see you there are excited shouts.

“Hangman! That’s your wife!”

“Baby!”

“Mom’s here!” (That one made you roll your eyes but you’re not surprised)

“Oh no! We got caught!”

“I know you!” (Yes Logan, you two have met many times.)

You shake your head at the lot of them.

You put a single finger to your lips until they all quiet down, “Okay, here’s what’s going to happen. We’re going to do this step by step.”

The men all nod at you. Good. You didn’t feel like dealing with any defiant little assholes.

“First! Whatever dollar bills you brought with you for tonight need to be given to the nice ladies who took their clothes off for you. And you’re going to thank them for their time. Bob give back the bra.”

Bob immediately blushed bright red and the men all proceeded to follow your directions, even making sure to thank them. One man walked up to you and held his money out and you shook your head, “Not me you dumbass.” You pointed him towards one of the strippers and sighed, these guys are going to have to make it up to you. You’re taking an extra long nap tomorrow and someone had been watch your son. You feel something around your waist and look down to see your husband has wrapped his arms around you.

“Good job, now number two, you’re going to all cash out at the bar. Get your cards back. We’re not leaving our credit cards here. Make sure you tip,” you say gesturing to the bar.

Jake reluctantly lets you go before following your directions. This step takes them all a while and you end up sitting down on the chair until the bartender gives you a thumbs up and Jake is back to standing as close to you as he possibly can.

You stand back up and your husband wraps his arms back around you, “Okay third step, look around you for trash. If there are cups take them to the bar-“

The bartender interrupts you, “We can handle that. Don’t worry. It’s our job.” You shoot him a glare and he immediately holds his hands up in surrender and says sorry.

“- Like I was saying, if there are cups take them to the bar. If there’s trash there’s a trash can in the corner. We aren’t leaving this place a mess.”

The men all get to work quickly and it doesn’t take long before everything is picked up and vaguely looking clean. To get Jake to listen this time you had to push him off you and point at some trash before he sighed and picked it up and threw it away then returned to his spot.

“Fourth step, make sure you have your wallet, phone, and keys and/or anything else you brought with you. Like a sweatshirt or a hat.”

Everyone immediately starts patting their pockets and nodding. You tap Jake’s shoulder to get him to let go then sit back down and turn to Bob’s cousin, “What was the plan for afterwards. Are they going somewhere? Is there a way to get them to wherever?”

Bob’s cousin shrugged, “We rented a limo to get here and I think the plan was to Uber back to wherever you were staying for the night.”

You shake your head at him, “You think or you know? You’re the worst babysitter. You should know the plan.”

Bob’s cousin hangs his head and apologizes.

You look around before finding Bob and quickly yell his name, gesturing for him to come over to you.

“Hi, Mzzz Hangman. Whass zup?” He says slurring this words.

“What are you doing after this?” You ask.

He scrunches his face for a minute or so before going, “Oh! Theresssa limo to take us to tha hotel and then we go to sleep and then brunch and then more sleep at homes.”

You laugh listening to him, “Thanks. Knew I could count on you.”

Bob beams at the praise.

You stand back up, once again Jake holds onto your legs, “Fifth step, nicely walk out to the limo and get in to go back to the hotel. Mr. Competent over here,” you point to Bob’s cousin, “Will give you further instructions when you accomplish that. I better get a good report for him or I’m gonna be mad at you all!”

That ones followed by most of the men saying a quick, “Yes ma’am.” before they started their journey to the parking lot.

You stop at the little bar and leave Bob’s phone number with them in case anything gets left behind.

You follow after the others and stop at the limo to make sure they’re all accounted for, which they are, except one. You look over at your car and see Jake leaning against it with his hands in his pockets.

You turn to Bob’s cousin, “Do not lose them. Have them drink water. Get them straight to their rooms. They should all pass out. I’m taking mine with me so you have one less. You’re lucky.” You turn to the others, “Be good! I want a good report saying you were on your best behavior!” You’re answered with a bunch of giggles as you pat the top of the limo and shut the door.

You unlock your car and watch Jake scramble into the passenger seat. You laugh and walk over, getting into the driver seat, “Did you think I wouldn’t let you come home?”

He shook his head and pouts, “I don’t wanna play with my friends anymore. I want my wife. I want to sleep in my own bed. I want my puppy. I want my baby.”

You laugh and lean over to kiss his cheek, “My poor, sweet husband, forced to go out and spend time with his friends. Didn’t have any fun. Definitely didn’t enjoy getting drunk and seeing mostly naked women.”

His mouth breaks out into a goofy grin, “That was nice but I would much rather see you mostly naked because then I could just make you the rest of the way naked.”

You laugh and shake your head, “Okay, let’s go home. If you want your baby so much you can get up with him.”

Jake perks up, “I can?! I miss him! We’re gonna play so much!”

“You say that now. When he wakes up in two and a half hours you’re going to be so sleepy,” you say as you start the car and start driving home.

Jake shrugs, “Worth it. I’m sleeping with the baby monitor. I’m getting up with my baby. I don’t care what sleepy Jake says. I promise I’m getting up.”

And surprisingly that’s exactly what sleepy Jake did in three hours when your son woke up. How nice of him to sleep in a half hour.

The bachelorette party

[vigilvntes]

Vigilante Hotline - Adrian Chase x Reader

A/N: hi. my brain works in mysterious ways and i had this idea earlier on when i responded to an ask and now here we are, three hours later with a silly little vigilante fic. it's literally just text interactions, vig's texts are the ones that end with 🧜‍♂️ (obviously). but yeah. i had a lot of fun writing this, and i'll be SO happy to write more if y'all want it?? idk. anyway enjoy i guess!

Warnings: mentions of groping/non-consensual touching (grabbing ass, etc), creepy men, mentions of violence/injuries, language (are we surprised), and just vig being generally unhinged as always. (let me know if i've missed anything!!)

Word count: 2.9k. oops.

Summary: You text in to Vigilante's 'Vigilante Hotline' after a bad encounter at the club.

likes, comments and rbs are very much appreciated <3

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You've heard of it, of course you have. It's the town's worst kept secret. The little side hustle that Evergreen's favourite local murderer-slash-vigilante (who's conveniently named Vigilante) runs at the weekend, when the clubs and bars are busy and the creepy assholes come out to play, preying on and harassing unsuspecting victims who, by the end of the night, are probably too drunk to even remember their faces when they wake up.

The cops know about it, too. They've made weak attempts to shut down his operation over the last couple of months, but really he's doing them a favour. They're already in over their heads with calls when the Friday night crowd hits the town's nightlife, so why not just let him operate under their noses? At least, for now. Until they can apprehend him.

So, yeah. You know of it, but you've never utilised it before, because truthfully you've never really had a reason to. You like to party, but your nights out are usually spent with your girlfriends, keeping a close watch on each other and avoiding interactions with men who look like they're bad news like the plague. It's a system that works, one that keeps you out of trouble and away from bad pick-up lines and hands where you most definitely don't want them to be.

Tonight is different, though.

Your friend bailed on you at the last second, a family emergency, and you were already dressed up, so you decided that instead of wiping off your makeup and changing back into your sweats, you'd go out anyway. What's the worst that could happen?

You soon found out that the worst came in the form of Brett Lucas. A guy you knew in high school, someone you haven't spoken to in years. He found you at the bar, used the shittiest lines you've ever heard, and then bought you a drink. You decided to entertain it, because if he was willing to fund your night, then why not? You kept your hand firmly over your drink while he made derogatory jokes about other women and commented on your body and your dress. When he asked you to dance, you agreed, hoping you'd be able to lose him on the crowded dance floor.

That didn't happen, though. Instead, he got a little too touchy-feely, kept his hands firmly on your hips and pulled your body close to his until he got brave enough to slide them on to your ass and squeeze. Hard. You freaked out, told him to back the fuck off, and instead of showing any remorse, he cussed you out. Called you a fucking slut and told you that you're a bitch for leading him on and making him think he had a chance at getting into your pants.

Now, you're standing just down the street from the club, staring at the oddly professionally made poster that's been flimsily taped to a lamppost, a little picture of the all-too familiar masked man that you've seen on the news and wanted posters right in the middle.

Vigilante Hotline

Have you been a victim of a fucking creep in a club who just won't leave you the fuck alone?

Did the guy at the bar use his worst pick-up line and then immediately assume that you're into him and it's okay to touch you without your consent?

Do you wish you could fuck them up without having to face the consequences yourself?

It's your lucky day, because I can fuck them up for you!

Text their name and/or a description to the number below and I'll make them wish their mom swallowed!

(This part is just to cover my ass so, if I accidentally beat up or kill the wrong person... my bad!)

You chew down on your bottom lip, looking between your phone and the poster. You've never really been a vengeful person, you've never wished harm on anyone or caused harm to anyone, but in this moment, it's tempting. You're a little bit tipsy, irate and unsettled. The one night you decide to go out on your own, and this happens? It's a little too tempting.

But is what happened enough to contact a guy who's known and wanted for murder? Is what he did enough to warrant the beatdown of a lifetime?

You sigh to yourself before slipping your phone back into your purse, deciding that it's not worth it. But as you begin to walk away, you remember his loud, jarring cackle whenever he cracked himself up at his own shitty jokes. The way his eyes never met yours, always trained on your chest or your thighs. His gross, sweaty hands roaming all over your body before they went to grope you on the dance floor, thinking you wouldn't react because you were surrounded by other people and it'd be too embarrassing for you to make a scene.

No. Fuck it. That asshole deserves it.

You spin around quickly and pull out your phone, adding the number to your contacts and quickly typing out a message, sending it before you can even give yourself another second to think it through.

'Hey. First time texting in. Need some help. Brett Lucas. White blonde dyed hair. Awful beard, doesn't match his hair. Around 5'9. Wearing a pink shirt and black jeans. Got handsy with me. Grabbed my ass on the dance floor. Don't kill. Just rough him up a little, please.'

You don't even have a minute to breathe before your phone pings. Fuck. Alright. He's fast.

'Sick. A first time user. Happy to help. Where can I find him? 🧜‍♂️'

'He was in Dazy Nights, downtown. You know where that is?'

30 seconds pass. Your phone pings again.

'Yep. Got it. Thank god for GPS. Don't worry, first timer. I'll fuck him up the ass so hard his he'll wish he'd never even been born, as advertised. Not literally, though. I'm not gonna actually fuck him up the ass. That'd be weird. But not because I'm homophobic. My dad is gay. More because he's a creep and he touched you inappropriately. 🧜‍♂️'

"What..." You mumble under your breath as you read the text, an incredulous giggle escaping you. This guy, whoever he is, is seriously fucked in the head, you decide. A little funny, too. But you can't complain too much. You contacted him, you made the choice to text his number and incite some indirect revenge. So you just shake your head, and text back.

'Thank you. I appreciate it. Again, don't kill. Just get him good.'

'Noted! No problemo. But if you ever do need me to kill, don't hesitate to ask, first timer. Seriously, I'm so down for it. Guys like that deserve it. 🧜‍♂️'

You decide to cut the conversation there, sliding your phone back into your purse. You feel a little sick to your stomach as you walk yourself home, guilt and regret stalking you the entire way, following you into your home and crawling into bed with you.

But as you lay there, wide awake, you remind yourself of what he said. Guys like that deserve it. And maybe he's right. Maybe this is for the best, maybe next time fucking Brett will think twice before making unwanted advances. Maybe you've saved someone else from the suffering the same fate as yourself at his hands.

That thought helps you sleep a little easier.

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Monday rolls around quicker than you'd have liked it to, and all you've been able to think about over the weekend is that short conversation you had with Evergreen's own Vigilante a few nights ago. You spent all of Saturday morning re-reading the messages. Saturday night was spent in front of the TV, with some rom-com you've been meaning to watch playing as background noise while you thought about the messages. Sunday, you tried to distract yourself. You went out for brunch with a few friends, but as soon as you made it through your front door, your mind wandered right back to him and that silly little mermaid emoji that made his threats of murder seem a little lighter.

You wonder if he actually did it; whether he made good on his promise to fuck him up so badly that he'd be wishing he was never born. Part of you hopes he did, that he managed to find that fucker before he made it home and gave him a beating he'll never forget. The other part of you hopes that he missed out on the opportunity, if only to subside the quiet, yet nagging, guilty conscience in your head.

Work is a welcome distraction from the weekends events. Deadlines that need to be met, lunch with your co-workers, and your micro-managing boss that never seems to leave you the fuck alone when you're trying to do your job. It's all incredibly exhausting and boring, but at least it gives you the chance to take your mind off of what happened at the weekend, and the masked vigilante that's been invading your thoughts all weekend.

You haven't thought about it all day, until you pull up to the grocery store after work, and you see him. Brett.

He hasn't seen you, you're safely locked away in your car, but you can see him. He's standing outside the store, cigarette in hand, talking to a guy who you can only assume is one of his friends – he looks like he's just as much of an asshole as Brett. From where you're parked, you can see the shiner of a black eye on his face, dark blue bruising that extends to his forehead. There's numerous cuts and scrapes on his cheeks, and it's looks like his lips have been completely bust up.

It makes you feel slightly ill, looking at him, knowing that you're the one behind this. But at the same time, you can't help but smile to yourself, feeling weirdly... satisfied.

You grab your bag and pull out your phone, unlocking it and scrolling through your texts until you find the chat with the contact you've named 'VH'. You stare at your screen for at least a minute, re-reading the short conversation from Friday night over and over again. You want to text him. Hell, you've found yourself wanting to text him again all weekend, and you can't quite seem to place your finger on why that is. What would you even say to him? 'Hey, thanks for doing at great job at fucking up that guy's face, I really appreciate it'?

With a sigh, you lock your phone, trying to kick the urge to converse with a vigilante to the curb. But before you know it, you're typing in your password again and sending him a 'Hey'.

You keep the chat open, but you make a point out of looking away from the screen, hoping that if you don't look, he'll reply faster. Minutes pass by, and you're slightly disappointed by the absence of the jarring pinging of your notification bell. Then you remember that he probably has a life outside of being Vigilante. He's most likely just a normal guy, with a normal job and friends and family, he probably doesn't spend all of his time checking whatever burner phone he uses to run the hotline.

Just as you're about to lose hope that he'll respond, your phone pings.

'Woah, hey. First timer's a second timer already? Did you get yourself into trouble just so you could talk to me? 🧜‍♂️'

It pings again, a few moments later.

'For the record, that was a joke. If you're in trouble again, I'm sure it's not your fault and I'm more than happy to help. Though I gotta remind you that I usually only do this hotline stuff on weekends, but I'd be more than willing to extend my hours. For you. What can I do for you? 🧜‍♂️'

You feel your face heat up, a grin beginning to creep across your lips as you read the two texts. 'For you'. That's oddly sweet. He's oddly sweet. You know what he's done, you know he kills people. You've heard the whispers around town, stories from the people who've been lucky enough break the law and survive one of Vigilante's attacks. Yet you can't help but be taken in by how... charming he is. Sure, this is only the second conversation you've had with him, but he's been so kind. Funny, too, in his own way.

The rush you get from texting him is intoxicating, and it only makes you want more. So you type out a response, and hit send.

'Nothing! I didn't get in trouble again. I wouldn't want you working overtime for me. But I did wanna talk to you. Just to say thank you for what you did for me. I saw Brett. You got him good. Gave him a real shiner of a black eye.'

Just a minute later.

'HA. Yeah. You should have seen it. He took a real beating. He cried like a fucking BABY. Begged me not to kill him. I made him apologise for harassing women, too. It was HILARIOUS. You were right about the beard, btw. Definitely makes him look even more of an asshole🧜‍♂️'

You're surprised to see a video loading up on your screen.

'He definitely didn't mean it, life or death situations call for desperate measures I guess. But at least you can laugh at him and his stupid fucking face. 🧜‍♂️'

Although you're hesitant to press play, you do so anyway. There, on your screen, is Brett. Beaten and bloody, begging for his life, and apologising through his tears for being a creep. Saying sorry for using bad pick-up lines, and objectifying women's bodies, and... groping asses on the dance floor. You freeze up when you hear that, a wave of panic washing over you. Does he... does he know that you're the one that sent Vigilante after him? Fuck. You didn't even consider the possibility that he'd put two and two together and figure out that it was you who texted in. You have to know if he knows, if Vigilante mentioned anything specific about why he went after Brett.

'You're right. That's funny. But I need to ask you something.'

'Anything! 🧜‍♂️'

'Does Brett know that I'm the one who texted you? Did you mention anything about me or what happened?'

You chew on your bottom lip as you await a response, and when you read his reply, you're more than relieved.

'Nah. I didn't say anything. I wouldn't. Vigilante-client confidentiality, and all that. He was the one that mentioned names. A whole list of them, actually. Kinda concerning how many women he named that could've been the one to contact me about him.🧜‍♂️'

'Okay. Cool. I guess I just never thought of the consequences of texting in. I didn't consider that maybe he'd know it was me. Had me kinda panicked for a sec.'

'Don't worry, I made it clear that if he ever tried to approach or contact you or any of the other women he named, I'd find out. And I'd kill him for it. You're safe. I got you. 🧜‍♂️'

For what feels like the hundredth time in, you find yourself smiling down at your phone as you read his text.

'Thank you. I appreciate that :). Hopefully you've taught him a lesson. Maybe he'll stay home when the weekend comes around. I think he'd be doing everyone a favour.'

'Hopefully! Listen, I gotta buzz. Work stuff. Not Vigilante work. I only do that stuff at night. Like my actual job kind of work. But I'll talk to you later, first timer. 🧜‍♂️'

'Yeah, of course. Sorry for bothering you while you're at work. And thank you, again.'

You take a deep breath before sending another text.

'My name is (Y/N), btw <3'

'First timer has a name? Fucking sweet. Obviously I know you have a name but you never told me, so in my head I've just been calling you first timer. But now you're (Y/N), which is cool. So talk later, (Y/N)! 🧜‍♂️'

'<3 🧜‍♂️'

You throw your phone on to the passenger seat, like it's burning hot to the touch and it's just scalded you. Did you... did you seriously just send a heart to Vigilante? And did he seriously just send one back? Wait, no. The heart isn't the biggest problem. You just told him your name. Your real name. What if he finds you? What if this whole funny-charming-kind thing is just an act, and you end up bleeding in a dark alley within a month?

"Fuck..." You mumble, leaning your head back against your seat, wondering what the hell you've just gotten yourself into. Wondering if you should just block his number and never think about him again.

It's a stupid idea, getting involved with someone like him. One that could leave you hurt, or dead. Anyone would call you crazy for it. You probably are crazy for it. But that's not enough to deter you from reaching for your phone and grinning down at it when he texts you later that night.

'Hey. 🧜‍♂️'

It's a dangerous game, but one that you're more than willing to play.