#i might be four or five beers deep into tonight but i am so serious

[476b]

*thinking about a fat trans gf* i think i h ave couvid

[notyetneedcoffee]

Call me what?

Part of the Calling Series

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Warning: NSFW, 18+, Loads of lovely smut!

Your meeting with the virologists wanting Stark’s lab to consult on their project ran late. You insisted on more information than they’d prepared, but they surprised you by being able to provide it quickly and efficiently. So, taking the time to review it seemed only fair. It proved promising enough to warrant a second meeting.  

However, now you were running late to one of Stark’s meet and greet cocktail parties at the New York Avenger’s Tower to keep all the government types happy and on a first name basis with the team. He insisted that all the team members attend, saying nothing greases the wheels like a joke and good martini. Steve insisted that everyone go, because it was important to humanize the team and earn trust. They were both right.  

Just as you shut the door of the town car, your phone rang. “Hey, handsome.”

“I hate these things.” Bucky’s voice rumbled low. He obviously didn’t want those around him to hear.  

“I know.” You settled back into the leather seat. Your words were sympathetic, but your voice teased. “All those stupid questions. All those ridiculous officials. And Steve would be so cross if you got them all bloody.”

“Doll, you know me so well.” You could hear the smile in his voice.  

“Yeah, well, I like to pay attention.” The lights of city crawled passed. The traffic moved slow as so many left work.  

“How long before you get here? I don’t know how long I can last.”  

“Traffic isn’t too bad. I think another five or ten minutes before I get to the Tower.” You looked down at yourself. “I think I’ll be okay without changing clothes.”

“You always look gorgeous.” Bucky answered immediately, but with complete sincerity.  

Before you could dismiss his comment, you took a deep breath and smiled to yourself. “Thank you, Buck. You always know how to make me feel good.”

“Just being honest.” His voice dropped to a whisper. “But, ah, just out of curiosity, what are you wearing?”

“That little black wrap dress you like so much.” You grinned, knowing that wasn’t what he meant.

“And...?” He drew out the question.

“Really sexy four-inch high Farragamo’s.”

“Doll.” He whined.

“And the red strappy set you bought me last week.” You purred.

“Oh yes,” He groaned quietly. “I want to pull that thing apart with my teeth.”

You rubbed your thighs together at the thought. “Well, you’ll have to be good tonight.”

“Oh, I will be very, very good.” Bucky’s voice dropped an octave and you practically melted into your seat. He knew exactly how to push your buttons. “I’ll be good again and again.”

“Can’t wait.” You breathed.

“Hurry.” He breathed. “The sooner you get here, the soon we can bail, and sooner I can hold you down and rip that pretty red set to shreds.”

“Really now?” You shifted in your seat, picturing it in your mind.  

“Mm-hm.” He chuckled wickedly. “After being so good here, I don’t think I’ll be able to help myself. I can already taste you on my tongue. Having to hide out in this corner, I’m so hard just thinking about it. You wet for me, Doll?”

“You know that I am.”  

“l think you should check. Slip those fingers into that wet pussy for me.” He demanded.

“Bucky.”

“The driver can’t see through the screen. Do it. When you get here, I want to kiss your fingers and taste you. Go on, Doll. Touch your pretty pussy for me.”  

In the darkness of the back seat, you uncrossed your legs and let your hand slip up your skirt. You were soaking. A small whimper escaped your mouth as your fingers picked up the slickness and rubbed your clit.

“Oh,” Bucky purred. “You’re such a good girl.”  

“Buck.” You sighed.

“I can’t wait to taste you, Doll.”

“Doctor,” The driver spoke clearly. “Would you prefer to be dropped at the front door or down in the garage?”

You quickly straightened. “Um, ah, whatever is faster. Thank you.” You could hear Bucky chuckle. “Knock it off, you’re so bad.”

“You love it.”

“I’ll see you in a minute.”

“Can’t wait.”

The buzz of conversation and music assaulted you as the elevator doors opened on the Penthouse Lounge. As you made your way into the room, Pepper spotted you almost immediately gave you a little nod without pausing her conversation with someone you thought might be someone from the mayor’s office.  

“Glad you could join us?” Sam’s voice drifted over your left shoulder. His hand came around, offering you a glass with whiskey on the rocks. You glanced at him, eyebrow arched. “Saw you coming. Figured you might need to get a quick one under your belt.”

“Fun night, huh?” You took a drink of the Woodford Reserve.  

“Not really.” Sam shrugged. “Tony is still relatively sober. No one has stormed out. Bucky hasn’t hit anyone. Dull as could be.” You chuckled, but Sam went a little serious. “Actually, your boy is on edge. There’s a pencil-dick over there with the whole fire and brimstone vibe. He’s been trying to ask everyone if Bucky is truly ‘repentant’.”

“Seriously?” You frowned, downing the other half of your drink. “Who the hell is he?”

“I think he’s some National Security Deputy Kiss-Ass.” Sam grumbled.  

“Thanks for the drink, Sam.” You handed him the empty glass. “I’m going to find him.”

“Anytime, doc.” He kissed your cheek. “And that dress is smokin’.”  

You grinned and began to weave your way through the crowd, easily spotting Bucky and Steve across the room. Steve saw you coming, his serious expression morphing into a bright smile. Ah, you thought, this should be fun. Creepy dick guy was taking to your boys. At Steve’s smile, they all turned to see your purposeful walk in their direction.  

Relief filled Bucky’s eyes.  

Without hesitation you walked straight up to Bucky, cupping his cheeks in both hands and kissing him. Your tongue slid over his lower lip and he instinctively opened to you. His arms wrapped around your waist, pulling you close and bending you back.  

His lips pulled away just a bit. “Hey, Doll.”

“Hey, Handsome.” You smiled against his lips. Steve cleared his throat. Without moving you added, “Hiya, Steve.”

Bucky chuckled and stood you up straight. He caught your right hand in his left, bringing it to his mouth to kiss your fingers. Only you noticed the deep breath he drew in through his nose, or the twinkle in his eye. “Glad you finally got here.”

“Me, too.”

“And this is?” The man had a gravely voice, like he smoked two packs a day. He didn’t smell like it. However, he did look at you as if smelling something foul.  

“Sorry,” Steve gave a tight smile. “Wallace Flanigan, this is Dr. Y/L/N,”  

You provided him with a smile, but did not offer a hand.  

“Doctor?”  

“Yes.” Steve smiled. “She’s one of Stark’s top research doctors and consults for some the world’s leading public health agencies.”  

“Truly? Well, I understand why you would keep your maiden name.” He commented.

Bucky’s fingers tightened in yours.  

Leaning back against his chest, you pulled your entwined hands so Bucky’s arm wrapped around your waist. It placed you physically between them. Forcing yourself to appear relaxed, you smiled. “You misunderstand, Mr. Flanigan. I’m the Sergeant’s lover, not his wife.”  

Somehow the man’s back straightened even more.  

Plastering a fake look of innocence on your face, you continued. “But I suppose it’s flattering that you would assume, if we were married, I would not take his name in order to maintain a professional name of my own. I mean, considering his name is so highly renowned.”

Steve smirked into his bottle of beer, staring over your shoulder. He obviously was sharing a look with Buck.  

“It’s true he has a reputation.” Flanigan growled.

“More than one.” You gave a genuine giggle. “Now, I’ve just arrived and I’d like to steal my man away for a few minutes, if that’s alright?”

“See you later.” Steve fought not to laugh.  

You turned in Bucky’s embrace. “Buy me a free drink?”

“Anything you want.” His blue eyes locked on to yours with hot intensity. Bucky glanced at Steve, then the other man, “Excuse us.”

Bucky’s arm around your waist held you close as he led you away, toward the bar. You hand slipped under his suit jacket to rest on his lower back. “Well that was fun.”  

He paused, his lips pressing against your temple. You could hear the laughter in his quiet voice. “That was fucking amazing.”

Clint lifted a hand and the two of you made your way to where he and Sam leaned against the bar. Barton waved two fingers at the bartender, who quickly arrived with two more drinks.  “Okay, who made Wally’s head explode?”

“What?” Bucky frowned, letting you go only long enough to hand you the drink.  

“The two of you had your backs to us. Pencil-dick looked like he was going to have a stroke and I know that look on Rogers. He was trying really hard not to laugh. Which one of you is to blame?” Sam smiled.

“That’s all her.” Bucky grinned. “Set that fucker straight, smiling the whole time.”

“Hey, I just corrected him and said I was your lover not your wife. I could have said I was your fuck toy.”

Barton choked. Sam barked a laugh.  

Bucky’s hand wrapped around the back of your neck, his head shaking. “Naughty girl.”

You offered him your hand, in an old fashion gesture. “But, sir, you love it.”

He took your hand, bowing his head and kissing your fingers. His tongue lightly touching your skin hyper-sensitive senses kicking into overdrive at the scent of your sex. “That I do, beautiful lady.”

“Saps.” Sam mumbled.  

You happily shared the silent secret of just how naughty you’d been with those fingers just before arriving at the party. “Buck, can we get some air?”

“Sounds good. Guys.” He nodded and followed you out onto the balcony. The cool night air swirl about, lifting the hem of your dress a bit, making him smile. He set his nearly full beer beside yours on the table just outside the door before following you to the railing.  

“Look really sexy in that suit.” You purred, as your hands slid around his waist.  

His palms ghosts over the silky fabric covering your breasts, feeling the hardness of your nipples. Bucky’s tongue slipped out to wet his lips. The cool fingertips of his left hand ran along neck of dress, petting the flesh of your cleavage. “Jesus, I want to rip this open.”

You leaned forward, tipping your face up. Bucky’s mouth covered yours, drinking in your kiss. The heat of his body stood in stark contrast to the cold night air. His left hand moved up to tangle in your hair.  Teeth nipped your lower lip, sending a shiver straight to your cunt.

“Can we get out of here?” You breathed.  

“Yeah,” Bucky looked around, before pulling you to the opposite balcony door. Just inside a door led to a service hallway, clear of the party. A cart full of used glasses waited, but the hall was otherwise empty. He tugged you close, hand digging into your ass as he brutally kissed you again.  

Just as your leg came up to his hip, you heard a little squeak and a “sorry”. You giggled against Bucky’s lips. He growled and pulled away. Taking your hand, he strode down the hall again.  

In the elevator, you tugged his tie loose and let it hang around his neck. Bucky stared as you deftly unbuttoned his shirt, you only got three buttons undone before the doors opened again. Moments later the two of you stumbled into your suite, arms wrapped around each other, mouths licking and nipping.  

“Finally.” Bucky grinned wickedly. He pulled the tie at your waist, allowing the wrap dress to fall open. He licked his lip as you pushed it off your shoulders to expose the red set underneath. The lace and thin straps perfectly constructed to hold you in place. “Hell, yes.”

Standing there in barely anything while Bucky remained fully dressed, staring at you with hunger, felt incredibly hot. You turned, strutting in your heels, ass swaying, towards the bed. A low strangled noise came from Bucky.

Before you made it to the bed, Bucky rushed you, wrapping you in his strong arms. He kissed you, hard and powerful. His tongue swept along yours, pulling a mewl from your throat. The cool metal fingers of his hand dug into the meat of your ass to pull you tight against his hard need.  

Bending forward, Bucky’s hot wet mouth clasped over your nipple. His hand squeeze your flesh. Teeth grazed at your nipple, soaking the lace of your bra. Demanding, powerful. You ran your fingers through his hair, pulling. Breathing deep, filling his head with the scent of your need, he bit down and pulled at the fabric. His fingers tearing at the sides, the bra tore apart.  

You gave a little squeal as he tossed you on the bed. The look of feral desire upon his face created a flame of he between your legs. You felt your cunt clutch, knew you were dripping with need. His tongue slipped out, tracing along his lower lip, as your legs fell open.  

Bucky tossed his jacket aside, removed his belt and untucked his shirt. You watched as he slowly rolled up his sleeves. Fuck, that might just be sexier than him just taking the thing off. You practically whimpered. Your reaction did not go unnoticed.  

The corner of his mouth quirked up in a wicked smirk.  

Bucky put a knee on the bed. He took your ankle in hand, lifting your foot and trailing a wet line to your inner thigh. His face rubbed against your silk covered mound, breath hot, whiskers making you shiver. His mouth covered you, tasting how you soaked through material. He growled as his teeth gentle scrapped over your sex.  

You clutched the bedcovers. Fire flooded to your core. “Oh shit, Buck.”

His dark and rich chuckled made you shiver again. His fingers slid aside your panties, teasing your sensitive flesh. Slipping fingers in deep, he stroked.  

“Such a pretty little pussy.” Bucky’s voice rumbled over you flesh. His fingers pulling moans from your throat. He leaned closer, sucking on your clit. “Taste so good.” You whined. He rose up enough to watch your face, to capture you in his gaze. His strong fingers stroked hard and fast. “Love to watch you come all over me.” Your body tensed, coiled. “Love it. Then I’m going fuck you hard.” You began to shake. “Gonna fill you up.” You snapped, heat flared, nerves on fire, as you came over his hand.  

Wet and sloppy, he still stroked you. As you writhed and panted as he held you down. “Yes, beautiful, Doll. Fuck, yes.”

You felt the panties tear. Bucky flipped you over, pulling your ass to him. The tip of cock slid over once, twice, before plunging into you deep. You cried out. Buck growled. One hand digging into your hip, the other on your shoulder, he slammed into you fast and hard.  

Glancing over your shoulder, he still wore his clothes, just freed his cock. “Oh, shit. Bucky. So fucking good.”

He pulled you up, arching your back. Buck wrapped his hand around your throat, turning your head toward the dressing mirror across the room. “You like that? The look of me fucking wrecking you.”

In the mirror you saw yourself, naked and flushed, bent back as Bucky pounded into you. He stood one knee on the bed, one on the floor, dressed. His powerful forearms and hands molding you to his need. Face intense, Bucky stared back at you in the mirror.  

“Answer me.” His hips pumped hard.

“Yes! Fuck, yes!” Your body clenched at him, so close to coming again. Your hand slid to your clit.  

Bucky sped up, the force nearly knocking the breath from you. You gasped a choked cry as your orgasm crashed violently over you. His chant of “yes, fuck, yes” turned into a growl. He emptied himself, holding you against him tight.  

His arms were around your upper chest and your waist. You held his arms against you as your breath began to return to normal. His nose nuzzled into your hair, just behind your ear. “God, you’re amazing.”  

“Best fuck toy ever, huh?” You sighed, head lolling to the side to submit to his kissed.  

A lazy chuckle shook him. “Doll, you are one of kind and I am one lucky son of bitch.”  

Joy mingled with sated happiness. “I’ll take that.”

TAGS

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[jos-corner-of-the-world]

Last House on the Left - {34}

{Thirty Three}{Master List}

Over the next few weeks, you and Shownu had hung out quite a bit. He'd taken you to the library he works at and even brought you lunch a couple days at work. 

You talked on the phone sporadically and text him about your day. 

It wasn't awkward anymore, but I didn't feel like dating yet either.  You didn't quite understand, so you took your concern to Mei.

"It feels like friendship." You told her when the two of you were at dinner one night.

"Is that bad?"

"No. He's fun to be around. But it feels weird almost. Like… There are things we should be doing but aren't."

"Like… sexual?" Mei asked.

"What? No! Like... other couple stuff. There's no hand holding or kissing, there's just…us. He did put his arm around the back of the couch the other night when we were watching a movie, but I don’t think it was intentional."

"Do you want him to make a move?" 

"I don't know. He's really nice, but I've not made a move either. I'm just worried about how he's feeling, but I'm too scared to ask."

"I get that. Beginnings can be hard. Would you consider him your boyfriend?"

"No. I consider him potentially a boyfriend, but not one yet. I mean, it could look to others like we are dating, but it's more like just hanging out. I'm not upset about it at all, just horribly confused. I don't think the feelings are there." You admitted.

"I think you should just ask him. Pretending the tension doesn't exist isn't okay." 

"Ugh, I know. Can you and Allen, like, not go back to China and just stay here. I can't do this without you." 

Mei laughed at your pain for a moment before answering.

"We're going to be gone for two weeks. We have to pack up and get everything to the shippers. Then I'll be here forever."

"But two weeks is forever Mei!"

"Sweetie, can I be honest for a second?"

"Well, last time you were honest you told me I had posts for legs. So...sure why not "

Mei laughed loudly before realizing her surroundings and lowered her voice.

"I think if you feel like you need me, your best friends mom, to walk you through a relationship… Maybe you're just not ready yet. And that's okay. I feel like you're trying to make something work that might not be meant to. I love you and I'm more than willing to listen to anything and everything that happens in your life, but it kills me to see this inner struggle you seem to be dealing with. I can talk with you about all of it, but inevitably the decision is between you and Shownu."

You sat quietly for a moment, digesting Mei's words.

"I hope I haven't offended you dear."

"Oh God, no. Not at all. I'm just processing it all. I just feel like if I broach it with him, it'll be horribly awkward. I'm scared to be honest. My last boyfriend, as I mentioned, was straight up not a good dude-"

"I think we settled with bastard, but go on."

"Right" you laughed. "And I feel like the next person who dates me is going to realize how lacking I am as a person. I doubt things and I get self conscious. Jisung has put a lot into my head about who I am as a person, and I fear that's going to negatively affect me in a relationship.  I feel like no one is going to want to be there for my highs and lows, because of how extreme they are. I push things away and pretend they don't exist until I have to deal with them or I'll break down completely. The worse I'm feeling, the more annoyingly fine I become. There's no man on the planet who wants to deal with that. I don't even want to deal with that. Shownu is such a nice guy, he doesn't deserve to have a mess for a girlfriend."

You had been staring at your plate through your whole monologue, afraid of what you'd see on Mei's face.

"Y/n, look at me." Mei said kindly.

You took a deep breath before putting your head up.

"First of all, you're an amazing person. Everyone has struggles and deals with them in different ways. All those things you describe make you who you are, and I love you for it. Also, if a man isn't willing to help you through your troubles, he's not worth it. You should know your worth and not let a man, or anyone, make you feel differently. Lastly, that's a lot of decisions you're making for Shownu, for any future partner. How do you know he wouldn't be there for you? How do you know he won't fight for you when you're fighting against yourself? I know you're scared, but you shouldn't make that decision for him. Talk to him, get to know each other and let him decide if he's going to be with you. But just remember, even if Shownu did learn all these things and decided he didn't want to be with you, that's okay. You'll find someone who knows you, knows your struggles and wants to be there for you. Someone who wants to anchor you and hold you when you're falling apart and laugh with you when you're happy. Just make sure to give yourself a chance."

-----

Two days later found you saying your goodbyes to Mei and Allen.

"It'll only be two weeks. Remember what we talked about? There's no time like now." Mei said as she hugged you goodbye.

"Thank you." You said as you pulled away.

"Alright. Don't burn the house down while we're gone."

"We've managed just fine this long, ma." Minghao laughed.

"Alright. We'll see you guys in a couple weeks. Call me if you need anything, anything at all." Mei said, directed more towards you.

"I will. Thank you. Love you Mei." 

Minghao turned towards you quickly, surprised to hear the words tumble from your mouth.

"Love you too sweetie. Just remember, you're worth the moon and the stars."

"Um...hello? Your son here? I love you too?"

"Yeah, yeah. Love you Ming Ming." Mei said, laughing at Minghao's irritated face.

---

You were sitting at the kitchen table an hour after Mei left, putting together color packets, when Minghao wandered into the kitchen.

"Got plans tonight?" Minghao asked you.

"Just color packets for the littles for Monday." You told him, looking up at him.

"Want to hang out tonight? I feel like I haven't seen you in forever." 

"Definitely. I could use a break from...everything." you told him honestly.

"Does this have anything to do with my mom telling you that you're worth the moon and the stars?" He asked, taking a seat in the hair across from you.

"Yeah. She's been helping me with some stuff. My mind is kind of all over the place and she's helping me keep centered."

"Can I help you with anything?" Minghao asked.

"Honestly, no. It's not that I don't trust you or want to share my burdens with you, it's just...this is different. I appreciate it though, I really do."

"I know you do Y/n. I can admit defeat when I see it."

"Defeat? What are you talking about?" You asked, scared that you'd made him mad.

"I've been replaced. I no longer hold worlds greatest best friend status. It's a sad day."

"What? Minghao no, I could never replace you. You're literally the only thing keeping me sane most days. Please don't feel like I've replaced you for anyone else."

"Whoa, hey calm down. I was joking. I was talking about my mom and how close you guys seem to be."

"Jesus Christ Minghao! Don't scare me like that. I thought you were really mad at me!" You whined, reaching across the table to slap his hand.

"I mean, I kind of am serious. I knew you and ma were close because of the dinner dates and late night conversations, but I was really surprised today when you told her you loved her."

"I'm sorry, is that awkward for you?"

"Not at all. I knew you guys would be close when you met. I've spent a lot of time over these last seven months telling mom about you and our life here. She declared you the daughter she always wanted. I'm really happy you guys have connected so strongly. I was never worried she wouldn't like you, but I sometimes worried how you'd perceive her."

"Why? She's literally the most amazing person and mother ever." You told him.

"I know, but you and I are different. She spent so many years mothering me by being blunt and never backing down from a hard conversation. She tells her opinion, whether you want to know or not. Sometimes…sometimes it's what you need, but you don't want to hear. I didn't want her to push you away."

"Honestly, if I'd have met her six months ago, she may have. But the honest conversations I've had with you and Jooheon, hell even Wonwoo, have shown me that I don't need to shy away from the hard things. We had a very candid conversation at dinner the other night about myself and it reminded me a lot of our conversation the morning after Halloween. And what jooheon said about sharing struggles. I've spent the last two days thinking about a lot of things, and I realized that I don't need to hide it anymore. Those struggles and how I deal with them are what make me innately myself. And there's always room for improvement."

Minghao didn't know what to say, so he just smiled at you, happy with the turn of the conversation.

"So." He said after a long moment. "Chicken and beer? Veg out and watch some Gilmore Girls?"

"Yes to chicken and beer, no to Gilmore Girls "

"What? No Gilmore Girls?  Are you okay?"

"I'm fine, dipshit. Mingyu will kill me if I start season four without him."

"Ugh, fine. How about chicken, beer and John Wick?"

"Oh hell yeah! You order the food and I'll clean up."

"Just leave it, we can finish it later."

{Thirty Five}

[lunaschild2016]

Belief - Part 1 (Edit)

Rating: M

Devi is Dauntless. Through blood sweat and tears she made a place for herself three years ago when she left her life in Amity behind. Not once in that three years has Eric Coulter even deigned to look her way. Not until that night. Now she has nothing but his attention. Eric/OC AU [Smut, Language, Romance]

 Title and story inspired by   Belief   by Gavin DeGraw

Character Inspiration:

Devi Nunez- Diane Guerrero

Eric Coulter- Jai Courtney

Elijah - Alexander Skarsgård

                                                      ~~Belief~~

Tonight you arrested my mind

When you came to my defense

With a knife

In the shape of your mouth

In the form of your body

With the wrath of a god

Oh, you stood by me

Belief

Builds from scratch

Doesn't have to relax

It doesn't need space

Long live the queen

And I'll be the king

In the collar of grace

Tonight, you arrested my mind

When you came to my defense

With a knife

In the shape of your mouth

In the form of your body

With the wrath of a god

Oh, you stood by me

Belief

[Belief, Gavin DeGraw]

                  **********************************************************

 Part 1

 A dare is a fucking dare, and Dauntless don’t give up. I’m dauntless now and have been for the last three years.

I’m doing okay here. I’ve made a place for myself and some friends. Although it was hard leaving everyone I knew behind in Amity, I did it. Even when I knew that my grandparents and brother would wash their hands of me when I left. It wasn’t anything personal but they’re just staunch advocates for peace.

Okay, so maybe for them it was a little personal. They felt like I rejected them, who they are, and everything they stand for. It hurt them badly.

I’ve always held a secret hope they would come to see that I left because my staying would be like a slap in the face to them every day. Small wounds that would build up over time until finally I would knick a vein and cause whatever love we had to just bleed out for good.

See, I can’t even make an analogy about how much I would end up hurting my family without it turning into something out of a war story or horror film.

The thing is I don't really have a big story or wrong from my life in Amity. Not really. It was kind of perfect and I followed along every day with a smile on my face. Granted, my family drowned ourselves in peace serum laced foods and drinks so that helped keep the smile in place. I arrived in Dauntless with the carb-laden proof on my hips and thighs and that took some serious work to fix my first few months here.

I still can’t quite kick the carb habit, so there’s more cushion than there should be probably.

Back in Amity I sang happily, played instruments, braided hair, and took part in the free love once I hit puberty and was flooded with all those lovely hormones.

But my favorite part of life back there was working with the animals. Horses mainly. When we had the rare chance to tame one, gentle we call it though others might have called it breaking them in, I was one of the first they called. I've always had a way about me. I can be gentle when called for but my stubbornness and determination always saw me winning in the end.

Looking back I know that should have been my first clue.

That life I led before, it all changed the day I took the aptitude test. I went in expecting nothing but a life in Amity. It was all planned out for me. That test changed everything in the blink of an eye.

Dauntless.

That was what the Abnegation woman told me, looking at me with understanding soulful eyes as she did so. There was no hiding my shock or stopping the sobs that wracked my body. The woman held me in her arms and told me that it would be okay. I didn’t know how it could be okay when I was feeling, at that moment, that my life was a lie. That  I  was a lie.

Just before I walked out of the door she reached out for my arm and held me back. Her eyes were full of determination and something else that reached deep into me. “You can choose Amity tomorrow, but if you do, you will never truly know who you are or who you could be.”

I went home with her words still ringing in my ears and a tangle of confusing feelings within my heart. I hadn’t been able to hide the pain on my face so my family saw it clearly. They knew as soon as they saw me what that meant. They didn’t ask what faction I got but they knew it wasn’t Amity and they made their position very clear. As gently as mi Abuela could, she let me know that if I left they would not see me again.

They would uphold faction before blood.

I was scared like I had never been before in my life, but I also felt strangely alive.

It was exactly like I felt in the paddock facing an animal that was easily eight inches taller than me and had at least a couple of hundred pounds on me if not more.  I’m a five-foot-four-inch Latina girl that has a few extra pounds in some areas, but I still look like the wind could blow me over. Imagine me standing face to face with beasts towering over me. It must have looked ridiculous.

Out of the paddock, I’m very self-aware, even a little self-conscious. But inside it that all melts away and there is no fear for me. 

When dealing with all the animals I understood that some of the things we had to do could and were considered cruel by others but they never bothered me. Even when some of those things involved the slaughtering of the livestock that is specifically raised for the purposes of feeding the factions. I always had the mindset that it had to be done but at least we could do it in the least stressful way as possible.

As I lay in bed that night after the test I went over things like that in my mind and it had been like unlocking some part of me that had always been held back until the revelation of the aptitude test. I knew then that the Abnegation woman from my test was right. I was given the truth and my path, and I knew I couldn't turn away from it.

I never backed down then and that’s something that hasn’t changed even now.

I have found myself here. It took a lot of work and some very unexpected struggles but I also like who I have become.

Generally, I love my life and who I am.  

Even during times like right now when I know that come the morning sober me is going to be hating the fuck out of drunk me. 

I glare over at my friend as she smirks back at me from across the bar table. I toss back the shot and beer chaser one after the other, then slam the glasses back onto the table.

“Fine! I will!” I snap at her, then shove my way through the bar and head to the door.

My three friends follow close behind me, alternating between disbelieving murmurs or begging me not to do it. I hear one pleading with me to back down for once and that only makes me even more determined to follow through with it.

But seriously, did she really think that was going to happen?

It's a serious character flaw, I know, my refusal to give in or up. Even when it results in situations like back in my initiation and the fights started. I refused to go down easy and more than half of them resulted in me being beaten up pretty badly. I still didn’t give up. And when my next fight came up, no matter how hurt I was, I stepped up and gave it my all.

That alone got me enough points to eke out the ranking I need to get my Physio Therapy and Medic Nurse positions and titles. Three years later and I've worked my way to the position of Head Nurse.  

Walking through the compound, drunk and on the highest heels I could manage to get, is proving a challenge. I wobble and curse as the stone floors throw up obstacles that make me look like I’m a sailor on the deck of a ship during a storm, swaying back and forth. It doesn’t help that even with the heels I am still a couple of inches shorter than most of the people around and have difficulties getting noticed that I’m trying to get through.

I finally manage to shove my way to my objective.

The Pit has different levels with various hangout spots throughout. Some are open-air, meaning they are shoved into some nook that’s carved out of the stone but otherwise have no real enclosures. Others are full-on bars with swinging doors and everything.

Where I need to be is an open-air hangout that is really popular with the high ranking people in Dauntless. It’s a prime location because it’s high enough up that the people there can see almost all places in the Pit. Leaders are known for hanging out there after hours to be able to keep an eye on things and while winding down.

I always thought that it made them seem like they were half part of the faction and half sitting on thrones, lording over everyone.

As I spot him that analogy seems to hit home. He sits at the table like a king on his throne and the people surrounding him sure seem intent on treating him like he’s one.

I can’t help but observe this with a sneer crossing my face as it sure doesn’t seem he’s much of a reluctant ‘king’ as he’s always claiming. He seems to be eating it up as they all gather to kiss his feet and lick his ass. That’s exactly the thought that got me into the position I am now. Drunkenly weaving my way towards his table.

Just a bit ago I loudly made that comment to my friends in the middle of an angry rant and my friend AJ immediately jumped on it, daring me to say those exact words to his face.

And dammit, I’m just mad and drunk enough that I’m going to do exactly that. He needs to know how fucked up what he did is and I am going to tell the legendary Four just what I think of him!

I make my way to his table but there’s a virtual wall of people around him. Some are standing but most are sitting in or on any available surface. Not one of them pays any attention to me as I give polite squeaked pleads to be let through.

One guy looks me dead in the eye, raises an eyebrow, and snorts at me dismissively.

If I wasn’t already pissed that sure did the damn trick. It just fuels it even more, driving any sense of propriety or rational thought from my mind.

Usually, I’m a pretty even-tempered girl unless it comes to something I'm extremely passionate about. But when I came to Dauntless I discovered that once my temper is lit it makes me into a volcano. A tiny one, no doubt, but don’t let my size fool you. I can do some damage now when I need to.

Lucky for the douchebag that fanned the flames my fuse was already lit by someone else and come hell or high water he's going to know it. I furiously look around and my eyes narrow at the nearest table as an idea pops into my head.

With a determined smile, I stomp my way over to the table and start to climb up it. I completely disregard the fact that this table is currently occupied. There was an empty space for me to use for the climb and that was invitation enough for me.

Glasses and bottles scatter and fall, breaking as they go tumbling while I scramble up onto the table and then wobble as I move from my kneeled position to try and stand. The table is solid stone and has no give but my slim stilettos don’t seem to like this new development.

I look down at the shoes I fell in love with and just had to have, prepared to give them a glare and order them to behave. Instead, I get distracted by the realization that they really do make my legs look killer. Vera gushingly informed me when I first showed up in them earlier tonight and I have to agree.

The shouting from around me, as the occupants of the table protest the loss of their drinks, brings me around and I shake my head and the drunken smirk from my face.

“Focus, Devi!” I loudly scold myself and square my shoulders as I stand up, lifting my chin as my eyes zero in on my target.

This is when I notice that many eyes are on me and there are even some people catcalling or whistling while chanting ‘dance, dance '. I would tell those idiots off normally but I see this has gotten the person's attention I wanted all along.

“Hey, Four!” I bellow out loudly, trying to really project my voice. I figure just telling Four what I think isn’t enough anymore. The whole damn faction should know.

The table under me shakes with the force of whoever just slammed their fist down as they yelled. “Fucking figures,” with something that sounds like a groan and growl all in one. But I’m too focused to see who that is or what he means.

Four is looking right at me, startled enough that he isn’t paying attention to the blurry yet vaguely familiar girl beside him who’s trying to get his attention and furiously whispering in his ear.

“I have something to say to you,” I yell with a hand on my hip and my eyes narrowed in anger.

“Devi?” He calls out and that stupid concerned looks he gets crosses his face. “Are you drunk right now?”

“No! And fuck you with your…” I gesture wildly at him, meaning to indicate his face and failing. So I try again using my face while searching for the words to describe what I mean but they're all coming up Spanish in my mind. When the English words finally come to me, I gasp out and continue on triumphantly. “Your stupid puckered forehead and puppy dog eyes, trying to look all concerned and nice. I’ve got news for you. Eres un cabròn. You aren’t as nice as you play at being or what everyone thinks and I’m sick of it!”

“Well, this just got interesting,” Drifts up to me from somewhere below me while around me I can hear mixed reactions from the audience.

There are a good many girls that are scowling at me, shouting out insults. Other people are simply chuckling or making various other sounds of amusement and cheers.

Four briefly looks at the blurry and out of focus girl (those drinks are starting to really hit me hard) who’s still trying to get his attention and seems to make some kind of reassuring gesture to her while he stands and locks eyes with me. His eyes are narrowed in that same concerned look while he slowly starts to raise his hands while approaching me.

I guess it's supposed to look like he’s trying to reassure me but honestly, to me, it just looks like he’s surrendering.

“If this is about earlier today…”

Four speaking and the raised hands just irritate me and I scowl while hissing to myself. “Dauntless don’t give up.”

Then I stomp my foot on the table in determination, ready to repeat that out loud, making something shatter beneath the point of my heel. Someone jumps back from the table cursing but again I press on.

“Remember that? A Dauntless doesn’t give up. We both learned the same thing but maybe I remember it better than you do. Maybe it was too easy for you, Mr. Dauntless Prodigy,” I snort the unofficial nickname for him. “Maybe if you had learned the hard way as I had to it would have stuck a little bit better for you.” I pop my hip out to the side and put my hand on it while staring him down.

“Do you even  try  …” I wave my hand out, almost losing my balance in the process but just barely manage to stay standing “...to actually help them? The initiates you insist on continuing to train yourself? Did you actually try and help that girl? Did you try and tell her that the pain would pass and she would get stronger for it if she could just hang on? No! What did you say to her while she was laying in that bed ready to give up and walk away?” I’m furious now, my blood boiling at the memory. “All you said to her was that these were the new rules and there was nothing that could be done. All you did was imply...  hey...I know you just got the shit kicked out of you but that wasn’t my fault. I didn’t make the rules. I just have to go by them.  Not one word from you that she could become more, that she could become Dauntless. It’s bullshit!” I yell once again, but this time even more fiercely.

The force my yelling and using my body to gesture in my anger unbalances my already precarious position and I lurch forward, arms flailing wildly as I pitch forward. I close my eyes, certain my end is coming and wonder what they’re going to say at my memorial at the chasm.

'Devi, she went how all Dauntless should. Drunk, pissed and stupid.’

“Alright. That’s enough for you tonight.” A voice drawls surprisingly close to me. I realize that the hard feeling against my body is actually that of someone else's against mine, not the ground as I expected. Someone that has me held tightly in his arms and even tighter against his body.

I decide it’s safe to open my eyes again to see who my savior from a very humiliating death is, and get an eye full of black clothes until they travel up to see a jawline made of stone and even harder blue eyes glaring down at me.

“Leave her alone, Eric. She’s drunk and doesn’t know what she’s doing. I’ll get her home.” Four says, getting my attention and I look to see he’s standing in front of me after having barely had to push his way through the crowd.

They all just fucking parted for him like Moses and the Red Sea.

“Como si fuera a ir a cualquier parte contigo. Metelo en el culo Mejor aún, ¡espero que un pollo te pique la polla!” I spit out furiously while glaring at Four.

“Sounds like she doesn’t want anything to do with you at the moment,” Eric says with a chuckle after I threw out a few more choice words in Spanish. More insults that were all livestock oriented and made not a damn bit of sense outside of Amity.

“I don’t!” I nod firmly with a look of smug defiance.

“Devi, you’re drunk and upset about the girl leaving. But you  don’t  need to be going off alone with  him .”

The already taut muscles of Eric’s arms go even tighter as he tenses. It almost feels like there’s a slight tremor in his muscles and apprehension radiates up and down my spine, tingling along the way. I might not know a lot about Eric, despite being in the same faction for over three years and having shared the same initiation. But there is one thing I know for sure and that is Eric’s temper makes mine look like a missile strike against his nuclear explosion.

Still, this isn’t Eric’s fight and I refuse to let him take it on and fight it for me. I started this and I intend to finish it.

“Fuck you, Four!” I snarl out, my face contorting in my anger.

He was already stepping forward, arms out to take me from Eric. I swipe at his arms violently but then immediately switch to gripping Eric’s tightly, nails digging in, when I felt him moving me. There was a moment I thought he was going to hand me over and I certainly didn’t want that to happen, but it turned out he was moving me away from Four.

“You don’t get to tell me what I should do and that girl has a fucking name by the way. It’s Rain, and now she’ll never have the family she left everyone behind for because you didn’t even try to talk her out of walking away. Why didn’t you try!" I yell, my voice breaking a little. "You could’ve told her that it gets better and the pain doesn’t last. You always want to look down your nose at Eric but at least he's always been honest with her and all the rest of them. Yes, he was pushing them hard but at least when he was people like her had a chance. Then you went and complained to get your way. Everyone is always so ready to kiss your ass and lick your feet….” I pause and shake my head because that isn’t right, “I mean kiss your feet and lick your ass…” That sounds right but confusion makes it feel like it isn’t. “You know what I mean!” I huff finally. “Sometimes you have to break someone to make them stronger and she needed to know that. She needed her trainer to tell her she could do it.”

I can tell I’ve royally pissed Four off but I don’t care. It’s all true. And it also hurt me too much to watch that girl throw her life away by giving up. That made me need to hurt someone in return.

“Enough, Devi. You’ve had your say. Now go sleep it off but we will be talking about this privately.” Four says lowly before turning and walking away, vanishing into the crowd that rushes in and blurs around him.

Things had already started to go on the blurring, spinning side, but it feels like hits me even harder all of the sudden. I guess the rush of adrenaline that was pushing me through my drunken state has finally started to fade enough that all that liquor I downed in a short amount of time has decided it’s time to really have fun with me. You would think it's already had its fill by me showing my ass in the Pit but obviously, there is more in store for me. It’s leaving me spinning and groaning as I let my head briefly rest against the solid surface of Eric’s chest.

“I don’t feel so good,” I mutter into his chest after some minutes pass and the spinning hasn’t gotten any better.

I don’t dare to open my eyes. At first, it feels like the air is rushing past my body. Making me think I really am spinning. When I look up all I can see at first is Eric staring straight ahead with his jaw tense but his mouth moving slightly. Like he’s muttering under his breath. I look away from him to see that sensation of air rushing along my body is because we're in motion. Eric still has me locked against his body and is walking at a steady pace but doesn't seem to be rushing. We are nowhere near the pit, telling me he’s already been walking for a bit and I didn’t even realize it.

I try to determine where we are but everything looks like blurred streaks making my head hurt and stomach flip. I groan and slam my eyes shut again.

“I swear if you throw up on me I’ll assign you maid duties in my apartment for a fucking month.”

“I won’t. I just spin.” I reply with a pained sigh before I dare to open my eyes again. Trying to look around me. The doors and hallways are still all speeding by and nothing looks familiar. “Are you taking me home with you, Eric?”

The words come out and I pause, tilting my head because it sounds off to me. Almost as if there was excitement in my tone.

Eric chuckles but it’s so deep and husky that the only reason I realize it is a chuckle is that his body and chest vibrates with it.

He comes to a stop and looks down at me when I tilted my head back to look up at him. His eyes look darker in the light of the residential hallways and the shadows from them make his cheeks morph so that his natural predatory expression just seems even more feral. His eyes flick away from me and he takes a breath then shifts so he has all my weight on one arm while also using his leg to balance me. He leans towards me until I can almost feel the heat of his breath on me.

“Not tonight, little one,” He pauses and lifts his free arm to pound on a door then wraps that arm securely around me again.

Silence fills the heartbeats as I look between him and the door, wondering what the hell’s going on. When there is rustling coming from the other side, Eric gets my attention again. This time it isn’t just the heat of his breath, but the brush of his lips against my ear as he speaks.

“You might not have ever meant to get my attention, Devi,” Locks are being thrown on the other side of the door when I swear I feel the nip of his teeth on the tip of my ear, “But you certainly have it, little one. You better be ready for me now.”

Is that a threat? A promise? Why does it feel like both?

The door opens suddenly and I see Tori standing there, completely disheveled and looking extremely put out to be disturbed. She's not even a bit less intimidating by her state of dress at all.

That’s the thing I most admire about the older woman. I’m sure that most people would be uneasy having to approach her when she is looking like this. While if I tried to pull this same look off it would make me look like a petulant child. She’s certainly always been respected by those that know her but especially now that she became one of our leaders after all the bullshit that went on with Erudite with the assistance of the old Dauntless leader regime.

I grin drunkenly at her which causes her to sniff even as her expression softened slightly for me. Then her eyes shifted over and hardened again when she eyes Eric. Or rather me in Eric’s arms.

“Little late for a tattoo don’t you think, guys?” She deadpans while crossing her arms over her chest.

I start to chuckle, while Eric starts to move without even replying. He doesn’t even ask before he moves forward and through the door, with Tori scowling in his direction but not stopping him either.

His steps take him quickly to the couch where he leans down from the waist and deposits me onto the cushions while speaking over his shoulder to Tori. “Take care of that for me, will ya? I’ll be back to retrieve her in the morning.” He straightens and turns his back to me. Completely ignoring the fact that he’s disregarding me while doing so, and continues to speak to her. “I expect her to still be here.”

The fact that he hasn’t once looked at me again from the time Tori opened the door, along with the fact that he’s treating me like some package he has any control over, just pisses me off. So obviously I have to say and do something about this.

I pop up to get off that couch with every intention of telling him I sleep where I want. When I want. And with who I want….

Only the room starts spinning. I flop back against the couch like a fish out of the water while moaning loudly and putting a hand to my head.

“Wait! Why am I the one being stuck with the extremely drunk girl? One that looks like she’s minutes away from being sick all over my carpet? Need I tell you how hard that shit is to clean from white carpet?”

I crack my eyes open to try and get out something in protest but only let out another moan. I see Eric casually shrugging then turning back to me, reaching down like he’s going to scoop me back up but he does it very slowly and with a smirk on his lips. “Okay. I can take her back to my place like she was asking but I won’t be responsible for what happens there. I just thought I would give that thing that you're always on me about a try. You know, to be less of a selfish dick.”

“Well fuck,” Tori sighs and pushes him away from me just as his hands brush against me. “Fine. But you owe me.”

He grins at her, flashing teeth and looking younger somehow. It occurs to me that I’ve never seen Eric Coulter smile before. At least not like that. I watch all of that as he walks towards the door with some kind of rekindling of a long-dormant, repressed really, desire inside of me as I watch him go. 

Maybe it's my stomach rebelling and Tori really should be worried?

Before he gets to the door he looks at me, really looks at me, for the first time since we entered the apartment and winks.

Wait...Eric just….winked at me?

It takes entirely too long for me to process any of that and by that time Tori is walking towards me from somewhere. In her hands, she has a glass of water and a bottle of pills while a shirt is draped over her arm.

You wouldn’t think it with how she greeted the two of us and the exchange just after, but Tori is the closest thing to real family I have here in Dauntless. She has been since shortly after I arrived. Sure, I have friends now, but none of them are as close to me as she is and none of them were there for me like she’s been.

In my initiation, I was a pariah.

My former faction alone was already a source of ridicule but I had other things going against me from the start. Most everyone just pretended I didn’t exist since it was easier to refuse to get close to someone that was never going to make it. Others seemed to take offense at me being in Dauntless at all. This was usually conveyed by their taunts and making fun of me in any way they could.

Once I was even attacked. I didn’t go down without giving them as good as I got. But I usually faced them, and anything during that time, alone.

One day I wandered into the parlor and after that, I practically lived there every day when I wasn’t involved in something for initiation. I never really let on to what was going on with me or how bad it got and Tori never pressed. Just being there helped and I think she knew that. I wouldn’t say I was working at the parlor, because that wasn’t technically allowed, but I was helping out. From designing things, once Tori and Bud found out I could draw, to helping stock or clean. I learned the ropes and was even thinking about taking up the tattoo gun when initiation ended.

I figured I would probably get a good enough rank for that at least.

When I ranked sixth Tori was the one that urged me to try for something better. She knew that one of my passions and eventual goals in Amity had been to be one of their healers. I had hoped to try and bring in more than what the faction normally allowed for treatments but that had been more of a long-term goal for me then. When I left Amity, I just accepted that wasn’t going to be in the cards for me but Tori made me rethink it and go for the position that was open in the clinic.

She believed in and supported me when I needed her and that the most.

“Devi, Devi, Devi.” She sighs out my name while shaking her head.

By this time I’ve already changed into the shirt, taken the pills and drank most of the water before I had to lay down when the spinning threatened me again.

She runs a hand over my hair softly and worry mars her brow. “What have you done?”

I smile faintly as I remember the night and my triumph. “I told Four off!”

Tori’s hand pauses in mid-stroke of my hair and her eyes widen. Then a smile curls her lips and she laughs softly. “Of course you did.”

“Eric caught me when I fell and then Four tried to tell me I shouldn’t go with him but I told him off again.”

“Did you now? Twice in a row. No wonder.” I frown in confusion but she’s just smirking at me. “I’m sure he doesn’t even realize what he's in for.”

I shrug still not understanding but not up to figuring it out. “I  have  to close my eyes now or I can’t promise I won’t make a Pollock painting of your carpet.”

“Eww.” Tori groans and gratefully grants my request.

I hear her shuffling away and the light that was on in the room clicks off, making the dark behind my eyelids even darker. I let out a blissful moan and reach up to put the heels of my palms over my eyes and gently put pressure on them. Hoping the spinning will stop soon.

It does eventually seem to slow down and I can feel that kind of unconsciousness that happens when I’ve overindulged. Some would call it a blackout but that’s not what happens for me this time. As the spinning slows images start to stream by, some I can’t make out at all and others I can make out but they make no sense whatsoever.

Like the feather duster and the extremely short, frilly black and white dress……..

[winchester-purgatory]

Summary: Sam finally proposes to Jess

Written For: @spnchristmasbingo

Square Field: Christmas proposal

Pairing: Sam Winchester x Jessica Moore

Word Count: 1703

Warnings: None needed 

The alarm went off, blaring and beeping, echoing in their bedroom, stirring Sam from his sleep. He groaned, but didn’t move, still tired.

He and Jess had gone to bed late last night due to an office party at the law firm where he interns. It was kinda boring, most employees being in their forties and up, but Jess was there to make it better - and report about the two employees she caught having a drunken affair on her way to the bathroom. He even had managed to win one of the prizes of the night, a bottle of expensive whiskey, which he'll give to Dean as an additional Christmas present, not being a whiskey drinker.

As tempting as it was to hit snooze, he already hit it two times which meant it was around 10 o'clock.

''Make it stop,'' Jess sleepily complained from behind him, facing the opposite side of the alarm clock. She tried to tug at the comforter in hopes to hide underneath and block the loud noise, but it was hogged by Sam's weight, being a blanket hogger. ‘’Sam!’’

Forcing his eyes open, he reached out to turn the alarm off, making them both sigh in relief. This alarm might do a good job at waking them from a deep sleep, but its sound is damn annoying when it’s a day off.

Sam rolled over and kissed her shoulder tenderly, wrapping his arms around her, not ready to leave the bed yet. The blonde hummed, leaning into her lover's touch. ‘’Five more minutes,’’ she mumbled, eyes still closed.

A chuckle rumbled from Sam’s chest. Okay. Five more minutes.

‘’I’m so glad we got out of hosting the Christmas dinner - again. No need to wake up early and stress with the food or setting everything up,’’ Jess declared, feeling very cosy.

''This apartment is way too small for a Christmas gathering anyway. Where would the guests sit? We don't even have a proper dinner table.''

‘’We could put Cas and Charlie in the living room and Dean and Claudia on the balcony. The patio set should still be there,'' Jess suggested with amusement.

‘’I can already hear him complaining about the snow falling into his beer or that his ass is starting to feel numb from sitting on the metal chairs in the cold.’’ Sam chuckled, imagining the scene perfectly. ‘’It’s better at Dean’s place. He always gets way too drunk and I wouldn’t see Claudia hauling him in the car and to their house. He'd crush her with his dead weight.’’

Although they've been living together for four years, slow mornings like this were rare. Morning where they could sleep in, be lazy in bed and cuddle. They always had to rush to get to class or work - and sometimes even on the weekend on Jess' end, a perk of being a nurse.

Whenever it would happen, they liked to cherish every minute and sometimes even have breakfast in bed. It was a guilty pleasure.

Not today though, as ringtone went off, blaring through the bedroom.

''Ugh, it's mine.'' Jess detached herself from Sam to grab her phone on the right nightstand, checking at the caller ID. ''It's my mother,'' she announced with mild annoyance, a picture of her and her mom at her 40th birthday taking the whole screen as it kept ringing.

Their laughter was cut short when a ringtone went off, blaring through the bedroom.

''Ugh, it's mine.'' Jess detached herself from Sam to grab her phone on the right nightstand, checking at the caller ID. ''It's my mother,'' she announced with mild annoyance, a picture of her and her mom at her 50th birthday taking the whole screen as it kept ringing.

That interruption was the signal that morning cuddles were officially over and they should get started with their day. ‘’I’ll go shower while you talk to her.’’ Sam got up, fetching some clean clothes from the top of the dresser.

''I'll join you if you finish before you,'' Jess said with a smile and a wink before answering her phone. ''Hi, Mom, how's the preparations going? Has Dad started early on the eggnog again?''

Sam looked down and smiled. How did he get so lucky?

.

When Sam returned to the bedroom, Jess was finished with her call. She had opened the curtains and snow was falling outside, dusting a light coat of white in the streets.

She pouted, seeing him half dressed with a towel over his hair. ‘’Already? I was about to join you.’’

''Sorry... How's your mom?'' he asked while dry toweling his hair.

''She's doing good. She's pretty disappointed we won't be joining them for Christmas this year - again. Plane tickets are just so expensive during this time of the year and, no offense babe, but your car wouldn't last the trip.''

Sam chuckled, throwing the towel in the laundry basket. ''It's okay. I know it's crap. Dean reminds me every single time he sees my car and its damaged bumper.''

''She wishes us a jolly christmas eve...and not-so-subtly asked if she has a wedding to plan.'' Jess huffed a laugh, still hearing the echoes of her mother wondering how they weren't engaged after being together for five years. ''At least she didn't ask if I was pregnant.''

''Maybe she does.''

''What? Sam, I’m not pregnant. I’d know if I were-’’

‘’No! Not that.’’ He shook his head. ‘’The part about planning a wedding.’’

‘’I think you skipped a step here: we need to be engaged first.’’

‘’Let’s do it now.’’

‘’Sam-’’

‘’I'm dead serious, Jess! I've been thinking about it for a couple months already. I even got a ring...''

Jess' eyebrows pulled into a confused frown, trying to process all this new information. ''What?'' she asked, eyes rapidly filling with various emotions.

Sam stood and went to their closet, fetching the old box filled with memories from his years at college from the back, and pulled out the blue velvet box where the ring was perfectly resting. He opened the small box and stared at the dainty, simple band with diamond in the middle and nodded. It's time.

His palms were getting sweaty as he returned to the bed, feeling nervous. He wasn't nervous about Jess possibly saying no. He knew she'd say yes, she already made that clear. It's just that Jess deserved the best and Sam wanted the proposal to be perfect. He was afraid of messing up and getting his on-the-moment speech wrong.

Sensing his nervosity, Jess took his hand and tugged him back on the bed. She looked up at him and smiled, sparkles of joy already in her eyes even though he hadn't popped the question and she hadn't seen the ring yet. The beaming look on her face told him this was the rightest thing he'll ever do. He was gonna marry this girl.

''Jess. Since I got that ring, I kept practicing how to present the question and trying to find the right way to propose, the right moment, but I think this is it.’’

10 o’clock on Christmas Eve morning wasn’t your typical ‘perfect’ proposal, but Sam didn’t want to wait anymore. Dean had suggested he’d do it tonight at his place, but Sam didn’t like the idea of a crowd - even his closest friends and brother - watching them. He liked privacy and, what’s more private than between your four bedroom walls? 

‘’This might sound cheesy and overused in proposal speeches, but I wouldn't be who I am today without you. When we met, I was in a bad place. I had gotten into a really bad fight with my father about my future and moved all the way to california to follow my dream. I was miserable and lonely, but there you were in that diner, golden curls and sparkling blue eyes, serving coffee to pay off your tuition. I came to this diner every day for weeks although I was short on money solely so I could see you.'' Sam paused, realizing how stalker-ish his behaviour sounded. ''Unlike the guy at table seven, I wasn't there to ogle your body in your waitress uniform. I was there for the bright smile on your face and to hear your laugh because it was the only thing that would brighten my dark grey sky.''

The blonde reached out and squeezed Sam's hand, remembering the tough times. Freedom hadn’t tasted sweet the first couple months. It was very dark and lonely and difficult on every end. Sam had been long tormented by his past, always thinking about his brother and father he left behind, the absence of support from them.

‘’I remember when I first brought you to my dorm. Collin couldn’t believe I caught a girl like you, so...out of my league. The nerd doesn’t get the hot girl in our world,’’ he said in an attempt to make a joke. ‘’It’s been the two of us since college. Can it be the two of us forever now? You pull me out of my comfort zone and make me do things I would never do on my own without forcing me into anything. You motivate me when my hopes are down, you make me smile when I feel down, make me feel special when I feel alone and misunderstood. You were my home when I had no home to go to. You’re the first girl I loved.’’

There had been girls before Jess. Amy Pond when he was twelve. It didn’t last long, barely over a month, but it still counted. Penelope Svenson, the girl from the café in his hometown. They never went past the first date. She was too self-centered for him. And Rachel Nave, his prom date, who hooked up with his brother on prom night. Thanks Dean. 

Looking back, those relationships were insignificant. 

‘’Remember the night I reserved us a table at this fancy restaurant? I had been saving for weeks to take you there on our anniversary, But when the day came, I couldn’t get myself out of bed and had to cancel. You showed up to my dorm, all dressed up and excited for our date. I felt so bad. I thought you'd be upset and slam the door on your way out, but you just smiled and said we'd go another time. You even stayed in my dorm and we cuddled and watched movies on my busted laptop. That’s when I knew you were the one for me.''

A small frown creased on the blonde’s forehead, remembering that night in Sam’s crusty dorm perfectly. ‘’Sam, that was over four years ago.’’

He looked down and nodded. ‘’I know. You stayed when others would’ve left and that meant a lot to me. It showed me you weren’t only with me for the good and that I could be fully myself with you - no holding back.’’ Sam paused, the velvet box feeling warm and kinda sticky in his clammy hands. ''Jessica Lee Moore, will you marry me?’’

[romantic-witch]

Next to Me // David [pt.1]

imagine: letting david go

part 2 is now available on my page!

inspired: next to me (imagine dragons)

where: as soon as you start to realize your feelings for david, you also realize david and liza still have feelings for each other. (well at least that’s what you thought)

warning: english is not my first language. please warn me if i have any grammar mistakes.

I couldn’t focus on any of my work. Zane’s vlog’s due date was two days from now but David said we were all invited to this CRAZY party so I was trying my best to finish it as soon as possible. But I know that was going to be impossible since I chose the wrong house to edit it. I was going to edit it in Alex and Dom’s place but then Alex said Dom had a girl over, and I thought I couldn’t bare listen the poor girl’s moan. But David doing crazy stunts was some other level shit. I didn’t want to go to my dorm as well since it’s literally an hour away from here. I was editing it in kitchen while all of the “fun” stuff was happening in the living room. It was Saturday night, tons of good films opened yesterday, all my friends are having a bonfire near the beach... I have zero clue on why am I here. I could just fucking leave and finish it tomorrow. I didn’t even want to go to the party, which was probably on USC and I am still bitter that they didn’t accept me. I looked up in the blank ceiling and thought “God, I don’t even know if you are up there, but can you just give me a clue on why I am here. I thought you were suppose to guide me through my problems.” 

I sighed and grabbed my tiger milk boba tea. I took a big sip and edited the video to zoom in on Heath’s face. I put the boba to the right hand sight of my laptop and then David came in.

“Hi Pearl, I didn’t know you were here.” 

He grabbed a Red Bull out of the fridge while I almost choked from the boba.

“Are you okay?”

I swallowed the boba and barely said “Yes.”

He came right next to me and asked: “Zane’s new video?”

His face was literally 3 or 4 inches away from my face, scrolling through the vlog with his left hand, while his right hand was holding the energy drink, his thumb was “wandering” around my back. He took a quick glance at me and then take a sip from the drink while getting back to his “normal” position. 

“You’re coming tonight, right?” he asked.

“I don’t know David, I have shit ton of work to do and really can’t handle frat boys yelling “chunk” every five seconds.” 

“We are not going to a frat party, it’s at Liza’s place.”

“Oh.” 

“Yeah, she’s heading New York to shoot some stuff for MTV and said she didn’t buy any tickets back to LA, so she’s throwing a one last party.”

“David, I really need to-”

“Come on it’s Liza’s last day and she never throws parties and her house is massive. Pleaseee.”

He started doing his puppy face, which I’ll admit, was too adorable. 

“Okay, you dork, I’ll come.”

-

I got some decent clothes from my small suitcase in my car and realized these were the only clothes I bring with me to LA so I had to drive back to Long Beach if I need clothes for tomorrow. Great. I head to the only bathroom that didn’t smell like puke, put on a black blouse, wore a mini plaid black and white skirt to match my black converse. I was washing my hands when David opened the door. 

“Oh, sorry. I thought no one came to this one.”

“Why do you think I came here?”

He bursted a classical David Dobrik laugh and handed me the towel. The second I grabbed the door handle he added:

“You look really nice by the way.” 

I thanked him and got out of the bathroom with the other clothes I had, as quick as I can. I thought my heart was going to came out of my chest. The fact that David complementing me, this one wasn’t the first, only made it worse. 

Only Alex, Matt and Heath were ready and chilling in the living room. Matt and I started to talk about Avengers: Endgame and after maybe 5 minutes David came to the living room. He wore a black and white striped shirt and black jeans. At least he wore something other than a black t-shirt. He looked casual and confident at the same time, which is probably one of his traits that made him have big dick energy.

"We are not gonna fit anyways, should we just go?" asked David.

All of the guys accepted it and right before David started the Tesla, Natalie came out of the door and hop on. David put the Tesla in the autopilot mode and start to vlog the guys while they were discussing whether we should turn around to wait the others or not. After two minutes of discussion we decide not to and head to Liza's place.

This was going to be my first time going to her house and I was nervous. Liza knows who I am but for some reason I get so anxious while talking to her.

Maybe it's because you like her ex you dumbass.

"Pearl!" I hear my name coming from Matt.

"I asked about that crazy theory of yours?"

"Oh, I think Scott is not the real one. He could not be able to get out of that microcell universe thing."

Matt than, desperately, added:

"Maybe it's Loki."

I smiled and suddenly catch eyes with David. He was looking at me with that half smile of his. He then immediately start to go through the footage in his camera. I turn back to Matt and start to analyze the trailer the third time today.

-

Liza’s house was huge. The second we get into “mansion” I spot three youtubers I used to adore as a middle schooler. 

I said hi to Liza and agreed with her when she said:

“The Big Apple has been better than the Angels all this time.”

-

The party goes on with me talking to a bunch of people, including my childhood fave Tyler Oakley, but not even having a word with David. He mostly hang out with Liza, and I get it it’s her last day, but man just say hello to other guests as well. I was talking to James and when I said I came with David, his face went sister shook and said:

“David’s here?!”

He was all over Liza. She went to a other room once and David just stood there ‘till she came back. Literally just stood there and drink his beer. They were happy together, and I get it. It is hard to let go of those feelings. But man it’s almost been a year and a half since they broke up. I thought it’s been long gone by now and had a chance.

I feel even more selfish thinking these. Me ever having a shot with David? His heart belongs to Liza, literally everyone knows it. He might not admit it, but he deep down knows it as well.

Me, Natalie and James were sitting on the couch. It was almost 1 am and I needed some sleep. 

“Natalie, do you know when are we going?”

“Uhm, you just missed Scott and Kristen. They headed back to the house. Our last option is David I guess.”

James immediately hopped in and said:

“Hello, I can take you back as well kitty girls.”

While Natalie tried to convince James not to, I got my phone and my wallet and said:

“I’m heading out for a walk.”

Well my intention was to walk to the nearest bus stop. For a student who is coming to LA every weekend had to know some of the busses here and there. And I knew 302 was passing two street away from the house so I was hoping to catch one of those. 

It was almost 1 am and I was walking on my own in the hills. What was I thinking? With both making the decision to walk to the stop and come to Liza’s at the first place. I am probably going to get kidnapped.  The map on my phone said I was almost there, just got to make a two minute walk, that’s all.

“Where are you going?” someone shouted from a far.

I was getting scared so I didn’t even look behind.

“Pearl!” 

I stopped. I turn around to see David maybe 300 meters behind me.

I said: “I’m going back to Long Beach.”

He was getting closer to me.

“I mean- I am going to the house first, because my car is there, then I’m heading to Long Beach.”

He was coming closer and closer.

“I should’ve never come David. I hate to introduce myself as the editing girl, like why would you invite me anyw-”

David pressed his lips against mine. For just a split second I let myself enjoy the moment, his fluffy lips and his smell but like I said just a second. I stopped kissing him and looked him in the eyes.

“David you’re drunk.”

“No, I’m not. Test me.”

“Okay. How many fingers do you see?” 

I put my middle finger up.

“Hahaha, very funny Pearl Manglona.”

I start to walk to the bus stop, again.

“Hey, hey, hey. I’m serious. I’m not drunk.”

“David, I know you for almost four months now, I know you are not someone who hooks up with every girl you see, so I’m assuming you are drunk or maybe wasted. Like stage five of being drunk.” 

“Is it too cliché to say you are not like every other girl?”

I just roll my eyes and continue to walk. I turned right and saw the bus I suppose to be right now, turning left and going to my destination. I sighed and sit on the edge of the sidewalk. David sat right next to me just a couple seconds later. I pulled my legs closer to my tummy while David sat cross-legged. 

“Who are you David?

“Who am I?” 

He was confused.

“Yeah, that’s what I asked.”

“I mean, I’m David Dobrik?”

“Who is in love with Liza Koshy.”

David opened his mouth pretty quickly but I also added:

“David, look me dead ass in the eye and tell me you are not in love with Liza, then I’ll consider believing you.”

He could’t. 

“Those feelings don’t go away that easily, I understand. Just please think your actions a hundred times before doing it.”

Another 302 numbered bus was coming towards us. I get up, my eyes were starting to tear up. 

“Because others might have going through the same shit as well.” 

I hop on to the bus. The bus slowly passed David and the bus stop. I sat in the back of the bus and cried silently. I texted Zane that I’ll be finishing the video from Long Beach and put my phone to sleep mode. What a waste of a lovely night.

-

Follow me to access part 2 as soon as possible. 

lots and lots of love <3

zayn :)

[peakyblinders1919]

Cable Girl Pt. 2

Mr. Gray’s light went off at minimum 8 times a day with the highest record so far being 14. The calls you put through to him always came from different places; London, Wales, Ireland, Manchester, York, Liverpool. Some even came from America, and when Mr. Gray asked to be put through to a phone overseas or vice versa, his voice was always different. In the short time you’d been answering his calls, you had identified his flat, monotonous voice as what you’d call a professional voice. Whenever there was a call from overseas, he meant business. You could hear how tense he sounded through the miles and miles you imagined were between you two.

Even though you never said anything else to him but your usual switchboard girl greeting, you talked to him so much you felt a connection with him. Maybe it was the fantasizing you still had about him from time to time; your current story about the infamous Mr. Gray was that he was the owner of a pub and all the calls were shipments. It wasn’t the most extravagant story you’d come up with, but the one you and your girlfriends had crafted over beers about him being the young Prince of Persia hiding in Birmingham from enemies who wanted to kill him just didn’t seem right.

It even got to the point when his light would switch on and your heart would flutter as a natural reaction. You were becoming increasingly excited to talk to him. Hell, you were excited just to hear his voice. Somehow, in some twisted way, hearing it, “talking to him”, made you feel like you had someone to talk to. Like you weren’t so alone.

That was the biggest fantasy of all. A totally made up tale. While this seemed to mean everything to you, you knew to him it was just business. You were the sloppy middle man.

It was a rainy day in London, where the home offices were, and you had got caught in the thick of it. If you hadn't been late, perhaps you wouldn’t be dripping on the way to the switchboard room. It had been a particularly rough week, getting puddles in your shoes didn’t help.

“Y/N, is everything alright?” Cora, your best friend, asked as you found your spot, sitting and slowly putting on your headphones.

You shrugged. “Yeah, I guess. It’s just been a long week.”

“Well some of the other girls and I were going to go to a club tonight, your more than welcome to come.”

“You know, that sounds fun. I’m in.” You smiled before you saw a light out of the corner of your eye. You turned to the board, seeing the familiar number under the light that belongs to Mr. Gray. You took a deep breath before answering.

“Hello, Operator 18. How may I direct your call?” The other line was quiet for a prolonged period of time, making you think he wasn’t there when he cleared his voice.

“Do you ever say anything else?”

“Excuse me?” You asked, caught off guard by Mr. Gray’s unusual question. Then he chuckled. It was the first time in the months that you’d been answering for him that you heard that heartfelt noise. You felt ridiculous as heat rushed up your cheeks.

“Do you ever say anything else?” He said, now with a hint of playfulness in his voice. Oh, how you wanted to talk to him, but the presence of your supervisor loomed over your head as she walked around the room.

“I’m just being professional sir. Where can I direct your call to today?” You said, smirking slightly which you hoped was evident through the wire. His chuckle confirmed that it had.

“Uh, there is no call today. I...uh...wanted to talk to you.”

Was he being serious? Was he? You couldn’t believe it, and you knew the other girls wouldn’t believe it either when you told them late that night. You smiled, leaning forward and lowering your voice.

“To me? What for?”

“I….it might sound weird, but I feel like I know you when I literally know nothing about you. I don’t even know your name, Operator 18.” You heard the smugness in his voice, wondered what he looked like as he talked into the phone. He had an air about him that he could easily control a room. The charisma that was laced in his voice was heavy; you were sure people could get drunk from it.

A name. All he wanted to know was a name. It went against every company policy to give out your name to a client, confidentiality was key, but the client was asking you for it. And the company’s second most important rule was “The customer is always right.” You didn’t know what you were about to get yourself into, but you smirked again before leaning forward even more if to make the moment more intimate and keep all the other girls in the room working from hearing.

“Y/N.”

“Y/N.” Michael repeated and you had to admit it sounded even better when he said it. “Y/N.” He said, for practice.

“Yes. Now, if there isn’t anything else I really must-”

“Can I call you later?”

You sighed, not sure what was going on. “7 o’clock. No one else will be here, we can talk then. Goodbye Mr. Gray.”

Michael hung up with a smile on his face, staring longingly at that metal invention he once hated before as if it was a magic mirror and he’d see you if he looked hard enough. Letting out a deep breath, he settled back in his chair with his hands behind his head. Few things made Michael nnervous and one of those things was asking your name. He was afraid you’d say no, also maybe afraid to find the answer. Because as long as you stayed anonymous he could continue to make you into anything he needed.

But he wanted to know you. As silly as it sounded, he felt a connection to you. He wondered if you felt the same, but doubted you did. Why you had agreed to call him tonight, he wasn’t so sure.

It was a funny thing for Michael. Being intrigued by a girl with an angelic voice and the mysterious guise of anonymity, when half of Birmingham was trying to throw themselves at him. He could get any girl he wanted, four or five a night came up to him at the Garrison, anything from prostitutes to factory workers to daughters of local politicians. But funny how the one girl he knew nothing about, who possibly wouldn’t even like him back, was the one that he wanted.

It was hard to get to work after that phone call. He tried to work on the numbers, but every so often a fabricated image of you would appear in his head, your name would whisper in his mind over and over again and make him forget to carry a one.

And it was obvious his mind was somewhere else. When he made his way to Tommy’s office to hand in the monthly reports. Tommy noted the sloppy work, but it was his mother who knew that something else was on his mind.

“What’s wrong with you?” She asked bluntly as she stood with a cup of tea at her desk.

“What do you mean?”

“That look. You have that dumb look of young love on your face. Who is it?”

He tried not to blush, but that was hard to control. He cleared his throat as he looked at the ground. “I don’t know what your talking about Mum. There’s no one.”

“You know better than to lie to me, Michael.” She scolded.

“It’s nothing.” He confirmed sternly and made his way back into his office, shutting te door behind him. But Polly knew it was more than nothing.

And everyone could agree that Michael was hiding something when he said he had some books to look over at 5 when everyone was leaving.

“Michael-” Polly was about to protest but Tommy cleared his throat.

“I asked him to finish some work, we have a deadline at midnight. He’ll get off early tomorrow, alright? I’ll drive you home.” Tommy said as he shrugged his coat onto his broad shoulders. When Polly scoffed, turned her back to her son and put her fur on as well, she muttered that he better come in quietly tonight, “if he comes home at all.”

Michael owed Tommy big time.

“Y/N, you didn’t forget about the pub, did you? We’re all ready to go.” Cora said as she had her jacket and purse in hand, all the other girls giggling in the hallway ready to be free of work for the night.

“I have a few things to catch up on, but I’ll see you there.” Cora smiled weakly but left all the same. And before you knew you were alone in the switchboard room; everyone forms your shift was getting off, and the other girls working got a break for dinner. You had about 30 minutes to fall in love with Michael Gray.

You waited anxiously, your foot tapping as your eyes watched every movement of the clock’s hands. What if he had forgotten? What if he didn’t call at 7? Then you’d know the truth, that this was somehow all a joke. Your shoulders started to sag, thinking that must be the only explanation for everything when his light lit up.

Wasting no time, you connected him and greeted him differently.

“Good evening Michael Gray.” You breathe out, a smile fluttering on your lips. You heard him chuckle at your voice. “I’ve wanted to say that.” You let slip, covering your mouth as if you could take it back.

“I’ve wanted to hear it. I hear you say the same 10 words every day.”

“Well, there isn’t much more for me to say. I’ve got to keep it professional, you know.” You teased, hearing his familiar chuckle following after it.

“And is this professional Y/N?”

“Not at all. Switchboard operators are supposed to be anonymous, we’re supposed to be this symbol of anonymity like every operator is the same and we’re not even humans. We’re not even supposed to have an identity, hence why we have numbers. I’ll have you know I’m breaking every company law by talking to you right now Mr. Gray.”

“Michael. Call me Michael. And I’m grateful your breaking company laws for me, but if they try to fire you, you can blame it on me.”

“I couldn’t.”

“Trust me, I’d be alright.”

“Oh, so you’d pay them off?” You couldn’t stop yourself from blurting out what was on your mind.

“Who do you think I am Y/N?” You could tell his tone was playful, but at the same time you couldn’t help but curse yourself out for accusing him of such a thing.

“Is that a serious question?”

“Yes. What do you know about me Y/N?”

“Nothing.” You said truthfully. “Except that your Michael Gray, you're in Birmingham, you get calls from all over the globe, and you're a very important customer to my boss.”

“Am I? Interesting. So, what do you think that means?”

“Honestly, you may be the Prince of Persia staying in Birmingham under protection. I don’t know.” You giggled at the tale you had come up with.

“Prince, eh? You're not even close Y/N.”

“So what do you do?” You were nervous to ask, but you were more nervous to find out the answer if he was willing to give it to you.

“I’m a chief accountant.” He said humbly. You were quiet for a second before you laughed.

“And what does that mean?”

“I run the accounts for a business. I work with numbers all day.”

“Well, that’s something we have in common, so do I. I’m operator number 18, your light number 35, my other clients are number 56, 74, 106. And I’ve got to remember whos behind every number.”

“Frankly, your job sounds harder than mine.”

“Not likely. It’s mindless work really, but it’s work. How old are you?” You asked bluntly, the one thing you’d been most curious about, besides his profession. You heard him inhale, taken back by the question, and then you swore you could hear him smile through the line.

“How old do you think I am?”

Biting your lip and tapping your fingers against the wood of your desk, you explained. “Well, based on your voice I’d have to say early twenties. But, I feel like chief accountants are usually 60 years old at least.”

“60!”

“I’m kidding.” You giggled.

“Your laugh is beautiful.”

“Stop it,” you said, giggling again. You pressed your hand to your cheeks, you were flushed to say the least. There was another tranquil moment of silence; though you’d dare say your relationship was built off of your voices, silence came easily too. “So how did a 20 something-”

“22.”

“How did a 22 year old get a chief account position?”

“Well, I loved math in school and my family business was looking for one right when I graduated so-”

This made your heart sink a little. Of course he came from money, that had been obvious the second Mr. Northcott had told you he was a very important client. While you had wished for weeks on end that this mysterious Mr. Gray was young and beautiful, you hadn’t imagined what would happen if it was all true and you had got to this point. You couldn’t like him. This couldn’t be anything more than an interesting story. You could never meet him. He had a job, sure, ut he had family connections. You didn’t recognize the name Gray, but it must have held some power and wealth to it in Birmingham. A telephone operator struggling to make ends meat on her own with a wealthy, successful chief accountant? Not likely.

“Y/N, you there?” Apparently your radio silence had been too long and his voice was the thing pulling you back in.

You cleared your throat. “The supervisor's come in. I’ve got to go.”

“I’ll call you tomorrow.” Michael said eagerly before the call was dropped.

You took the headphones off in a furry, wondering how the hell you ended up in this position. Talking intimately with a client. Feelings things for him that you couldn’t explain, feelings powerful feelings for someone you did not know at all. This had to stop. Surely, this had to stop.

[sofreakinmanyfandoms]

November 21 - First Date (Sequel to “Haiku...”)

I couldn’t resist. There needed to be more of this universe.

Word count: 1946

Warnings: Fluff. Bad luck. A bit of self-depreciation on Clint’s part, but the reader sets him straight.

Pairing: Clint Barton X Reader (Modern!AU)

“How do you always look like such a mess?” Natasha chided as she fruitlessly attempted to smooth the wrinkles in Clint’s shirt. He swore it had been freshly pressed when he’d put on two minutes ago.

“Wish I knew,” he sighed ruefully as he studied his reflection in the mirror, giving up on his untamable hair. “Then maybe I could figure out how to fix it.”

“Hey,” she told him seriously, and if he hadn’t known her as long as he had he might have missed the note of affection in her voice. “There’s nothing to fix. It’s just your own brand of charm, and anyone who doesn’t agree –”

“Can shove off,” he finished with a little grin. “So you’ve told me. I’m really hoping this one doesn’t shove off, though.”

Nat laughed, giving him a little shove towards the door. “You’re gonna be late if you don’t get out there. Go enjoy your evening. Have some fun, live a little. Tell me all about it when you get back.”

Clint waved without looking back as he made his way out the door and across the hallway. Less than ten seconds after he knocked you were opening the door.

Wow. You looked… Wow. Both your dress and your leggings looked so soft he bit his tongue to keep from reaching out to touch them. The colors looked fantastic on you, the fabric falling in a way that perfectly accented your figure and the faint pinstripes doing things that were definitely good for you and made everything difficult for Clint.

“Hi,” he breathed. “You look incredible.”

“Thanks,” you replied with a faint blush before your tone turned teasing. “You don’t look so bad yourself.”

Clint shook his head. “I look like a dumpster fire. You look gorgeous. I feel underdressed. Aw, I don’t even know where we’re going, I totally underdressed, didn’t I?”

You stopped him before he could work himself into a panic. “Clint, relax.” Your hand came up and tried to smooth out the collar of his purple button-up. (Really, he swore it had been pressed when he put it on.) “Your clothing is actually dressier than mine. Dresses just tend to add an appearance of being dressed up while secretly being as comfy as sweatpants. You won’t look out of place at all tonight.”

“I really hope you’re not just saying that,” Clint said, reaching a hand up to rub the back of his neck. “I… I really like you, and I want tonight to go well.”

“And it will,” you assured him, tucking your hand through his arm and leading the way towards the stairs. “Honestly, if you’re half as nice as I think you are, everything could go wrong tonight and I’d still want a second date.”

----------

You probably shouldn’t have said that. Jinxing and all that.

----------

“Aw, diner, no,” Clint said as the two of you stood outside the flaming inferno that had been where you’d made dinner reservations. “That wasn’t quite to plan.”

Your laughter surprised him. “No, no it wasn’t. I didn’t realize Philippe worked so hard.”

The man in question had been the main cook at the classic diner that was now up in flames. He was being checked out by paramedics after falling asleep in the kitchen and getting the oil in one of the pans too hot, starting a fire which sparked and spread shortly after you’d arrived. The diner’s owner had managed to get him out before the fire completely took over, but he’d inhaled a lot of smoke. Apparently working double shifts for two weeks had left the single father too exhausted to function. The owner Mr. Francis was blaming himself for not seeing how run-down his chef was becoming, while Philippe merely clung to his little girl Madeline and breathed from the oxygen mask one of the paramedics had thrust into his hands.

“So obviously Margie’s is out,” you said, surveying the barely-contained damage. “Know anywhere that’ll feed two slightly singed people who reek of smoke?”

“Well,” Clint paused, shuffling uncomfortably, “I do, but it’s probably not your scene.”

“Try me.”

----------

It really wasn’t your scene, but you were having too much fun to care. You’d been halfway through your second beer and third hotdog when one of the other regulars at the hole-in-the-wall bar that Clint had brought you to had challenged your date to a game of darts. Apparently Clint had never lost, and it was a tradition among the regulars for them to each try to beat him whenever he came in.

“Sorry, kid,” a guy who introduced himself as Wade had told you. “Date or no date, it’s about time someone beat your boyfriend at his own game.”

“Not my game,” Clint had insisted with a smirk, electing to ignore the boyfriend part. “Archery’s my game. You pathetic lot can’t even beat me at my hobby.”

With much laughter and teasing all around, he’d had beaten five different patrons before you’d decided it was your turn. Maybe it was the alcohol in your bloodstream or maybe it was the fun you were having, but either way, as you told Wade, “If none of you can beat him it’s time to get some fresh blood in the mix.”

“I can’t take you on,” Clint whined, “competition ruins dates.”

You leaned in, pulling your bottom lip between your teeth while giving him your best puppy eyes, internally cheering when his breath hitched.

“You sure it won’t just get us fired up for later?” you asked, dropping your voice low and making it a little breathy. The group of regulars hooted and slapped Clint on the back as he blushed a deep red.

“Come on, Hawkeye,” a big guy named Luke called out, using the nickname you’d learned they’d long ago given your date. “What, are you afraid your pretty date will wipe the floor with you?”

He paused for a moment. “Do you want to throw first or shall I?” Your reply was nearly drowned out by the cheers and whistles of the crowd, but Clint picked up his darts and stepped up to make his first throw.

A red-fletched dart hit the center of the bullseye and Clint stepped back, bowing and waving you to the official throwing mark. You gave him your best curtsy and batted your eyelashes as you stepped forward.

Thunk.

A green-fletched dart wedged aside the red one, embedding itself in the same hole in the dartboard.

The group was surprisingly quiet, Clint included, every one wide-eyed and slack-jawed. You couldn’t help but smirk a little as you stepped aside and motioned for Clint to take his spot again.

“I may have idolized a certain archer in my teens,” you whispered in his ear, “and since I didn’t have a bow I practiced my aim with darts.”

“New rule,” Clint said with a grin. “I’ll put the dart wherever I like and you have to hit the same spot I did.”

“Challenge accepted.”

Four more rounds, Clint spaced out his darts evenly. Three more rounds, you landed your dart against his on the other three sides. For the fourth round, you smirked, altered the angle of your throw, and placed your dart so it knocked his out of the board entirely, taking over its spot.

“Well,” Wade said after a moment of silence, “I think we have a new champion.”

“You were right,” Clint whispered in your ear as his arms wrapped around you, “I am feeling particularly fired up.”

----------

The two of you stood outside the door to your apartment, your back against the wall as Clint pressed into you and your mouths devoured each other.

“I can’t believe,” Clint mumbled between kisses, “that I had a date literally go up in flames and it wasn’t a deal breaker.”

You cupped your hand to his jaw, pausing for a moment and looking deep in his eyes.

“Anyone who’d give you up is an idiot.” Your jaw clenched at his self-deprecating laugh. “I’m serious, Clint. You’re kind and sweet and funny and so damn real, I can’t imagine how anyone could keep from falling for you.” You placed a much lighter kiss to his nose. “I’m already well on my way, so if you don’t think this will work out I need to know before I’m too far gone.”

No one had ever talked to him like that before, like they were a sure thing and it was actually his choice if the relationship would continue or not. Clint had already liked you, but that feeling he got when you locked eyes with him was definitely edging closer to love than he was expecting.

“I wanna see where this goes,” he finally replied, placing a soft kiss to your forehead. “I wanna do this right, because you deserve it. You deserve the world, so much more than I can give you, but if you’re willing to take a chance on me I’m not going anywhere.” He shot you a wry smile. “Other than back to my apartment, anyway. I’m gonna go shower and pretend to sleep and text you in the morning to arrange another date.”

“Or,” you offered, “you could just show up at my apartment whenever you wake up and I could feed you breakfast.”

“And if you’re still asleep?”

“Natasha has a key. I gave it to her a week ago in case I ever lock myself out. You can just come on in and make yourself at home.”

His breath caught in his throat and yup, that feeling was definitely a lot closer to love than it should be at this stage. “All right. I’ll see you tomorrow then.”

“Goodnight,” you whispered, giving him one last (hungrier than it probably should have been) kiss before slipping into your apartment.

Clint found himself whistling as he made his way across the hall and into his place, jumping when Natasha’s voice came out of the dark living room.

“You smell like smoke and beer and hotdogs. How was your date?”

“Geez, Nat,” he hissed, reaching for the light switch and bathing the room in the glow of the lone incandescent bulb. “Don’t scare me like that.”

She took in his slightly scorched and definitely sweaty appearance. “You look like you were near a fire.”

“Uh, yeah, the first place we went ended up in flames, so we went to Logan’s.”

“You took a date to Logan’s?” The censure in Natasha’s voice was unmistakable.

Clint sank into the couch with a dreamy look on his face. “Yeah, I took her to Logan’s. Nat, she beat me at darts.”

There was a moment of silence, then, “Wow. When’s the wedding?”

“Maybe next year,” Clint mused, “in the early autumn. You know, that point when leaves are turning but it hasn’t gotten too cold yet? She likes that time of year best.” He blinked. “She invited me over for breakfast tomorrow. Said you have a key?”

“Yeah, it’s the pink one in the junk drawer,” Nat said, lifting herself out of the armchair and heading down the hall towards her bedroom. “Since I now know you’re home and not in need of medical attention, I’ll be off to bed. Try to sleep sometime tonight so you don’t look like a zombie for your second date.”

The dreamy smile floated back onto Clint’s face. “Second date…”

----------

The next morning, Natasha awoke to the sound of fabric ripping and an exasperated yell of, “Aw, pants, no!” She snorted, rolled over, and went back to sleep. Clint could deal with his own mess.

Man, you were in for a wild ride with that one.

[ruffsficstuffplace]

And The AWRD Goes To... (Part 55)

Note: I struggled to actually write this chapter from how much I was squealing and pounding my desk for how cute it was.

Enjoy.

“Oh, you guys are just going to have an amazing time tonight!” Akko said as they rode to the Bakunawa, tightly gripping onto the handrails or their seats for the poor streets on the way there. “I mean, you guys already know that their cooking is great, but they really amp it up for the Tsukimi Festival!

“It’s not just better versions of all their bestsellers, too, they make up entirely new menus to go along with whatever their theme is, really show the world what the Urbina brothers can do!”

“What can we expect, then?” Diana asked, her voice wavering as the rickshaw hit a bumpy patch.

“Anything and everything!” Akko said, her voice also shaking.“This one year, they had Laughing Buns, they were one of my absolute favourites!”

“Pardon?” Diana asked as they hit a relatively flat stretch of road. “I didn’t quite catch that.”

“Laughing Buns, it’s a recipe they learned while they were still active hunters,” Weiss explained. “Someone from Atlas taught them how to make deep fried buns where the steam inside would cause the filling to rattle, making it sound like they were laughing.”

“You’d be smiling before, during, and after eating them, especially because of the savoury-sweet sauce they used!” Akko said.

“Man, I really want to eat that now!” Ruby said.

“Yeah, I really hope they brought it back for this year!” Akko squealed. “I mean, whatever else they’ll have is going to be fantastic, I’m sure, but I really want those buns again, and for you guys to have them, too.”

“Indeed, they sound like quite the dish,” Diana said. “You know, I’m surprised I haven’t heard of that, nor anything else from the Bakunawa until now.”

“That’s because this is Mistral,” Weiss said. “The cooking scene is incredibly cut-throat with its competition, and the trends move lightning fast, not to mention a whole lot of advancement in the ranks relies on who you know as much as what you can do.”

“It’s true,” their driver said as they turned into the district the Bakunawa was in, restaurants, dessert shops, bakeries, bars, liquor stores, tea houses, groceries, and food stalls wherever you looked. “You want good food? I’ve got hundreds of places that come to mind just like that, gotta ask you what you want exactly, or else we’ll never get anywhere.

“You want great food? You find someone who can get you a reservation up there, for starters,” he said, pointing up at the higher rungs of Mistral as the rickshaw slowed to a stop just before the Bakunawa.

“Not so surprising in hindsight, then,” Diana said as the team got off and headed into the restaurant.

It was unsurprisingly busy that night, the waiting area’s benches already filled with people; lively sounds of drinking, eating, and conversing floating in from beyond the partition wall; and in the distance, the faint, distinct sounds of any of the three Urbina brothers shouting and screaming, either at their staff or from sheer enthusiasm.

Aqua almost didn’t notice AWRD coming up to the desk, her eyes firmly on her terminal’s monitor, until Akko rang the tiny gong nearby. She looked up with a polite smile and a line already about to be delivered, before her eyes widened.

“Oh! Hey guys! You’re here!” Aqua said uneasily. “Look, I am so, so sorry, there was a glitch in the system, or someone here screwed up, but we don’t have a table reserved for all four of you right now.

“HOWEVER, we DO have two separate, two-person tables we’ve been keeping on reserve since we realized that, so you can guys can either eat now, or just give them up and wait for a table to open up—it’s Friday night, though, so it might be a while!”

Akko frowned. “That sucks,” she said, before looked at the others. “What do you guys think? I’m really hungry, and I don’t mind splitting up.”

Everyone else said similarly, so Diana asked, “Who’ll be sitting with whom, then?”

“If you guys don’t mind, father still wants it to be a mix of new and old customers, so, Akko and Diana in one table, Ruby and Weiss on the other?” Aqua offered. After everyone agreed, she smiled, and said, “Great! Let me just call up someone to show each of you to your tables!”

The team was soon split, each half lead off to either side of the partition wall, then to tables on opposite ends of the restaurant.

Ruby looked around at the sea of diners around them, the waitstaff going around with their trays or dim sum and dessert carts, the kids, their parents, and the other customers crowded around the decorative fish pond in the center of the restaurant.

“Man, this place is super popular, isn’t it?” she asked as she turned back to Weiss.

“To say the least,” Weiss replied. “The Bakunawa’s built up and kept a pretty loyal customer base over generations, but the contributions of the Little Sirena tactic can never be understated. Come for Aqua, stay for the food; simple, yet devastatingly effective—well, in principal, anyway.

She sighed. “I always knew it was a much more complex operation behind the scenes, but I didn’t exactly know it was this intricate.”

“I really like it though!” Ruby said. “Big, complex projects are my favourites; they really give me a challenge, feel like I’m really pushing the boundaries and doing something great!”

Weiss chuckled. “I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised, what with your weapon and all.”

“Mhmm!” Ruby said, beaming. “Crescent Rose is my magnum opus, you know! I know it might be a little too early to say that, especially because I’ve only really only been formally weaponsmithing for five years, two of them in a garage with crappy tools, but I don’t think I’ll ever be able to make anything as perfect and amazing as she is.”

“Careful,” Weiss said, playfully wagging her finger, “tradition says that means you’ll have to build a second one to offer to the heavens.”

Ruby chuckled. “And you say that like I wouldn’t jump at the chance to be able to build her again, just cause—gonna be hard to resist the temptation to make modifications and improvements, though...”

Their conversation was interrupted as their appetizer arrived.

“Evening ladies! First up on tonight’s menu: Mighty and Melodious Salad, inspired by an old Mayari legend!” Aubergine said as she laid the plate out between them. “Sliced bamboo shoots, one half crunchy and packing a serious spicy punch, the other half melt-in-your-mouth soft with a gentler, sweeter flavour!

“Enjoy!”

"Itadakimasu!” Weiss and Ruby said before they broke their chopsticks and eagerly dug in, while on the other side of the restaurant, Diana frowned as she looked around the table and found only chopsticks.

“Can I please get a fork?” she asked Liu, another of Aqua’s cousins.

“But of course!” he replied. “Bit of friendly advice, though: you might want to learn how to eat with chopsticks since you’re studying in Haven and all; you’re gonna have a really bad time eating outside major cities otherwise.”

“I’m planning to, and I’m aware of that, thank you,” Diana said before Liu left.

“You want me to wait for him to get back, Diana?” Akko asked, already holding her chopsticks in her hand. “I feel kind of bad eating first while you have to watch.”

“Don’t be, Akko, I really won’t mind if you go first,” Diana replied.

Akko shrugged. “Okay, if you insist!” she said, before happily putting a generous amount of the salad onto her plate.

Diana patiently sat there waiting, listening to the loud crunch of the spicy bits, Akko’s blowing air out of her mouth, her pleased humming as she put the sweeter variety into her mouth. Her enthusiastic alternating was making Diana’s stomach growl, but she assured herself that Liu was going to be back soon enough.

Then, there was a crash, and some yelling.

Diana and Akko turned to the sound, and a group of young men with large mugs of beer all over their table seemed to have gotten into a spat. To Diana’s dismay, Liu was the one who had to deal with it, his tray forgotten on the table as he put himself between three different guys looking all too ready to fight.

“Ooh, seems like it’s getting bad!” Akko said, turning back to Diana. “Think we should step in?”

“No, Akko, I don’t think it’s escalated that far yet,” Diana said, carefully observing the scene.

Thankfully, the men were quickly pacified; unfortunately, Liu was joining their cooler headed companions in seeing them out.

Diana’s stomach rumbled again, she couldn’t stop the frown that came over her face.

“You want to try using chopsticks until he gets back?” Akko asked.

“It seems like I don’t have much of a choice,” Diana said, picking up her set and breaking it apart. She winced as they split unevenly, a chunk of one stuck on the back end of its pair.

“Don’t worry, that won’t affect them too much!” Akko said, smiling.

Diana began to try and hold them in her hands.

“That, though? That’s really not going to work,” Akko said, frowning now. “Here, try to hold them like this!” she said, showing off her hand and her chopsticks.

The two of them spent a while with Akko modeling and Diana trying to copy her gestures, until Akko put her chopsticks down, Diana let her hold and guide her hands.

Together, they managed to pick up a sizable chunk of bamboo salad, had most of it fall back down or on the table as they tried to bring it to Diana’s plate, and ended with a small handful of salad.

Akko leaned back into her seat, smiling and clapping, Diana groaned. “Akko, don’t applaud this, it was pathetic!” Diana whined, blushing.

“But it was still progress!” Akko said. “Maybe we should just practice some more together.”

Diana sighed. “Or maybe I should just wait for that fork to get here...”

As if on cue, Liu returned, proudly laying a plate before Diana with the fork on top of it. “I’m back! I’m so sorry for the delay, there was a bit of an incident I had to attend to,” he said, smiling apologetically.

“We noticed, it’s fine,” Diana said, picking up the fork, spearing a bit of both halves of the salad and gracefully bringing it to her mouth. In a much less dignified manner, she went “Oh, Sweet Mother--” before grabbing a napkin and trying to discretely spit it out as best as she could.

“Eat the sweet kind, eat the other sweet!” Akko cried, quickly picking them out and putting them onto Diana’s plate with the back end of her chopsticks. Diana ate them in a hurry, but she was still red faced and sweating by the time she held up her hand for Akko to stop.

Liu frowned, and said, “I’m going to go get you a glass of milk...”

“Please...” Diana whispered.

“Not used to Mistral spicy?” Akko asked.

Diana shook her head as she nudged the remaining spicy slices to the edge of her plate. “It would seem Mistral likes it much more intense than both Vale and Atlas...”

“What’s the food usually like there, anyway?” Akko said. “The only guaranteed 100% authentic style food I’ve ever had is Mantle stuff, everything else tended to be changed up a lot.”

“Well, with Atlas, it’s quite the eclectic and bizarre culinary scene, more for the novelty and the experience than anything else, based on my experiences...” Diana replied.

The two tables continued on with their conversation and their appetizers, until their next course arrived.

“Presenting: Mayari Buns!” Aubergine said as he laid out a plate full of them before Weiss and Ruby. “Freshly baked flake pastry filled with pork that has been seasoned and spiced with some of the best aromatics you can forage from the wilderness, stamped with the logo of the Huntress of the Night herself!”

“Really digging deep into the Mayari mythology, huh?” Weiss asked as she admired the detail in the emblem toasted onto each bun.

“And with one of my all time favourites, too!” Ruby said as she eagerly picked one of them up.

“Really? I’m surprised you know her,” Weiss said as she took another for herself. “Most people only really know the place, never the deity it was named after.”

“Souma told me once about how much I’m like her, and I was seriously hooked after I started doing some research and reading about all her legends,” Ruby said, still holding her bun. “I mean, I already wanted to become a huntress by then, but that was the moment I really thought to myself:

“’Yes, that, that’s the specific kind of huntress I want to be!’

“The goddess of Combat, War, Revolution, the Hunt, Weaponry, Beauty, Strength, the Moon, and the Night—it’s like someone out there decided to make a supernatural, kickass version of me! Well, minus the ‘Beauty’ part, anyway,” Ruby said before she took a bite out of her bun, juice and grease spilling out all over her lips and fingers.

“Oh, I beg to differ,” Weiss said.

Ruby blinked, and looked up at Weiss. “I’m sorry, what was that?” she asked, mouth full of flake pastry and succulent pork. “I was just caught off guard by how good this is...”

Weiss blushed. “Uh, I said--” she quickly took a bite of her bun, her eyes widening as the flavours exploded out all over her tongue. “Oh, wow--” she muttered, before shut her mouth, chewed through her mouthful and said, “Wow, that was...”

“… Like a mouth-punch, but in the good way?” Ruby offered.

Weiss nodded.

“So anyway, what was it you said that I didn’t catch?” Ruby asked.

“I...” Weiss started, juice still dripping around her mouth and her hands, “… totally forgot, sorry! It’s like that bite just knocked it out of my mind!” she said, before chuckled nervously.

Ruby giggled. “Heh, kinda like one of Mayari’s stories, where she punched someone in the back of the head to do that.”

“That sounds really bizarre,” Weiss said. “Please, do tell!”

“Well, not that one, because it’s really gross, but there are a lot of other ones if you’re interested? Pretty much all of them involve lots of hunting, killing, and general badassery, though.”

“Ruby, we’re both huntresses, I’m sure my appetite can’t be spoiled by that,” Weiss said, smiling.

“Alright then!” Ruby said, brightening up, before she started retelling her favourite legends, Weiss listening in intently.

Eventually, both the buns and the stories were finished, and they moved onto the main course, inspired by a different myth from another of part of Sanus:

“Neverending Noodles!” Aubergine said as she laid a bowl of them before Akko and Diana. “Not literally infinite like the legend, mind you, but baba managed to make them pretty long! Try to slurp it all up without cutting them!”

“This some sort of Mistral tradition, I’m assuming?” Diana asked as she wiped her fork clean with a napkin.

“Mhmm!” Akko said as she eagerly picked up her chopsticks again, pulled up a generous amount of noodles. “No one really knows where it came from, but everyone agrees it’s best if you slurp them all the way to the end and never cut them to avoid bad luck—I don’t care whether or not it’s true, though, because slurping’s always fun!” she said, before she started doing just that.

Diana winced at how messy and loud Akko was being, before she wound some noodles around her fork, and started slurping them up with more restraint and less speed. Aside from the taste and the texture, she didn’t think much about the noodles, until she found one of her strings rising up out of the broth at an angle.

Akko stopped slurping as she noticed a single noodle hanging between her and Diana’s mouths, pulled taut between them.

Akko smiled and gave Diana a pointed look, her cheeks bulging and noodle broth dripping down her lips. Diana’s cheeks started to heat up as she reached up with her fork, Akko’s eyes widened as she motioned for her to put it down.

Aubergine calmly slipped in beside them, and smiled. “Got a connecting noodle, huh? That means there’s a special connection between you two!”

Diana looked at her in a panic, her face now bright red.

“Don’t worry, Diana, it isn’t like that—not unless you want it to be~” Aubergine said, winking. “Anyway, it’s still bad luck to cut it with utensils or your hands, but it’s good luck for you to both slurp it up together till it breaks!

“Ready?”

Akko hummed, Diana tried to nod without snapping the noodle.

“Go!”

Akko started to slurp it up with renewed vigour, Diana held it tightly between her lips as it threatened to slip back out of her mouth, and the noodle snapped in no time. Akko proudly ate up her prize with the rest of her noodles, Diana quietly looked down and helped the rest of hers into her mouth with her fork.

Aubergine clapped and congratulated Akko, before she went off to attend to a different table.

“Akko…?” Diana asked after she had chewed and swallowed her mouthful. “What did she a mean by a special connection, exactly?”

“Oh, just some legendary nonsense about Fate connecting two people together for some big, important reason,” Akko replied. “It could be friendship, romance, or even rivalries, which is a really good thing, or else I’d have had a lot of super awkward moments with Weiss over the years!”

“Right...” Diana muttered. “You and her dined here a lot, I’m assuming?”

“Oh, for a whole two years!” Akko said. “After we met Aqua, we were eating out here all the time as often as time and our budget would allow. At first, I thought it was just because of the great food, but eventually, I realized what Weiss was also coming for!

“In hindsight, it was really obvious, though I wasn’t really all that surprised that I’d completely missed it—I’m super dense like that...” Akko said.

The conversation quickly moved on to other, more neutral subjects, until it was finally, time for dessert, the Bakunawa’s pastry chef JP insisting on getting out of the kitchen and personally serving both tables his newest creation:

“The Celestial River Sundae!” he said as he laid down a wide bowl with two artfully garnished scoops of ice cream on either side, a line of thick, black syrup filled with glittering “stars” separating them. “Based on one of the most popular and enduring legends in all of Mistral!”

Weiss blushed. “Did you really have to use that one specifically?” she asked.

“Of course!” JP replied, grinning. “Couple’s dishes and desserts rakes in the mo-ney! Oh, and by the way, Weiss, I specifically used that fancy brand of blueberry froyo you like so much; the strawberry is in-house though, because damn, that crap is expensive!”

Weiss chuckled. “Thank you for going through the trouble, JP,” she said, smiling at him before she picked up her spoon, and Ruby did the same.

“Wait, wait, crap, almost forgot!” JP said, holding his hands out.

Ruby and Weiss looked at him curiously, and watched as JP carefully grabbed the bowl, and spun it around, so the strawberry half faced Weiss, and the blueberry half faced Ruby.

“Oh, are we supposed to feed our ice cream to each other?” Ruby asked.

“Yes, yes, it’s an essential part of the experience!” JP replied, nodding. “Feel free to dip it in the ‘river’ on your way across, by the way, it’s delicious whichever side you’re coming from,” he said, his hands making all manner of gestures the whole time.

“Can we please not?” Weiss said, blushing.

“Aww, c’mon, Weiss, it’s fun to share desserts like that!” Ruby said. “It’s one of my favourite things to do when eating with friends, actually!”

“… Okay, fine.”

“Great!” Ruby said, eagerly scooping up a bit of blueberry froyo on her spoon, dipping it in the “river” before holding it up to Weiss mouth. “Open wide…!” she hummed, beaming.

Weiss blushed even brighter as she slowly leaned forward, her lips trembling as she opened her mouth, ate the ice cream with almost painful slowness.

“Well?” JP asked as she chewed. “Is it good?”

Weiss swallowed, and said, “It’s great!”

“My turn!” Ruby said, putting her spoon down, before leaning forward with her eyes closed and her mouth wide open.

Weiss’ face started feeling like it was melting. With shaking hands, she scooped up a bit of strawberry ice cream; it fell off and landed in the river, she scooped it out, took a deep breath, and carefully thrust the spoon into Ruby’s mouth!

… She missed, the syrup-covered gob of ice cream smearing on all over the side of her face.

“Woops...” Weiss whispered, quickly pulling her hand back.

Ruby opened her eyes and giggled. “Don’t worry, Weiss, I’m used to accidents like this!” she said as she wiped it off with a finger, put it into her mouth and sucked it clean, humming in pleasure as she did. “Mmm! It’s really good, Mr. Urbina!” she said, turning to JP.

“Thanks!” JP said, beaming with pride. “But please, just call me JP.”

“Will do, JP!” Ruby said, before she turned back to Weiss. “Ready for more...?”

Weiss swallowed, and nodded.

Elsewhere, at the waiting area or in a relatively quiet corner of the kitchen, Aqua, Aubergine, and Liu, watched both tables via their scrolls and the security camera feeds.

“Damn, you can see the awkward a mile away!” Liu said.

“Now do you guys believe me?” Aqua snapped quietly.

“Yeah, this is really sad,” Aubergine said. “It’s somehow even worse than when you were flirting with Weiss, which is really saying something!”

“What are you two doing over here?” Topaz asked as she walked up behind Aubergine and Liu. “There’s still tables calling for service out there and this isn’t break time for any of you!”

“We’re working on a very important side project, sis!” Aqua said.

Topaz groaned. “That again? Haven’t any of you realized yet that it’s wrong to be breaking up their big team dinner for this convoluted plan?”

“It’s a necessary intervention, believe me,” Aqua grumbled, Liu and Aubergine nodding along with her.

Topaz rolled her eyes. “Just get back to work, all three of you!”

Note:

Joon or “Jojo” is the oldest Urbina brother, the head chef of the Bakunawa, and Liu’s father.

Juanito or “Jun-Jun” is the middle child, sous chef of the Bakunawa, and Aqua and Topaz’ father.

Junpei or “JP” is the youngest child, pastry chef of the Bakunawa, and Aubergine’s father.

Topaz is older than Aqua, Aubergine is the same age as Aqua, Liu is older than all three of them.

If you’re curious, the conversations you missed were:

Diana and Akko discussing all the restaurants and dining experiences they’ve had before their appetizer.

Weiss and Ruby were discussing their weapons, Ruby building hers, the adventure Weiss had in trying to buy hers outside of Atlas, and their training and mastering both, during the Mighty and Melodious Salad.

Akko was talking with Diana about other warrior deities and legendary hunters, as Shiny Chariot used them a lot as inspiration for the choreography of her shows, during the Mayari Buns.

Weiss and Ruby were reminiscing about dining with siblings and friends, sharing the same bowl together, during the Neverending Noodles. Yes, they also got a connecting noodle, but since they were both used to it, Weiss was more competitive than surprised and embarrassed.

Diana was managing relatively better than Weiss with her and Akko’s Celestial River Sundae. Akko thought nothing much of it, as Diana’s confessed that Atlas’ and her rigid norms and manners never really allowed her to do something like this before.

P.S. Mayari actually exists. She is indeed a supernatural, Asian version of Ruby.

[deehollowaywrites]

run for the Roses

The horse nerds descend on Louisville.

Fillies & Lilies Ball, Equine Foundation. Friday, May 7, 9:06PM.

“You’re smirking,” Adair said, and raised her glass to me, a half-joking salute. The pinot noir inside just about matched her burgundy gown, both shades of red working a marvel on her deep brown skin. She glanced around the airy, open space of the Equine Foundation’s first floor, gaze traveling over all of her colleagues and a fair chunk of mine. “That’s the stabbing smirk, so who’s about to get murdered? Let me guess. Connelly?”

“Marty Connelly done got murdered,” I said. “If you’ll recall race four this afternoon.” I sipped my own cocktail, some overdone themed concoction with way too much pineapple juice and not enough Myers, and slipped my arm through hers. “Just perusing the competition.”

“Do you have competition?” another voice interjected, and part of that competition materialized, Tallis Ansah packing a gin and tonic and a huge grin. She was even shorter than me, all freckled brown skin and drastic biceps, but her afro and platform creepers added a couple of inches. “Like, come on, Felix. This far in, you don’t have to be modest.”

“At any rate,” Adair observed, “the competition or otherwise only matters on the track, right, babe?”

“You know that’s not right.” I nodded to where a couple of jocks imported from California for the big country doin’s were making mistakes at the bar. “McClintock’s on his third beer. Think he’ll be fit to ride tomorrow? I wouldn’t bet on him.”

“You should try to relax,” Adair told the top of my head, her lips teasing loose strands of hair. I leaned into her arm, the warmth of her beneath the silky fabric of her dress. It was tempting, the idea of booking it out of here early with her--stealing my mother’s limo and convincing the driver to take us all the way home to Lexington. “You can’t ride a race ‘til you’re on the horse. Have another drink.”

“Not in the slightest.” That was more responsible than I felt like being, but my head--not to mention my uncle--would thank me tomorrow. “Tallis, what do you think?”

“About?” she piped. The gin in her glass didn’t seem to have budged. Now that I thought about it, she didn’t drink much at all, and maybe she was toting the highball around for show. The younger generation was turning out so low-key it grated. “I don’t think about Kelly McClintock if I don’t have to, you know, he’s not really on my radar. California’s whatever. How many jocks even ride Santa Anita? You know? Like you hear the Pacific Classic just got run and it’s like, who’s the jock, but then you remember there’s McClintock and, like--”

The soft curve of Adair’s side quivered beneath my hand. Tallis was a hoot once you got her going, and that was easy to do. This was her second time going under the Spires on the first Saturday in May and she seemed as excited as she had the year before, just as excited and even more shredded than the last time I’d seen her--a month ago in Miami, flexing all the big-name runners like her livelihood depended on it, which it did. I was glad to have her in Louisville; her penchant for zoot-suit formalwear and unapologetic lady-killing game took some of the heat off me.

“Your odds,” I said, and snickered when McClintock swerved away from the bar, his arm around one of the Louisville bug girls’ shoulders. We weren’t even at the edgy shindig--Fillies and Lilies was strictly for the fascinator crowd, all class and upper-crust at the Equine Foundation’s annual Derby fundraiser--but California jocks could always be counted on to find the party. “How you like ‘em?”

“Odds,” Tallis repeated, her attention on something across the room. I squinted past my parents with a couple of Ohio breeders and Adair’s boss talking to a Lexington news anchor. There was the Hills’ New York trainer, Gwen Taylor… and her daughter. Adair pinched my hip, so I knew we’d had the same thought. Tallis laughed suddenly and stared into her gin. “I like them. I don’t even think about them. If anybody should be thinking about their odds, like, it’s my chill-free homeboy, you know?”

She had a point. No one had expected the second of my uncle’s two Derby runners to turn up with eight-to-five, not a piece of pace-setting speed like Suitcase City. The other of Jimmy’s options--my mount--had followed the more usual trajectory of wow in the autumn, act up in the winter, return to form in the spring. I wasn’t worried… except Joel Canseco knew how to work speed, maybe even better than I did, and Suitcase City’s Arkansas Derby win had rewritten the leaderboard barely two weeks before the main event.

Canseco and Ben Goldfarb were draped across a couple of barstools, nothing between them but tuxes and Miami tans. I was pretty sure they hadn’t looked at anyone but each other since walking in.

“You run with those beach babies,” I said to Tallis, and choked down the rest of my drink. It tasted like a dental bill. “Tell Goldfarb to keep his boyfriend in line.”

Tallis cackled, laughing so hard curls bounced from beneath her porkpie hat and tumbled across her forehead. “Man, I can’t tell Benny shit. Not since he won his Eclipse last year, I mean, talk about high-and-mighty, you’d think nobody ever won one before.” She paused, grinning, her eyes on Jessa Taylor again. “And nobody tells Joelito shit.”

I considered that. Adair’s hand on my hip was getting distracting, and the air in the museum was getting stuffy, and I kind of wanted to be out of there. To be smoking on the patio, maybe, or jammed against a cab’s backseat with Adair’s fingers on my thigh. Somewhere I could mull over the next day and chill, get away from my family, reassure Adair that yes, this was the last one, after this year it was training and none of the hairy stuff, more reliable money, less bodily damage.

“Tallis, where’s your agent?”

Her expression went sideways. “What?”

“Where’s Eddy? If anyone’s gonna remind Canseco not to get ahead of himself--”

“I’m not sure,” she said, totally shifty. “I feel like he went to the bathroom? But that was a while ago. I think he said maybe--like, it’s his job to keep an eye on me, you know, not the other way around. I am not my agent’s keeper.”

“I don’t see Phil either,” Adair said serenely. She smiled at Tallis and then at me, the dimple beneath her mouth deepening. “Don’t look for divine intervention tonight, Felix.”

“You know,” Tallis said, “it’s like, they never go out by themselves. They always got Maribel with them, so I mean…”

“Those two and bathrooms.” I snorted. Parenthood hadn’t cramped Eddy’s style in any meaningful way. “Well, whatever. You don’t need to hang out with the boring olds, Tallis. Go talk to your girl.”

Tallis looked at me, and then at Adair, and her mouth opened like she was going to deny that the only thing she’d noticed all night was Gwen Taylor’s daughter in that outrageous V-neck mini-dress, and then she was gone so fast there might as well have been a cloud of cartoon dust behind her.

Adair’s chuckle pressed her rack more firmly into my shoulder, not that I had any complaints. She gazed down at me, her head angled against the overhead lights so that it looked like she wore a halo atop her buzz cut. “I can’t blame her. Or Eddy and Phil. Tallis is right--Mari’s such a handful now, they have to grab it while they can.” The hand on my hip slid sideways, light and teasing across the low back of my dress, and I shivered despite the overheated room. “Maybe I should grab you while I can.”

Maybe she should. Maybe her brand of Derby luck was exactly what the night called for, and maybe I didn’t give a shit if my mother wanted me to stick around and make nice a little longer. Maybe twenty-nine was too old to hook up in bathrooms or cars, and maybe our bed was calling my name more loudly than any of the press or trainers or track stewards in the museum tonight.

I turned into her arms, my voice coming out muffled against her throat. “You can always grab me.” She made a little questioning noise, and I nodded. “Here or there or everywhere. Long Island. Saratoga. Lexington.”

“Lexington,” she murmured, and I felt her smile, her lips on my forehead. She knew what I meant--she believed me when I said it was time--and right now I believed it too. Whether or not there were roses waiting for me tomorrow, Adair was waiting and had been, and soon it would be time to go home.

Jockeys’ room, Churchill Downs. Saturday, May 8, 3:15PM.

James Hamilton, Junior was the kind of southern white boy who thought he had swagger but was actually a barrel of nerve endings when you got down to brass tacks. He’d come and talked to me about Sacredheart about four times since we’d jogged the colt yesterday morning, even though there were still three hours ‘til the Derby ran. Around the third grilling, I decided it wasn’t the colt he was worried about. It was me.

“It’s like he doesn’t like me, but how could he not? Everyone likes me.” Joel blinked as though my logic was unconvincing. “If he didn’t, shit, he’s got the entire eastern seaboard’s worth of jockeys to choose from.”

“If it makes you feel better, I know his dad doesn’t like me,” Joel said, which was flat-out the stupidest thing I’d heard all week, and you heard a lot of dumb shit in Kentucky during Derby season. “I don’t know why you care whether trainers like you. What matters is that they ride you.”

His logic, like always, was impeccable.

He patted my knee carefully--I’d strained something or other last weekend at Keeneland--and nodded past me. “Guess it runs in the family. If I didn’t know better I’d think Hamilton was eyefucking me.”

I glanced over my shoulder to see Felix Hamilton staring at both of us from beneath her tangle of blond hair. She and I were vying for moptop supreme today, her bangs like straw and my curls frizzing in the heat. When I blew her a kiss, she grinned and flipped me off. I looked at Joel again, sticking my tongue out. “How do you know she isn’t?”

“Sure.” His dark eyes got the extra-serious squint they made when he was about to laugh. “She’s too old for me.”

“May-December never killed anyone.” I bumped my good knee against his. “Or is there another issue?”

“I have to go,” he said, his voice quiet beneath the rumble of the jocks’ room. Somewhere someone was singing the University of Kentucky fight song, and someone else had just dropped a rack of weights. He sat there for another minute, his hand on my leg and his gaze somewhere around my mouth, and I wished we had time--to go make out in the hall between the lockers and the clerk of scales, to go over our books together, to just sit. I was always wishing for time lately.

“I know you do,” I said. “Every fuckin’ race, child. Aren’t you perfect?”

“Yep,” Joel said, smiling a little, and then he was gone, leaving me with a view of his legs in pristine white breeches and the stretch of muscle in his shoulders as he pulled on a set of Long Hills silks. Before I could get comfortable watching him, someone grabbed the chair he’d vacated.

“Benny. How’s your boy?”

I batted my eyes at Eddy Ramón, more out of habit than anything else, but Joel and I had agreed that fatherhood suited him spectacularly. We were waiting with bated breath for the day he finally turned into a silver fox. “How is he? He’s fine. He’s great. Look at him, he’s never been happier.”

We looked at Joel, now talking to his agent and one of Gwen Taylor’s assistants. Bits of fast Spanish floated in and out of my ears. Eddy propped his feet on the bench across from us and switched his glance to me. “Claro. How are you?”

“I was made for this,” I said. “What, are you my guru? Go hype up your own jock.”

“Tallis has been here before,” he said, scratching at his beard. “You two ain’t.”

I wanted to keep sassing him, but he wasn’t wrong. Sure, between the two of us Joel and I had won over a thousand races, but none of them was this race. The Kentucky Derby was a race in function only. Everything else about it was singular, a horse-headed hydra wearing the finest millinery and drunk off its ass. I had never encountered this many fans in one place, or the amount of money being wagered, or the fervency with which people online promised to tear me a new asshole if I didn’t ride their preferred horse the way they wanted.

“Fine. You want to soothe my poor nerves, tell me what the hell’s up with your cousin.”

“My cousin,” Eddy repeated, and then chuckled when I pointed to the simulcast screens, where James Hamilton was talking with his assistant. “Jamie’s not blood.”

“You’re all basically related,” I said, restraining a mean crack about bluegrass breeding. “This week’s been fine and now he’s jumpy? He keeps telling me the track’s playing fast. Everyone on the planet knows the track is playing fast. The only thing Bob Costas knows is the track is playing fast.”

Eddy watched me calmly, arms folded across his chest. Every time I saw him he seemed to have another tattoo, the brown skin of his arms disappearing under colorful ink. I looked at Joel again, sudden homesickness wrenching my stomach. He’d kept mentioning tattoos lately, that he wanted one but didn’t know what, and all I wanted right then was to be home in Miami with him, figuring it out. Maybe we’d go see my friend Dario’s new boyfriend at the ink shop in Wynwood. Maybe I’d tease Joel into getting my name in a heart on his bicep.

“It might be that,” Eddy said, and inclined his head when I glared at him. “I don’t mean that, chico. I mean the two of you riding against each other--I never had to deal with that and Felix hated it, but you two.” He studied me for a minute, and when he spoke again his voice was lower, serious. “Sometimes people get ideas, ya sabes, they wonder about your edge.”

“It’s the Kentucky Derby,” I said. “My granny could be out there riding to beat me, blessed be her memory, and I’d pull every trick in the book to win.”

“Jamie don’t need a reason to be jumpy. I’m just providing one you might’ve encountered before.”

“You’re lucky you’re pretty.” It struck me funny sometimes, that I could talk to him like that--him, still one of the most talented riders in US history. But the past couple of years Joel and I had been traveling, and travel was the great equalizer, as far as racing went. You met everyone, every one of your heroes still alive, and sometimes they turned into friends. “Man, how many more times do we have to prove we’re all in?”

Eddy smiled. “It’s racing, Ben. You never stop proving it.”

He wasn’t wrong about that, either. Him and Joel, the two people other than my dad most likely to be on-point at all times. I got up and rummaged in my locker for deodorant. It was almost time to suit up for my next ride. “You sure are getting wise in your old age.”

“Good to hear someone thinks so,” he said. His smile went to the door, where Tallis was leaving with her gear for the scales. “All the women in my life like to remind me of my foolishness on the regular.”

I thought about that, about him and his wife at the Equine Foundation’s party the night before, about how Iona Hamilton still fawned over him, how Felix talked about him like he’d been the first person to ever win a horse race and the text Tallis had sent me when she’d landed Eddy’s book-hustling skills. “Please. You could walk up to Gwen Taylor right now and tell her you wanted a mount and she’d roll out a red carpet.” I kicked his ankle. “You’d probably even weigh in ok.”

He patted his stomach, which still looked plenty flat to me. “I’ll stick to handing out fortune cookies, thanks.”

“Better for all of us,” I said, my voice muffled through fabric as I pulled on my Three Creeks silks. “A Derby without you in it’s a Derby the rest of us have a shot at winning.”

“Go ride,” Eddy said, face straight. “Don’t take any lip off James. Also, in case you didn’t notice, the track’s playing fast.”

I heard him laugh as I went to grab my saddle, but I was grinning too. It was Derby Day and it was the Downs and Joel was out there winning a race right now according to the TV screens, and in three hours either of us might be winning, but the important thing was that we were doing it together. This, all of it, everything we’d ever wanted, and the rest of the industry--the Hamiltons or anyone else--could do with that whatever they wanted.

Main track, Churchill Downs. Saturday, May 8, 6:40PM.

This was definitely the queerest post parade I’d ever been in.

I had a theory about racing where non-straight jockeys were concerned, namely, we were way better at it. This year’s Derby field was beyond stacked, like, to the point where I felt kinda honored just to be included. Eight Eclipse-winning riders, a couple of us repeats, and half of us so gay we should’ve been wearing rainbow silks. One of us was going to murder it. The odds were in our favor.

I wondered when somebody would, in fact, design me some rainbow silks. Whoever that owner turned out to be, I’d be knocking their door down for a mount. I supposed the only thing was to wait for Felix to switch over from riding and inherit the farm, but it was weird to imagine Honeycomb Hills silks as anything other than green and gold. Iona would have a coronary and die before that ever happened, regardless of whose name was on the Jockey Club paperwork.

“Benny,” I called to Ben, a few feet behind me and gossiping with his lead pony’s rider. “Hey, you ever see those pictures of beehives where, like, you know, the ones where the bees got into an M&Ms factory or whatever?”

“The fuck you on about, Tally Ho?”

“Never mind.” I giggled and brushed a hand over my silks, the green and gold that was almost Hills official but not quite, Long Hills diamonds instead of honeycomb. “Tell you later.”

“You better concentrate,” he hollered at my back. “Get your head on the dirt instead of the clouds, babe.”

“Uh-huh,” I muttered, and twisted my reins into a cross as my colt pranced a little beneath me. It wasn’t trash talk, not really, not the way some of the other guys threw it around. Ben and I had been trading off all weekend, second in the Eight Belles for him and third in the Oaks for me, first in the Pat Day for him and second in the Distaff Turf for me, third in the Humana Distaff for him and first in the Woodford Reserve for me. I wondered how pissed Joel was--but then, he’d destroyed the Oaks and the Alysheba on Friday, and won the Churchill Downs today by thirteen lengths, the motherfucker, he really had no reason to be anything but proud, of himself or his boy.

It was sweet, the way his face would look if Ben won the whole shebang about ten minutes from now. He might even smile.

Ben had a fair chance of doing it, I was generously willing to admit, even if Jessa had refused to countenance anything but me glorious and triumphant the night before. She could be real convincing when she wanted to be. By the time she’d slipped out of my hotel room I half-believed I’d already won the Roses. Seeing her was almost as good, whether we were in Louisville or on Long Island. It was always funny to hear her hold forth on horse racing. She started off haughty and holier-than-thou, reminding me of things I already knew, and then she’d end up practically handicapping, betraying that she was always listening when Gwen or I talked, that she knew more about our side of the sport than she probably wanted, that she had opinions about the likely turn-out despite herself.

Sacredheart, she’d said last night, her head propped on her hand and the rest of her spread out beneath my sheets, warm and bare, one leg wound through mine. He never breaks well.

Sacredheart, Ben’s colt, didn’t like the gate--but Ben was good with horses like that, it was sort of his thing, finessing little weirdos who’d managed to make it to three years old without getting used to the big snap-jawed steel monster. I’d been full-on goggling the first time I saw him ride, because I’d known him before that, when he was still stuck in high school and doing grunt work at Gulfstream, scrawny and big-haired--kinda the Jewish-boy version of me, actually--and his personality made me think he’d turn out sort of flashy. Speed freaks, colts with attitude and diva fillies, that kind of thing. Instead he kept turning up with really smart turf rides and patience for horses who needed it, and his grumpy boyfriend was the show-off.

“Quit thinking about it, Tallis!” someone yelled, and I glanced toward the fence. My agent was standing there, forearms propped on the rail and his daughter perched on his shoulders. Phil was next to them, one hand braced on her giant hat and the other waving at me. She looked pretty damn fine, not that I was looking. Felix’s girlfriend was with them, a full head taller than either of them, her beautiful smile aimed right at me. Eddy grinned and called again, “No more time for thinking, mija.”

It was what he always told me, and even though he clearly knew what he was talking about--I mean, hombre was a living legend, and my over-eager ass was lucky to have him--the advice never worked. I couldn’t shut my brain off until the gate opened. I had to run over the odds, the likelies and the longshots, everything I knew about every jock, until the point where thinking became dangerous.

We weren’t there yet. There was plenty of time left for my brain to do what it did best.

The lead ponies peeled off and we picked up into a jog. Sacredheart looked good when he and Ben loped past; Suitcase City, Joel’s baby girl, looked even better. If I was worried about anyone in the field it was them, because Joel had that irritating habit of winning when he wasn’t supposed to, when there should’ve been no way. Canseco and Suitcase City, I counted, Goldfarb and Sacredheart, Hamilton and Fly Pelican, Mensah and Elfshot, Rodowsky and Bluegrass Baby, on and on, twenty of the best runners in the country. Bays and grays and chestnuts, guys I’d never ridden with before and one woman whose style I knew better than my own, all lining up to try and beat the hide off my colt.

“We’ll see,” I told Cain Distilled, and patted his dappled neck as we lined up for the post.

Main track, Churchill Downs. Saturday, May 8. 6:52PM.

Sometimes speed didn’t show up.

The five-sixteenths pole popped up on my periphery and it was like someone had punched a panic button. My brain was a mess, flashing through what Jimmy Hamilton and I had talked about, and then what I’d privately pieced together in case what the trainer wanted didn’t materialize. None of it fit; my first Kentucky Derby, and I was about to embarrass myself, the filly, one of the best trainers in the world, the richest woman in Kentucky, and probably my entire family tree.

Maybe this would be the thing to finally put shame on Ben’s face.

People were going to laugh, I could tell. The comments sections were writing themselves. Pacesetter forgot to leave the gate. Keep fillies where they belong… the breeding shed. So on and so forth. What had any of us been thinking? I shoved that away and focused on Suitcase City. I might not have been Jimmy Hamilton’s favorite person, but he was rarely wrong about horses. If he wanted another Derby filly and thought Suitcase City was the golden ticket, I wasn’t going to the one to prove him wrong.

The rest of the field wanted me to, though.

While I’d been freaking, squeezing a lemon that didn’t have any juice, Felix had crept up on me. She knew what she was doing, and my filly would’ve been better off with her as a rider. Let her have her third Derby win, second distaff duo, by now we were all used to Hills horses and Hills people populating the winners’ circle. It felt like she’d been glaring at me since the Fountain of Youth in February, when Suitcase City had wired the field on a very sloppy day at Gulfstream. Today wasn’t sloppy--but Arkansas Derby Day had been as dry as Jimmy’s sense of humor. His niece was tucked in outside, rock-steady, no sign of doing anything but flanking us like a police escort. She didn’t even glance at me, and Fly Pelican was an automaton, forelegs churning. He wasn’t too impressive-looking, short and a little compact for a Thoroughbred, but he knew what he was for.

I let my mind coast over the rest of the field. Ben and Sacredheart were laying fourth, stalking the pace like I knew James Hamilton had told him to. James had told him everything but the winning lotto numbers, apparently. Tallis was up front, which was weird--which, now that I thought about it, might have thrown everything off. Cain Distilled was a closer from a long line of closers, and nobody had expected early speed from him. His sire had pounded through the Preakness and Belmont in classic deep-from-behind style, and his dam had once won a dirt mile coming up from fourteen lengths back. He himself had knocked out the Florida Derby last-to-first on a track very similar to how the Downs dirt felt today. I couldn’t imagine Gwen Taylor having told Tallis to go, which meant either Tallis had finally gone around the bend--unlikely--or she knew something the rest of us didn’t.

There was Felix, my next-door neighbor, determined to make her uncle happy. All she wanted was what we all wanted. Horse racing was the fairest sport in the world when you got right down to it.

And there was Suitcase City--or actually, there she wasn’t, and that was my problem. I’d ridden her three times since the previous summer, and she was snappy. She liked to run and especially liked a straightaway like the backstretch. She usually knew just what to do with it, even if it was going to burn off once she did. She was so lazy today I might as well have been running the race myself. As we hit the second turn I shut my eyes briefly and forced myself to loosen up. If there was one thing riding with Ben--being with Ben--had done for me, it was that. He had more genuine horse sense than I ever would, didn’t need to get technical with a mount the way I did, was generally more content to let a horse run its race than I was.

It was a vice, I supposed. The best jockeys were the ones the horse didn’t notice. But Suitcase City was going to notice me today.

The field shifted. Mark Mensah and Elfshot started to lag, having set the pace instead of us, and Rodowsky made his move on the rail with Bluegrass Baby. Van Alden was whipping too early, like always. I could practically hear Felix scoff above hoofbeats and lathered breath. I snuggled down into Suitcase City’s withers and kissed to her, drawing the reins a little tighter. We still weren’t where we should have been--Felix was, Fly Pelican being more versatile--but if I could get her into gear, at least we wouldn’t be last.

Van Alden and East Meets West were going to be last. I was pretty sure we were all agreed on that point, at least.

If I couldn’t do it I wanted Ben to, and that was exactly the wrong thought. Horse races weren’t about who deserved to win; most of the time they weren’t even about which horse was fastest. The combination of factors was out of any human’s control after a certain point, and that was what drove me: the idea that maybe, someday, if I did everything exactly right, if I was knowledgeable enough and flexible enough and good enough, that race would run. The race. Ben knew better. Tallis did too--the two of them were some of the best riders I’d known for just… not giving up, but giving in. Felix usually won through sheer force of will. Ben won because he knew how to talk to horses. Tallis won because there was nothing she wanted to be doing besides racing, nothing in her mind but that horse for those two minutes.

When I won, it felt like an accident more often than not.

My whip moved, left-handed, an instinct the source of which I couldn’t pinpoint. It was still too early, really. But Suitcase City’s neck snapped forward, a sudden tension in the reins that I liked. Her stride changed from the dogged gallop I’d chivvied out of her since the gate to something recognizable, something with promise in it. It didn’t matter whether we passed enough horses in the stretch, or if the maneuver Connelly was about to try with Stripesforever succeeded in boxing us in. The filly had been running, and now she was racing.

The important thing, at the end, was that the horse had run its race.

[ecotone99]

[SF] The Gulf | Ep. 6: Prison Island New Year

Murder.

Elijah is here awaiting trial for the premeditated murder-for-hire plot of his friend and former chief of staff, Ben Rupert.

The news broke the day after he arrived here. It’s the biggest story since I-can’t-remember-when.

“Why would they let him come here?!” I practically shout. “I thought they weren’t supposed to allow murderers in class-three confinement!”

I’m at Eric’s cabin, and tonight I insisted on the hard stuff. I’m a few shots in, and cradling a mug of beer. Eric is being a good sport about it, trying to calm me down.

“Just remember, he’s not a murderer yet. He’s innocent until proven guilty.”

I give Eric a sharp look.

“It is a little strange,” Eric admits. “It’s the first I’ve seen them let an accused murderer book a cabin and roam the island freely. I guess wealth does come with some perks.”

“And why does he get so much time to prepare for trial? I got less than twelve hours for mine.”

“A, they always give more time to prepare in serious cases. B, you really should have insisted on representation at your hearing. Sounds like you basically got railroaded… a good lawyer would have got an extension to prepare an argument, find some good precedent, and probably could have kept you out of confinement while you paid your debt. Then again the odds were stacked against you with a guy like Francesco. But still, you probably could have got the release threshold down to five or ten grand–”

“Can you just let me vent?” I ask. But I know the truth is, he can’t. He really can’t help but look at things from a logical, rational perspective. That’s actually why I like spending time with him. But right now, I could do without it.

Eric flashes a sympathetic smile. “Look, it’s a big island, just avoid him.”

“He’s two cabins down from me!”

“Lock your door at night.”

“I love how not getting attacked is my problem. Talk about blaming the victim.”

Eric shrugs. “You’re right. That’s not fair. And it’s also the natural state of the world. Getting struck by lightning isn’t fair. It’s not your fault. And you don’t deserve it. But you still shouldn’t stand in a field during a lightning storm.”

“But-” I start.

Eric interrupts, “I know you aren’t ‘standing in a field.’ But you can’t reason with predators anymore than you can reason with lightning.”

Eric gets up and fumbles around in some drawers. He drops a set of brass knuckles which thud on the wooden table.

I look at him skeptically.

“What? If you’re actually concerned, you should be prepared to protect yourself.”

“Aren’t weapons prohibited here?” I ask sheepishly.

“Yeah, and so is alcohol. Besides this isn’t a weapon, it’s jewelry, four rings all joined together.”

I smirk, and pick up the knuckles. They are even heavier than I expected. They look hand pounded, like an ancient Roman cuff bracelet a warrior might wear.

“Where did you get these anyway? Don’t they search packages?”

“I’ve gone through a lot of hobbies here. This was the metalworking phase about six or seven years ago. You’ve already drank out of a pounded copper mug from the same era.”

“Well thanks. I guess it can’t hurt to have the option,” I say. And it does make me feel better.

“Better to have them and not need them, than need them and not have them,” Eric says.

On video Majorie looks tired. She has bags under her eyes, and without the usual smile she’s lost her glow. I avoid the subject for a couple minutes… but we both know it’s coming.

“So, how’s the new roommate?” She asks, forcing a smile.

“I was pretty shocked to see him. Do you think he did it?”

Majorie looks away, and blows air out of her mouth in a long sigh, “I don’t know. I’m having a tough time thinking of a motive… at least one that is strong enough for murder.”

“What about the video of Ben jumping off the building,” I ask, “They must know it was a fake if they arrested Elijah.”

“That’s the thing… I don’t think they actually have enough evidence. Rumors have started getting out that it wasn’t a suicide. The task force got pressure from Gulf Sails to clear it up. I mean it’s the first murder on Gulf Sails in, what, a decade?”

“So if they could prove it was a deep fake, then they would have something solid on Elijah?”

“Well yeah, it was Elijah’s people who turned over the video in the first place. So if they could prove it was faked that would at least give them another path to go down for the investigation.”

“You mean they could put pressure on his underlings to start talking?”

Majorie shrugs, clear her throats, and says, “I guess that’s the theory.”

“Can you send me the video?”

“Why?” she asks reflexively.

“Well, I’ve been working on something ever since you told me about the technology they use to analyze deep fakes. They look at it forensically, the files, the meta-data, down to the ones and zeros. They’re trying to see if anything has been altered, added, or tweaked. But it’s almost impossible to tell, that’s the entire point of the deep fakes. What they should be doing is looking at the outputs.”

“Well isn’t that the entire point of deep fakes, that the outputs look real?” Majorie asks.

“Of course, they look and sound real to humans. And everything at the chip level looks real enough to the technology analyzing it. But I had a hypothesis that when you analyze the outputs, there would be a slight difference between real and fake videos.

“I was rewatching some old movies to write about on my blog. The special effects used to be really bad, you can see the cuts in the film, the model cities for explosions, the impossible ninja moves, that sort of thing. But over time they got better and better. It looked almost real… until the directors would go too far and start making it look fake again because their ideas outpaced the technology.

“It’s like they were getting close to reality, never quite syncing up, and then passing back into the absurd. Then they would make the effects better and better again until they were back for another shot at the real thing.

“So I decided to test my hypothesis, that given enough data, there would be unique patterns for deep fakes versus real videos. I put together two databases, one with unaltered videos and one with known fakes. I coded a basic program to analyze and plot things like voice, posture, gait, movement, and just graph it out.

“Both of them, the real and the fake videos, look like a mess when graphed out. You get nothing from just looking at them. But when you overlay the plots, you start getting a picture of the differences. The deep fake plots aren’t as tight, they are more jerky, with sharper edges, and the real ones are much smoother in general.

“To be fair, you would need a lot more data and a better analyzer and grapher to really build a decent program. But I asked my friend Brenton to create a random mix of ten fake and ten real videos to test. I analyzed them, and got 90% accuracy, just by comparing the two graphs with the naked eye. I’m sure if I can write analyzing script I can get it even more accurate.”

Majorie’s mouth is hanging open and she’s looking at me like I just seamlessly landed a triple back handspring.

“Dege. This is amazing. I had no idea you knew how to do all this.”

“What?” I laugh, “No, it’s all pretty basic. Anyone could have done it. The code is really rudimentary, and–”

“Well, no one else did do it. Is there any way you can send me the program?

“I feel like it would be a lot easier to just send me the video. It’s not one nice cohesive program right now. There are a lot of moving parts I haven’t uploaded to the cloud yet.”

“Yeah, hmm… I just don’t think I can send you the video with the prison surveillance. I don’t want to overstep my bounds with the investigators.”

“If they want your help, seems like they wouldn’t mind? Well anyway, let me see if I can get the program glued together a little better, and more user-friendly.”

“That would be amazing! Um… in the meantime… Are you looking for extra work?” Majorie asks.

“What do you mean?”

“I have all these clients who send me video evidence. It’s not like your program would hold up in arbitration or anything. But it would at least give me insight into which of my clients are sending me fake evidence, which are being tricked themselves, and who is worth my time.”

“Yeah… sure, I would love to help.”

“Great,” she says, “I have about 15 I can send you now to get started, and pay per analysis? Maybe if your program is good enough we can get you out of there much sooner,” she winks.

The hair on the back of my neck pricks up a second before I hear his voice.

“The whole world has gone mad, Dege.”

Elijah takes a seat on my rock wall, looking out towards the ocean. I am working out on my deck, enjoying the cooler evening hours when the sun has dipped below the island’s horizon. I reach into my pocket and slip my fingers into the brass knuckles I’ve been carrying around. The cold metal takes some heat out of my elevated heart rate, like a stress ball.

Elijah is waiting for me to respond, but I don’t. Not sure what I would say even if I wanted to. Seconds pass. Finally he looks my way.

“You don’t believe the whole thing do you?” he asks, incredulously.

“I haven’t given it much thought,” I lie.

“It’s a smear, a desperate attempt to take down someone successful. It has the whole city divided. My supporters are fleeing, taking their platforms to dock at Paradisia, or elsewhere. A whole contingent linked their platforms into another community as a protest.

“Gulf Sails is just so desperate to take the blame for poor Ben’s death off them. They are willing to send an innocent man to prison because of social pressure!”

He keeps pausing to see if I have anything to say. Then he continues stream of consciousness style, like he’s thinking out loud.

“But they miscalculated. That was the real breaking point. People won’t put up with it! They won’t. The way they handled this from the getgo just reeks of corruption. You know the chief investigator they hired has ties to competitors of mine?”

He looks at me, expectantly, waiting for an answer.

“I didn’t know that,” I say monotone, pretending not to be interested, but the truth is I am making a mental note to look into that later.

“Why would I murder one of my best friends?” He scoffs, looking back to the ocean. “It is a cleverly orchestrated smear that I will be cleared of in just a matter of weeks.”

When he says “weeks” I swear I hear his voice crack. Elijah clears his throat.

“I’ll let you in on a little secret,” Elijah says, looking back to me. “Ben was being extorted by a high up Gulf Sails executive. That’s why he killed himself. Don’t believe me, just keep an eye on the news. It was getting out into the public, that’s why they moved on me with no evidence whatsoever, so they could get the drop on the news cycle. That’s what this is all about. Apparently these days justice is whatever the public believes!”

There’s something in Elijah’s eyes… I think he’s worried.

Suppose he is lying, and this all comes crashing down on him while he’s still here in pretrial detention. He realizes he’s going to be confined for the rest of his life. He thinks, might as well get my kicks in while I have the opportunity.

I’m actually concerned under those circumstance that he might try to rape me, if he has nothing to lose. I don’t know, maybe I’m just freaking myself out, maybe he was just drunk and displaying a fucked up sense of humor at the club in Barracuda on Halloween.

But it’s boring into my mind the insanity that I even have to consider such a course of events.

“I brought you something,” I say to George. Christmas is approaching, and I was feeling the holiday spirit. I’m still curious as to my connection with George, if we really are family. But another part of me just wants to break down this barrier.

I hold out the bottle to him.

“What, some of Eric’s whiskey?”

“I worked for it.”

“Well la-dee-da, why are you giving it to me?”

“I was just thinking about what you told me before… how trade breaks down barriers.”

“Trade,” He says sternly. “So it’s not a gift then? Call me cynical, but as I suspect of any gift, it’s not actually free, eh?”

“I… well… no, just… maybe just, like, don’t be such a hard-ass all the time?”

“Not worth it,” he says, and starts to head in.

“Wait! Fine, yes, it’s not a gift. But maybe you would be willing to trade this bottle of whiskey for another history lesson?”

“You can read about it on the internet cheaper.”

“It’s the analysis that’s valuable…” I say. “As much as I searched, I couldn’t find any sources that talked about the far-reaching economic effects of interracial fucking.”

I think I just managed to get a smirk out of him, but he hides it well, clears his throat, and puts back on his gruff look.

George stares at me for a while. “Alright come on, kid. It’s been a while since I’ve got to preach my opinions on the collapse of the USA.”

He’s still a dick to me the entire time we talk history. He makes me feel really stupid sometimes, and practically yells at me for asking apparently dumb questions.

But if I look at it from a comical perspective, like is this guy seriously this salty, I can handle it. I think the shots he keeps pouring me helps as well. Holy shit this guy can put them down.

“No, fuck that bullshit nation-state nostalgia,” he practically shouts as we are closing in on finishing the bottle. “It was the same in the city-states of Machiavelli-era Italy as it is now. A shitload of small conflicts still result in far less death and destruction than the large global catastrophes that empires create!”

I hold my hands up, “I’m not arguing, I was just asking a question. Seems like the big governments existed for a reason.”

“Yeah, for the same reason gangs exist. To wield power through violence! And in the process they plant some flowers and make sure no one else beats you up, so stupid people can’t imagine living in a flowerless, violent world.”

George flops into his seat, and finishes the rest of the bottle. “And it looks like you’re all out of learning tokens,” he says, slamming the bottle back to the table. “Kindly make your way to the exit, thank you for participating in George’s history lesson.”

It’s weird without all the festivities leading up to Christmas that typically happen living at home. It’s the type of stuff that I always grudgingly took part in… but now I miss.

My family does come to visit on Christmas, which is really nice of them to change their plans to spend time with me.

I hug my parents, and even go in for a hug with my little brother. While in the embrace, he makes sure to remind me, “You’re a disgrace to us all. You’ve shamed the family, and brought dishonor on our house.”

“Great to see you too Raji.”

And honestly, it is. I miss his stupid, sarcastic, peevish sense of humor.

My dad opens up a little. I think he is proud that I am living on my own, entertaining guests, and working hard.

The conversation takes a strange turn after the mulled wine and rum cake dessert.

“You really should get into spa culture, Dege. Well… maybe not on a prison island.”

“It’s always been a little too homoerotic for my tastes,” I say.

“Well the lab test put me somewhere between 32 and 36% homosexual. So maybe that’s my outlet… if you believe it’s genetics.”

“Wow, that’s pretty gay dad,” Raji says.

My dad scoffs, “You should see your mother’s-”

“Ollie! Those results are meant to be kept private.” My mom scolds. “I could sue you for telling them.”

She’s kind of joking, but it is technically true. And she’d probably win something small.

Then it’s New Years 2100 and it might be the worst day of my life. I tried to talk to Majorie, but she was busy.

I video chat with Craig and Dean for the first time since I asked Dean for the money to keep me out of here. I already apologized in a text for putting him in that position, and since then he’s reached out every week or so. He even offered to mentor me to help me make the money quicker.

They are getting ready to go out for the night, with a few other friends. They link me in to the big screen, and I get the full view of the living room, with all the festivities.

It’s too painful. I manage to keep up my happy appearance for a few toasts. But even though I have my drink on my side, there’s an energy I can’t tap into. It’s just not the same being on the other side of a screen.

I’m exhausted after only a few minutes, using every ounce of energy to make sure I don’t infect their mood with my crushing disappointment at being left out of the turn of the century festivities. I sign off quickly.

This sucks. The day I have been dreaming about for my entire life, slipping away.

After marinating in my own pity for a while, I head to Eric’s. Then we both walk over to the main pavilion where the big party is for the night.

The female prisoners from the other island are here visiting for the New Year’s Eve party. And to my shock, some of them are pretty attractive. I didn’t bother to go to any of the meetups when they came before.

I’m not sure why I assumed they would all be ugly… I think I was too influenced by old movies and TV shows about prison.

The post nation-state world just hasn’t left its mark on popular culture as intensely yet. I suppose that’s because there is less of a concerted effort to push one particular narrative. And now I realize I sound like George…

A young woman comes up to me and pulls me onto the dance floor without a word.

She’s probably about my age, and is wearing a lot of eye make-up. As we dance to something electronic sounding, I start wondering what she did to get here. Probably some kind of theft or fraud. I wonder if it was to buy drugs. I’m judging her even though I’m in the exact same position.

When the song is over we have a conversation. After about 15 minutes of talking, I realize I haven’t gotten anything out of it. I’m just bored, and know a little bit more about her party-life in Florida before her asshole ex-boyfriend (read: sugar-daddy) “falsely” (I’m sure) accused her of stealing from him.

She’s pretty. Pretty enough that I wouldn’t have hesitated to pursue her in the past. I wouldn’t have cared about how mind-numbing her personality was. But now I don’t want to.

At first I assume it’s just because of Majorie, but I don’t think that’s all of it. I just don’t have the energy to be around someone like this for a night, even if the reward is great sex.

She gets the hint as my contributions to the conversation trail off. She storms off, clearly annoyed, muttering something under her breath.

“I thought I was going to have to cut in for a second there,” Elijah says as he slides up to me, on the edge of the dance floor. He’s dancing in front of me, yelling over the music.

I’m backed up against the kitchen counter bar, so I start to walk left but his hand shoots out to grab the counter, and block my exit.

“Hey man, I just want to talk,” He says, still gyrating to the music. “I mean we’re both in the same boat here.”

“I don’t want to talk to you,” I say, moving right instead. But he’s right in front of me, and I can’t inch away without squeezing between him and the bar. He keeps dancing, closer and closer to me as I edge my way to the right.

“Look maybe we got off on the wrong foot, but I think you have the wrong idea about me.”

“Well you’re reinforcing that idea right now!” I yell. Now I’m at the end of the counter and there is a wall in my way.

Elijah’s is smiling but he still manages to look pissed off. He doesn’t like it when he doesn’t get his way. I start to push past him but his arm goes to the wall, blocking my path. I break the other way, and he grabs my arm. My other hand goes reflexively to my pocket, but I didn’t bring the brass knuckles… making the mistake of thinking I’d be safe in public view.

“Didn’t you notice, Dege?” Elijah says, smile twisting, “We’ve accidentally stumbled under some mistletoe… and rules are rules.” With his free hand he grabs the back of my head to hold it in place so he can land a kiss directly on my lips.

I’m squirming away, but he is so fucking strong! Only when I feel him start to wriggle is tongue against my tightly pursed lips do I finally muster the strength to push him off balance enough to get out of his reach.

And as I storm away, wiping his saliva off my mouth, a small crowd around us actually oohs and giggles, as if I was into it! Like me pushing him off and storming away wasn’t a clear indicator that I didn’t consent to that.

“Oh, I get it now,” the girl I was dancing with cackles as I leave the pavilion

Eric is out there smoking a cigar with Brenton and Crenshaw, and stops me when he sees my face.

“This guy is so fucked up! A god-damn psychopath,” I vent to them after telling them what happened. I can barely get the words out straight, I’m still shaking with rage and embarrassment.

“Just hang with us,” Crenshaw says, “If that motherfucker comes near you again I’ll make sure his face can’t be used to sell anything but reconstructive surgery.”

And Crenshaw is big enough to fulfill that promise. He might not have the cut muscles of Elijah, but he is massive, and got his training street boxing.

Luckily (or unfortunately as I started imaging watching Crenshaw deliver a beatdown) I don’t see Elijah for the rest of the night.

And as midnight rolls around, I cheers Happy New Years with a few other cons, as fireworks blast in the distance, over the Gulf.

These ones are for us. A weak show by most standards, but at least we got any at all.

But as our short display of explosions ends, another fireworks show continues somewhere in the distance.

The explosions are so large and powerful that they mimic the rising sun on the horizon. A few seconds later the low booms follow.

It must be miles away. It’s not Barracuda, I know that, Barracuda is too far. But it might as well be. There’s someone, lots of someones, having fun out there. On their yachts or on their platforms. With family or friends. Kissing the girl or boy they love.

And then there’s me. Here. Watching from the outside. Just catching the outer susserations of their party. Whatever is extra. The bursts of lights and booms they don’t need that spill out over the ocean, and roll along it for miles.

They force you into it, force you to not quite take part, but be well aware of what you’re not involved in. Just listen, watch, know there is someone out there who isn’t you getting the full benefit of those fireworks. The champagne, the songs, the drunkenness, the camaraderie.

I wonder who the guys are kissing. What if Majorie is kissing someone?

“Stop it kid,” Eric’s voice breaks my trance. “I can see what you’re doing.”

I know he knows– if not the exact thing I was thinking, at least the rumination of things I can’t change. It does make me feel a fraction of a bit better– the validation that someone else sees what’s going on for me.

I manage a wry smile, nod to thank Eric, and turn back to the fireworks.

I’ll try to be stoic, and not bring down the mood for our prison island New Year.

submitted by /u/joejarvisme [link] [comments] via Blogger https://ift.tt/2MqKxHu

[ecotone99]

[SF] The Gulf | Ep. 6: Prison Island New Year

Murder.

​

Elijah is here awaiting trial for the premeditated murder-for-hire plot of his friend and former chief of staff, Ben Rupert.

​

The news broke the day after he arrived here. It’s the biggest story since I-can’t-remember-when.

​

“Why would they let him come here?!” I practically shout. “I thought they weren’t supposed to allow murderers in class-three confinement!”

​

I’m at Eric’s cabin, and tonight I insisted on the hard stuff. I’m a few shots in, and cradling a mug of beer. Eric is being a good sport about it, trying to calm me down.

​

“Just remember, he’s not a murderer yet. He’s innocent until proven guilty.”

​

I give Eric a sharp look.

​

“It is a little strange,” Eric admits. “It’s the first I’ve seen them let an accused murderer book a cabin and roam the island freely. I guess wealth does come with some perks.”

​

“And why does he get so much time to prepare for trial? I got less than twelve hours for mine.”

​

“A, they always give more time to prepare in serious cases. B, you really should have insisted on representation at your hearing. Sounds like you basically got railroaded… a good lawyer would have got an extension to prepare an argument, find some good precedent, and probably could have kept you out of confinement while you paid your debt. Then again the odds were stacked against you with a guy like Francesco. But still, you probably could have got the release threshold down to five or ten grand–”

​

“Can you just let me vent?” I ask. But I know the truth is, he can’t. He really can’t help but look at things from a logical, rational perspective. That’s actually why I like spending time with him. But right now, I could do without it.

​

Eric flashes a sympathetic smile. “Look, it’s a big island, just avoid him.”

​

“He’s two cabins down from me!”

​

“Lock your door at night.”

​

“I love how not getting attacked is my problem. Talk about blaming the victim.”

​

Eric shrugs. “You’re right. That’s not fair. And it’s also the natural state of the world. Getting struck by lightning isn’t fair. It’s not your fault. And you don’t deserve it. But you still shouldn’t stand in a field during a lightning storm.”

​

“But-” I start.

​

Eric interrupts, “I know you aren’t ‘standing in a field.’ But you can’t reason with predators anymore than you can reason with lightning.”

​

Eric gets up and fumbles around in some drawers. He drops a set of brass knuckles which thud on the wooden table.

​

I look at him skeptically.

​

“What? If you’re actually concerned, you should be prepared to protect yourself.”

​

“Aren’t weapons prohibited here?” I ask sheepishly.

​

“Yeah, and so is alcohol. Besides this isn’t a weapon, it’s jewelry, four rings all joined together.”

​

I smirk, and pick up the knuckles. They are even heavier than I expected. They look hand pounded, like an ancient Roman cuff bracelet a warrior might wear.

​

“Where did you get these anyway? Don’t they search packages?”

​

“I’ve gone through a lot of hobbies here. This was the metalworking phase about six or seven years ago. You’ve already drank out of a pounded copper mug from the same era.”

​

“Well thanks. I guess it can’t hurt to have the option,” I say. And it does make me feel better.

​

“Better to have them and not need them, than need them and not have them,” Eric says.

​

On video Majorie looks tired. She has bags under her eyes, and without the usual smile she’s lost her glow. I avoid the subject for a couple minutes… but we both know it’s coming.

​

“So, how’s the new roommate?” She asks, forcing a smile.

​

“I was pretty shocked to see him. Do you think he did it?”

​

Majorie looks away, and blows air out of her mouth in a long sigh, “I don’t know. I’m having a tough time thinking of a motive… at least one that is strong enough for murder.”

​

“What about the video of Ben jumping off the building,” I ask, “They must know it was a fake if they arrested Elijah.”

​

“That’s the thing… I don’t think they actually have enough evidence. Rumors have started getting out that it wasn’t a suicide. The task force got pressure from Gulf Sails to clear it up. I mean it’s the first murder on Gulf Sails in, what, a decade?”

​

“So if they could prove it was a deep fake, then they would have something solid on Elijah?”

​

“Well yeah, it was Elijah’s people who turned over the video in the first place. So if they could prove it was faked that would at least give them another path to go down for the investigation.”

​

“You mean they could put pressure on his underlings to start talking?”

​

Majorie shrugs, clear her throats, and says, “I guess that’s the theory.”

​

“Can you send me the video?”

​

“Why?” she asks reflexively.

​

“Well, I’ve been working on something ever since you told me about the technology they use to analyze deep fakes. They look at it forensically, the files, the meta-data, down to the ones and zeros. They’re trying to see if anything has been altered, added, or tweaked. But it’s almost impossible to tell, that’s the entire point of the deep fakes. What they should be doing is looking at the outputs.”

​

“Well isn’t that the entire point of deep fakes, that the outputs look real?” Majorie asks.

​

“Of course, they look and sound real to humans. And everything at the chip level looks real enough to the technology analyzing it. But I had a hypothesis that when you analyze the outputs, there would be a slight difference between real and fake videos.

​

“I was rewatching some old movies to write about on my blog. The special effects used to be really bad, you can see the cuts in the film, the model cities for explosions, the impossible ninja moves, that sort of thing. But over time they got better and better. It looked almost real… until the directors would go too far and start making it look fake again because their ideas outpaced the technology.

​

“It’s like they were getting close to reality, never quite syncing up, and then passing back into the absurd. Then they would make the effects better and better again until they were back for another shot at the real thing.

​

“So I decided to test my hypothesis, that given enough data, there would be unique patterns for deep fakes versus real videos. I put together two databases, one with unaltered videos and one with known fakes. I coded a basic program to analyze and plot things like voice, posture, gait, movement, and just graph it out.

​

“Both of them, the real and the fake videos, look like a mess when graphed out. You get nothing from just looking at them. But when you overlay the plots, you start getting a picture of the differences. The deep fake plots aren’t as tight, they are more jerky, with sharper edges, and the real ones are much smoother in general.

​

“To be fair, you would need a lot more data and a better analyzer and grapher to really build a decent program. But I asked my friend Brenton to create a random mix of ten fake and ten real videos to test. I analyzed them, and got 90% accuracy, just by comparing the two graphs with the naked eye. I’m sure if I can write analyzing script I can get it even more accurate.”

​

Majorie’s mouth is hanging open and she’s looking at me like I just seamlessly landed a triple back handspring.

​

“Dege. This is amazing. I had no idea you knew how to do all this.”

​

“What?” I laugh, “No, it’s all pretty basic. Anyone could have done it. The code is really rudimentary, and–”

​

“Well, no one else did do it. Is there any way you can send me the program?

​

“I feel like it would be a lot easier to just send me the video. It’s not one nice cohesive program right now. There are a lot of moving parts I haven’t uploaded to the cloud yet.”

​

“Yeah, hmm… I just don’t think I can send you the video with the prison surveillance. I don’t want to overstep my bounds with the investigators.”

​

“If they want your help, seems like they wouldn’t mind? Well anyway, let me see if I can get the program glued together a little better, and more user-friendly.”

​

“That would be amazing! Um… in the meantime… Are you looking for extra work?” Majorie asks.

​

“What do you mean?”

​

“I have all these clients who send me video evidence. It’s not like your program would hold up in arbitration or anything. But it would at least give me insight into which of my clients are sending me fake evidence, which are being tricked themselves, and who is worth my time.”

​

“Yeah… sure, I would love to help.”

​

“Great,” she says, “I have about 15 I can send you now to get started, and pay per analysis? Maybe if your program is good enough we can get you out of there much sooner,” she winks.

​

The hair on the back of my neck pricks up a second before I hear his voice.

​

“The whole world has gone mad, Dege.”

​

Elijah takes a seat on my rock wall, looking out towards the ocean. I am working out on my deck, enjoying the cooler evening hours when the sun has dipped below the island’s horizon. I reach into my pocket and slip my fingers into the brass knuckles I’ve been carrying around. The cold metal takes some heat out of my elevated heart rate, like a stress ball.

​

Elijah is waiting for me to respond, but I don’t. Not sure what I would say even if I wanted to. Seconds pass. Finally he looks my way.

​

“You don’t believe the whole thing do you?” he asks, incredulously.

​

“I haven’t given it much thought,” I lie.

​

“It’s a smear, a desperate attempt to take down someone successful. It has the whole city divided. My supporters are fleeing, taking their platforms to dock at Paradisia, or elsewhere. A whole contingent linked their platforms into another community as a protest.

​

“Gulf Sails is just so desperate to take the blame for poor Ben’s death off them. They are willing to send an innocent man to prison because of social pressure!”

​

He keeps pausing to see if I have anything to say. Then he continues stream of consciousness style, like he’s thinking out loud.

​

“But they miscalculated. That was the real breaking point. People won’t put up with it! They won’t. The way they handled this from the getgo just reeks of corruption. You know the chief investigator they hired has ties to competitors of mine?”

​

He looks at me, expectantly, waiting for an answer.

​

“I didn’t know that,” I say monotone, pretending not to be interested, but the truth is I am making a mental note to look into that later.

​

“Why would I murder one of my best friends?” He scoffs, looking back to the ocean. “It is a cleverly orchestrated smear that I will be cleared of in just a matter of weeks.”

​

When he says “weeks” I swear I hear his voice crack. Elijah clears his throat.

​

“I’ll let you in on a little secret,” Elijah says, looking back to me. “Ben was being extorted by a high up Gulf Sails executive. That’s why he killed himself. Don’t believe me, just keep an eye on the news. It was getting out into the public, that’s why they moved on me with no evidence whatsoever, so they could get the drop on the news cycle. That’s what this is all about. Apparently these days justice is whatever the public believes!”

​

There’s something in Elijah’s eyes… I think he’s worried.

​

Suppose he is lying, and this all comes crashing down on him while he’s still here in pretrial detention. He realizes he’s going to be confined for the rest of his life. He thinks, might as well get my kicks in while I have the opportunity.

​

I’m actually concerned under those circumstance that he might try to rape me, if he has nothing to lose. I don’t know, maybe I’m just freaking myself out, maybe he was just drunk and displaying a fucked up sense of humor at the club in Barracuda on Halloween.

​

But it’s boring into my mind the insanity that I even have to consider such a course of events.

​

“I brought you something,” I say to George. Christmas is approaching, and I was feeling the holiday spirit. I’m still curious as to my connection with George, if we really are family. But another part of me just wants to break down this barrier.

​

I hold out the bottle to him.

​

“What, some of Eric’s whiskey?”

​

“I worked for it.”

​

“Well la-dee-da, why are you giving it to me?”

​

“I was just thinking about what you told me before… how trade breaks down barriers.”

​

“Trade,” He says sternly. “So it’s not a gift then? Call me cynical, but as I suspect of any gift, it’s not actually free, eh?”

​

“I… well… no, just… maybe just, like, don’t be such a hard-ass all the time?”

​

“Not worth it,” he says, and starts to head in.

​

“Wait! Fine, yes, it’s not a gift. But maybe you would be willing to trade this bottle of whiskey for another history lesson?”

​

“You can read about it on the internet cheaper.”

​

“It’s the analysis that’s valuable…” I say. “As much as I searched, I couldn’t find any sources that talked about the far-reaching economic effects of interracial fucking.”

​

I think I just managed to get a smirk out of him, but he hides it well, clears his throat, and puts back on his gruff look.

​

George stares at me for a while. “Alright come on, kid. It’s been a while since I’ve got to preach my opinions on the collapse of the USA.”

​

He’s still a dick to me the entire time we talk history. He makes me feel really stupid sometimes, and practically yells at me for asking apparently dumb questions.

​

But if I look at it from a comical perspective, like is this guy seriously this salty, I can handle it. I think the shots he keeps pouring me helps as well. Holy shit this guy can put them down.

​

“No, fuck that bullshit nation-state nostalgia,” he practically shouts as we are closing in on finishing the bottle. “It was the same in the city-states of Machiavelli-era Italy as it is now. A shitload of small conflicts still result in far less death and destruction than the large global catastrophes that empires create!”

​

I hold my hands up, “I’m not arguing, I was just asking a question. Seems like the big governments existed for a reason.”

​

“Yeah, for the same reason gangs exist. To wield power through violence! And in the process they plant some flowers and make sure no one else beats you up, so stupid people can’t imagine living in a flowerless, violent world.”

​

George flops into his seat, and finishes the rest of the bottle. “And it looks like you’re all out of learning tokens,” he says, slamming the bottle back to the table. “Kindly make your way to the exit, thank you for participating in George’s history lesson.”

​

It’s weird without all the festivities leading up to Christmas that typically happen living at home. It’s the type of stuff that I always grudgingly took part in… but now I miss.

​

My family does come to visit on Christmas, which is really nice of them to change their plans to spend time with me.

​

I hug my parents, and even go in for a hug with my little brother. While in the embrace, he makes sure to remind me, “You’re a disgrace to us all. You’ve shamed the family, and brought dishonor on our house.”

​

“Great to see you too Raji.”

​

And honestly, it is. I miss his stupid, sarcastic, peevish sense of humor.

​

My dad opens up a little. I think he is proud that I am living on my own, entertaining guests, and working hard.

​

The conversation takes a strange turn after the mulled wine and rum cake dessert.

​

“You really should get into spa culture, Dege. Well… maybe not on a prison island.”

​

“It’s always been a little too homoerotic for my tastes,” I say.

​

“Well the lab test put me somewhere between 32 and 36% homosexual. So maybe that’s my outlet… if you believe it’s genetics.”

​

“Wow, that’s pretty gay dad,” Raji says.

​

My dad scoffs, “You should see your mother’s-”

​

“Ollie! Those results are meant to be kept private.” My mom scolds. “I could sue you for telling them.”

​

She’s kind of joking, but it is technically true. And she’d probably win something small.

​

Then it’s New Years 2100 and it might be the worst day of my life. I tried to talk to Majorie, but she was busy.

​

I video chat with Craig and Dean for the first time since I asked Dean for the money to keep me out of here. I already apologized in a text for putting him in that position, and since then he’s reached out every week or so. He even offered to mentor me to help me make the money quicker.

​

They are getting ready to go out for the night, with a few other friends. They link me in to the big screen, and I get the full view of the living room, with all the festivities.

​

It’s too painful. I manage to keep up my happy appearance for a few toasts. But even though I have my drink on my side, there’s an energy I can’t tap into. It’s just not the same being on the other side of a screen.

​

I’m exhausted after only a few minutes, using every ounce of energy to make sure I don’t infect their mood with my crushing disappointment at being left out of the turn of the century festivities. I sign off quickly.

​

This sucks. The day I have been dreaming about for my entire life, slipping away.

​

After marinating in my own pity for a while, I head to Eric’s. Then we both walk over to the main pavilion where the big party is for the night.

​

The female prisoners from the other island are here visiting for the New Year’s Eve party. And to my shock, some of them are pretty attractive. I didn’t bother to go to any of the meetups when they came before.

​

I’m not sure why I assumed they would all be ugly… I think I was too influenced by old movies and TV shows about prison.

​

The post nation-state world just hasn’t left its mark on popular culture as intensely yet. I suppose that’s because there is less of a concerted effort to push one particular narrative. And now I realize I sound like George…

​

A young woman comes up to me and pulls me onto the dance floor without a word.

​

She’s probably about my age, and is wearing a lot of eye make-up. As we dance to something electronic sounding, I start wondering what she did to get here. Probably some kind of theft or fraud. I wonder if it was to buy drugs. I’m judging her even though I’m in the exact same position.

​

When the song is over we have a conversation. After about 15 minutes of talking, I realize I haven’t gotten anything out of it. I’m just bored, and know a little bit more about her party-life in Florida before her asshole ex-boyfriend (read: sugar-daddy) “falsely” (I’m sure) accused her of stealing from him.

​

She’s pretty. Pretty enough that I wouldn’t have hesitated to pursue her in the past. I wouldn’t have cared about how mind-numbing her personality was. But now I don’t want to.

​

At first I assume it’s just because of Majorie, but I don’t think that’s all of it. I just don’t have the energy to be around someone like this for a night, even if the reward is great sex.

​

She gets the hint as my contributions to the conversation trail off. She storms off, clearly annoyed, muttering something under her breath.

​

“I thought I was going to have to cut in for a second there,” Elijah says as he slides up to me, on the edge of the dance floor. He’s dancing in front of me, yelling over the music.

​

I’m backed up against the kitchen counter bar, so I start to walk left but his hand shoots out to grab the counter, and block my exit.

​

“Hey man, I just want to talk,” He says, still gyrating to the music. “I mean we’re both in the same boat here.”

​

“I don’t want to talk to you,” I say, moving right instead. But he’s right in front of me, and I can’t inch away without squeezing between him and the bar. He keeps dancing, closer and closer to me as I edge my way to the right.

​

“Look maybe we got off on the wrong foot, but I think you have the wrong idea about me.”

​

“Well you’re reinforcing that idea right now!” I yell. Now I’m at the end of the counter and there is a wall in my way.

​

Elijah’s is smiling but he still manages to look pissed off. He doesn’t like it when he doesn’t get his way. I start to push past him but his arm goes to the wall, blocking my path. I break the other way, and he grabs my arm. My other hand goes reflexively to my pocket, but I didn’t bring the brass knuckles… making the mistake of thinking I’d be safe in public view.

​

“Didn’t you notice, Dege?” Elijah says, smile twisting, “We’ve accidentally stumbled under some mistletoe… and rules are rules.” With his free hand he grabs the back of my head to hold it in place so he can land a kiss directly on my lips.

​

I’m squirming away, but he is so fucking strong! Only when I feel him start to wriggle is tongue against my tightly pursed lips do I finally muster the strength to push him off balance enough to get out of his reach.

​

And as I storm away, wiping his saliva off my mouth, a small crowd around us actually oohs and giggles, as if I was into it! Like me pushing him off and storming away wasn’t a clear indicator that I didn’t consent to that.

​

“Oh, I get it now,” the girl I was dancing with cackles as I leave the pavilion

​

Eric is out there smoking a cigar with Brenton and Crenshaw, and stops me when he sees my face.

​

“This guy is so fucked up! A god-damn psychopath,” I vent to them after telling them what happened. I can barely get the words out straight, I’m still shaking with rage and embarrassment.

​

“Just hang with us,” Crenshaw says, “If that motherfucker comes near you again I’ll make sure his face can’t be used to sell anything but reconstructive surgery.”

​

And Crenshaw is big enough to fulfill that promise. He might not have the cut muscles of Elijah, but he is massive, and got his training street boxing.

​

Luckily (or unfortunately as I started imaging watching Crenshaw deliver a beatdown) I don’t see Elijah for the rest of the night.

​

And as midnight rolls around, I cheers Happy New Years with a few other cons, as fireworks blast in the distance, over the Gulf.

​

These ones are for us. A weak show by most standards, but at least we got any at all.

​

But as our short display of explosions ends, another fireworks show continues somewhere in the distance.

​

The explosions are so large and powerful that they mimic the rising sun on the horizon. A few seconds later the low booms follow.

​

It must be miles away. It’s not Barracuda, I know that, Barracuda is too far. But it might as well be. There’s someone, lots of someones, having fun out there. On their yachts or on their platforms. With family or friends. Kissing the girl or boy they love.

​

And then there’s me. Here. Watching from the outside. Just catching the outer susserations of their party. Whatever is extra. The bursts of lights and booms they don’t need that spill out over the ocean, and roll along it for miles.

​

They force you into it, force you to not quite take part, but be well aware of what you’re not involved in. Just listen, watch, know there is someone out there who isn’t you getting the full benefit of those fireworks. The champagne, the songs, the drunkenness, the camaraderie.

​

I wonder who the guys are kissing. What if Majorie is kissing someone?

​

“Stop it kid,” Eric’s voice breaks my trance. “I can see what you’re doing.”

​

I know he knows– if not the exact thing I was thinking, at least the rumination of things I can’t change. It does make me feel a fraction of a bit better– the validation that someone else sees what’s going on for me.

​

I manage a wry smile, nod to thank Eric, and turn back to the fireworks.

​

I’ll try to be stoic, and not bring down the mood for our prison island New Year.

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