#i need to bring them to the dog park (my dashboard) to play more often

[lilbittymonster]

OC Smash or Pass: Vaisha Soveniss

You already know how this works. "Other" option is for some sort of incompatibility or you'd just rather be friends or study them under a microscope or some secret fourth thing

Yoinking an open tag from @hazelkjt

Basics:

Height: 6'11"/~209cm

Age: 34

Gender: wizard

Pronouns: They/He

Sexuality: Grey asexual with heavy masculine preference

Pros:

Herbalist and apothecary with a broad working knowledge of plants for both medicinal and arcane uses

Well versed in basic survival skills

Enjoys a good book and loves taking recommendations

Very nice voice. Very. Nice.

Will not mind one bit if you decide to infodump to him

Cons:

Heavily prejudiced against Gridanians, especially conjurers

Has no limits they will not surpass in pursuit of knowledge, particularly occultist powers

Frustratingly private about themself

They don't shy away from violence as a solution

Details:

Grew up in part of a Gelmorran settlement that was later taken under the protection of the Redbelly Wasps.

They're a Hearer, but due to their fire aspected aether and existing while Duskwight, they've been thoroughly rejected by the conjurer's guild numerous times.

They leave the Shroud to continue their self-taught thaumaturgy skills and become a black mage. WoL!Vaisha continues on to Limsa and eventually becomes a summoner. They prefer magic that does not rely on an external source, as learning magic is something that cannot be taken away from them at any point.

They will use any form of persuasion in conversation, from genial manners to underhanded blackmail, all with the same serene smile in pursuit of their goals.

WoL!Vaisha's Echo power is to control the emotions of the people around them, for good or for ill. They cannot create new emotions, only suppress or amplify.

They enjoy the finer things in life. They relish the notoriety that being the WoL/a powerful mage gives them, and will often dress in fine linens and silks and drape themself in jewellery to supplement their natural arcane ability.

While travelling is not off the table entirely, they do prefer to stay in one place for extended periods of time.

They prefer to be nocturnal, so early risers will not see them very much.

They don't tend to put much effort into maintaining connections much farther than how useful one is to them, so creating an actual bond is quite difficult and requires a lot of patience and even more luck. So far there has been one exception.

Sexually dominant and will adapt to whatever their partner wants but mostly uses sex as a tool to further their own ends.

[allaboardthevespa]

Dumping my Gabby HCs because she's my comfort character

Her full name is Gabriella Helena Myszka.

Growing up her family moved around in Poland a lot. Usually to cities, but Gabby always liked hanging out in parks and forests when she could. It’s how she grew to love nature.

When her family eventually decided to move overseas to Canada, she cried a lot because Poland felt like a comfy, safe place to her. Of course she’s glad it happened now. Even back in Poland she struggled making friends, and meeting Ellie truly changed her world for the better

Given her mental health struggles, issues with making friends and familial neglect, she’s developed a very bad tendency to have nightmares frequently. This decreased when she met Ellie, but she still has them on occasions. (I wrote a whole fanfic about this after all)

Her favorite artists include Girl in Red, Cavetown, Billie Eilish (she definitely cries to “happier than ever”) and Folklore/Evermore era Taylor Swift. Though Ellie's getting her into Dashboard Confessional yes this is me projecting

Along with a love of all animals, her nature-loving personality gives her a real soft spot for flowers. I’ve mentioned before that tulips and hyacinths are among her favorites, but she likes flowers in general. Especially of the fragrant variety. There’s not much that brings her more peace and happiness than breathing the sweet scent of her favorite flowers – and she loves wearing flower crowns too.

She’s pretty emotional and tends to cry easily. For example, one time she ended up watching Where the Red Fern Grows with some other people and she was so completely emotionally broken by it that she was left crying for hours on end.

Is incredibly touch-starved and often asks Ellie to give her hugs and cuddles because man she needs them

Is extremely ticklish and loves being tickled. Pretty much always loses the tickle-fights between her and Ellie too, lol (pretty sure it’s on purpose)

GIANT Bluey fan. Loves Puffin Rock and Elinor Wonders Why as well

She generally prefers rural, less crowded areas to big busy areas. Being in a busy city for too long (especially away from area) causes her panic attacks relatable. She much prefers staying in the warmth of nature, with her closest friends accompanying her

Her favorite Pokemon include Butterfree, Meganium, Sawsbuck, and Meowscarada hmm, I wonder what her favorite type is

She’s always really wanted a dog. Her dad is allergic and mean, though

Big advocate for supporting small businesses. Unless they cut down a bunch of trees to put up a store lol

Can sing but it depends on the situation. When she’s quiet she sings really well, when she’s loud…windows will shatter

Owns mountains of stuffed animals. Her favorite being a pink crab Squishmallow who she’s named Sherbert

Gets very competitive when playing board/video games!

After watching season 2 of DC her favorite characters ended up being Kai, Maggy, Tess and Lake (and she had something of a love-hate thing towards Karol lol)

Enjoys all weather. Loves to go out and dance in the rain. Tends to get sick as a result but she doesn’t care, it’s fun and besides, now she has Ellie to look after her!

Would love to live in a peaceful cabin deep in a beautiful nature-y place with her beloved Ellie someday.

[jungxk]

just one (iii)

notes: the only guy on campus who’s track record trumped that of your best friend’s - park jimin - was jeon jungkook. not that that was a problem…until he set his sights on you.

warnings: eventual smut, swearing, bad habits (mentions of drinking, smoking etc)

genre: humour, drama, romance, college!au

wordcount: 7.3k

part i // part ii // part iii // part iv // part v // part vi // part vii // part viii // part ix // part x

contrary to popular belief, jungkook does set some rules for himself. he doesn't have many, but the ones he does have he's strict about.

the first was no drunks in his jeep. he already broke that rule by allowing you and your friend seulgi in, so maybe that was out the window. impressive too, because he hasn't let anyone in his truck that hammered since jimin after taehyung's 21st. he threw up all over the dashboard and jungkook could swear he smelt vomit in there for months. even though he's sensitive to smell and hates repeating the same mistakes, jungkook decided you were worth the risk.

which brings him to his second rule: messing around with girls was just that. messing around. every time he needs reminding of that jungkook remembers the cactus plant taehyung gave him back during his very first semester. he killed that thing in record timing to the point where even taehyung wondered if there was a malevolent spirit in the place, because how else could you kill a cactus? it perfectly depicted jungkook's most telling trait: he can't look after things. look out for things, sure. he can step into a fight if his friend needed help or walk an old lady to her car with groceries. because those were a one off, in-the moment things that jungkook is good at navigating. but long term things? investing himself? he could barely stomach his own emotions for a weekend let alone someone else's, so it really was a recipe for disaster for everyone involved. get in, get out, get going onto the next. that way everybody wins.

and that neatly bleeds into his final rule: no bringing girls back to his place (if he can help it). jungkook preferred to keep his personal and personal personal life separate, so the less girls knew about him outside the bedroom the better. besides, it's not like he's totally unreasonable - if his place was closest and the situation called for it, then fair enough. but that was hardly ever the case.

which is why he's here: stumbling around the park in the middle of the day, totally and utterly lost. he was sure he had taken this shortcut once or twice before but apparently he was wrong, because he didn't even know this half of the park existed.

"the fuck is this place," jungkook mutters to himself, shifting as best as he can through a patch of long grass. he's pretty sure he's got a twig in his shirt somewhere and he doesn't even want to think about that squishy thing he just stepped in. his dick may have had a blast last night (and this morning) but the timbs on his feet had definitely seen better days.

jungkook had been wandering around for so long now he considers calling the girl who's place he'd just left in hopes of getting some directions...but then realised he didn't have her number. and even if he did, what would he say? i made you cum faster than you could spell out my name but now i need you to fish me out of the park like a lost dog? and then the next hurdle: what was her name again? jane? joy? jill? it quickly becomes irrelevant when jungkook gets through the end of weeds and broken branches to an open plain of grass again. it's a cloudy day so it wasn't particularly beautiful to look at, but he's just happy to be out of the mess of trees. looking out to the large pond of water just where the steepness of a hill stops, he double-takes when he sees that the person sitting atop it is...you.

you. bundled up in a hoodie, no makeup, tongue sticking out while you work to get the shading of that wilted tree just right. it's a public place, there are people out on the streets, cars whizzing past, but jungkook still feels like he's stumbled upon something private, intimate even - so beautiful do you look, so simple and candid. just you in your own little world. his fingers practically itch for a camera.

raising a hand before calling out your name, jungkook is unable to stop a smile blooming across his face when you snap your head up. he comes over to you, out from all the bushes like it was a totally normal place for someone to be. you can't help but stare at him like he's go an extra head when he finally reaches you, hair all mussed and eyes wonderfully bright. he smells vaguely of women's perfume and cigarette smoke but fuck if you don't gulp a little at how delectable he looks, leaf in his hair and all. "fancy seeing you here, noona."

"i could say the same," you lean to peer over his big shoulder, quirking a brow. "jungkook, why were you in the woods?"

he looks back with you to inspect the path he came from. "i was in the woods?"

"yeah," you laugh, his dopey expression making warmth flourish in your chest. he looks so loveable when he has no idea what's going on, eyes all big and mouth hanging open like an endearing dumbass. the urge to kiss him hits you out of nowhere. "i'm um, guessing you don't come to this park often?"

"i do! i've been here like," he counts his fingers. "twice? once sober." he looks down at his feet bashfully. "i'm actually a little lost."

"i hadn't guessed," you grin up at him, gesturing, "the entrance is way on the other side, over there. if you keep walking this way and then turn left at the-"

"i'll just wait until you're done," jungkook insists, plopping down on the grass next to you. his shirt wrinkles up around the belt to extenuate the flat of his stomach, settling into the ridges of what quite obviously are his covered abs. he looks so innocent from the neck up, round eyes blinking at you through his hair innocently like he isn't all hard edges and stiff lines from the shoulders down. a wolf in sheep's clothing and all that. "if you don't mind, that is? i don't know if you realised but i'm not exactly good with directions."

"you're right. if i let you wander off alone i'll probably see your face on the news tomorrow. just gimme a minute to pack all this-"

the gentle hand enveloping yours stills you. "please. take your time," jungkook hums, letting you enjoy the warmth of his touch before settling back with his palms in the grass again. "i don't mind relaxing here a little while anyway."

you open your book again upon his insisting. "i won't be too long, promise. this fucking pond is just being difficult."

"looks pretty perfect to me," he muses, pretending to inspect your work when really he's inspecting you.

it goes straight over your head though, too enthralled in getting the lines right, getting every stain of colour placed where you want it. you made the dreariest looking pond look like a glittering lake, alive with colour and life that didn't exist in the real world. he scans the other page; more trees, dogs playing with owners, cloudy skies and orchids, so many orchids even though this park had none. you clearly had a liking for them.

"it's definitely not perfect," you laugh, wetting your brush and softening more edges. "but that's what i love about painting. perfect doesn't exist. or even desired." he hums in agreement, no longer able to look at your art, only you. the way your lashes gently flutter, a dimple forming at the side of your mouth when you purse your lips. you were so easy on the eyes jungkook doesn't realise he's staring until you break the silence. "so are you gonna tell me why you're lost in the park or are you gonna make me guess, slick?"

he grins. "you have three strikes, noona. use them wisely."

"booty call?"

"damn," he huffs, head tilting back while listening to your victorious laugh. "listen, it wasn't exactly a booty call. that would imply i met jane before," he pauses. "i mean joy. wait, jennie?" he scratches his head. "what's your friend's name again, jisoo? definitely not her..."

"ask your dick, he'll probably remember. do you want me to give you two some privacy?"

"what's it to you?" jungkook laughs, nudging your shoulder with his while he gnaws his bottom lip, because it's not like he was about to admit that jane/joy/jennie was the third girl he slept with this week to get you out of his head. it was slutty even by jungkook's standards, and even then it still didn't stop him from secretly hoping you'd at least get a tiny bit jealous - and at best, curious to take their place.

"nothing, nothing," you throw him playful look. "i'm just another art hoe sat in the park, who am i to judge?"

he laughs again, nose scrunching up cutely. "how did you find this place anyway?" jungkook peers around the fence of trees, making the area feel so much more secluded, as if the rest of the world was off somewhere else. "i never knew there was such a big pond here."

"neither did i, until jimin."

"jimin?"

a nod. "he brought me here a few years ago, back when i was," you don't know how to finish, wetting your lips. "back when i was going through a tough time. family issues and all that. he said everyone needs a place to scream and cry and this was his, so he gave it to me too. it also just happens to be very pretty."

you can feel jungkook's inquisitive eyes on you, regarding how wistful you look remembering the days you and jimin would come here every week for some respite from life. it all seemed so long ago but like yesterday at the same time, as if walking around in a dream. it's jungkook that lulls you back to earth with his velvet soft voice. "you know it's weird, i know jimin hyung inside out, have done since we were kids. when he's mad, upset, whatever it was," he pauses thoughtfully. "but i don't think he's ever opened up to me about his feelings. anyone, really. he comes out here to scream but he can't like, talk to people?"

"jimin's like that," you agree. "everyone thinks because he has a million friends he's an open book, but it's the opposite. i've known him all this time and he's never even cried in front of me!"

"same," jungkook sighs. "weird. especially since he was, like, the biggest crybaby from ages four to sixteen."

"sixteen?" you laugh. "seriously?!"

"you have no idea! one time as a joke i asked if he was crying even though he wasn't, and he got so annoyed he started crying," jungkook snickers, eyes crinkling happily while he falls about in giggles with you. "but then he grew up, went to college. gets himself some pussy every time he's upset now, i guess."

"it sounds awful when you put it like that!" you pause. "maybe it is a little awful."

jungkook shrugs. "it's the easy way out, is what it is. doesn't make him a bad guy."

you prod him. "are we still talking about jimin?" you're met with another nudge before continuing. "what i mean is he's always thinking of others, that jiminie," you shake your head fondly at the thought of him, and jungkook sees your affection for him etched all across your face. "i keep telling him that processing other people's emotions for them isn't healthy, but he won't listen to me. have at it when you get the time."

"what was it?" jungkook asks. "the emotions he processed for you, i mean?" he raises a brow when you make a face at him. "or do i have to reach level fifty before unlocking your tragic backstory?"

"try level one hundred," you scoff, hauling yourself up to collect your things. "now, do you wanna go get some coffee or sit here and talk about our abandonment issues? choose carefully, you only get one."

"coffee," jungkook scrambles to pack your art supplies for you, making you laugh. "coffee, coffee, coffee!"

x

x

x

"jiminieee!" you call out across the house, kicking the door shut behind you after letting yourself in. you're glad you never threw out your old key because it came in handy during times like this, when jimin couldn't answer a text to save his life. he usually wasn't so m.i.a. but that didn't mean he didn't have his moments from time to time. you just assumed maybe he had a girl over, in which case you had no problem eating all the snacks in the kitchen and playing video games with taehyung until he was done. "why didn't you pick up, i called you like, twice today! anyway i was thinking, do you-"

you stop dead in kitchen, surprised to see hoseok there with jimin. it's dead quiet, heads snapped to you like they've only just stopped talking upon your arrival. you can't help but blink back at them, a little dazed, unsure what you just walked in on. but before you can think too much about it, hoseok is shooting you one of his sweet smiles. "hey, ____!"

"hey hobi, uh," your eyes skirt over to your best friend nervously. "didn't think i'd see you here..!"

"hyung just came over for a catch up," jimin says, which is about as much of an explanation as you're gonna get. "sorry i missed your calls, i left my phone upstairs. everything good?"

"yeah i just," you shuffle closer to jimin, a habit you had when you felt uneasy. even though there was nothing to be uneasy about, so to speak; you and hobi had been texting regularly for a couple weeks now, so it's not like you had a reason to be so skittish. so why do you get the nagging feeling there's something you're missing? you ignore it in favour of jimin's pleasant expression. "i was wondering if you wanted to go see a movie? that new horror film just came out and i'm free tonight, so..?"

he strokes your back apologetically, venturing dangerously low. boyfriend territory, so to speak. "sorry ____, but i have so much work to catch up on before this weekend! remember irene noona?"

you lean into him involuntarily. "yeah?"

"she's having another thing on saturday. i really wanna go but i gotta submit my project first," jimin explains, his gentle caress along your spine enough to lull you into submission alone. "but hobi can go with you! you're free tonight, aren't you hyung?"

"um," hoseok wets his lips, eyes darting between the pair of you. "yeah. yeah, i'd love to take you for a movie, ____. if you don't mind, that is."

"oh, yeah of course not! that sounds great," you pat jimin's chest briefly. "too bad you can't make it though. next time?"

"next time," he nods, and you do your best not to shiver when he squeezes your hip.

x

x

x

you're still in denial all the way to the movie theatre, right up until hoseok pays for the tickets and the popcorn and the good coke. there was no denying it after that: you were officially on a date with jung hoseok.

and it was the first of many. because hobi was funny and understanding and sweet, planning around your schedule and picking things you liked to do. even if you cancelled last minute or opted for a night in, he was so chill about it all. if there was a definition of prince charming in the dictionary, hobi's face would be plastered next to it, his name in glitter cursive. this is further supported by the way he brings you flowers before taking you to a fancy dinner he saved up for, all the way uptown.

evidently, it was only natural that your first kiss with him be perfect as well.

"oh, hoseok!" you coo, plucking the fresh lillies from his hands happily. his cheeks burn with excitement, because you only ever call him hoseok when you're sincerely touched. he follows you into the kitchen while you put the flowers in some water, like a puppy on a leash. jimin was right, he muses. this way, everybody wins. "they're so beautiful! you really shouldn't have, i can imagine these costing a fuck tonne..."

"don't worry about that," hoseok says, stepping closer to you when you finally face him. he looks awfully dashing in his dress shirt and pants, hair swept back to reveal even more of his bright, handsome face. he reaches for your hand gently. "i'm just glad you like them."

"i love them," you smile, his heart fluttering with how pretty you look in that moment, all sweet features and a sweeter dress. "no one's ever given me flowers before, you know. maybe i'll sketch them tonight, so i remember forever."

"no need," he chuckles, taking another step. you're close now, awfully close. the richness of his brown eyes throws you, studying your face with the most gentle smile in the world. before he looks down at your lips. "i'll buy you flowers for as long as you'll let me."

hoseok reaches up to cup the side of your face, feather light and soft. he waits for you to pull away, and when you don't he leans in to meet you half way in a short, honey-sweet kiss. his lips are just as soft as they look, just as plump as you'd imagined. you sigh into his mouth when he kisses you again, a bit longer this time, falling into his chest for more before hoseok pulls back with a glittering grin.

"come on," he says brightly, tugging your hands. "i busted my ass for that reservation, so no tardiness!"

you hum with a nod, clutching his hand and letting him lead you out.

but of course, you got there on time. dinner was perfect, the food was delicious, the weather was lovely, absolutely everything was just right. and yet when hoseok kisses you goodnight at the door, you wonder why your chest feels like it's got a chunk missing. like scraping the bottom of a tub of ice cream for a piece of cookie dough and not finding any. you pad into your room, waiting expectantly for hoseok's got home safe text that he never forgets to send. you're so caught up in your head trying to figure out if the chicken you had at dinner is what's making you feel off, before your phone pings! right on time. but then you do a double take at the id.

[unknown number 9:28pm] hey it's slick :) just wanted to ask why you let me walk around with a leaf in my hair the other day. awfully mean of you noona

[unknown number 9:28pm] this is jungkook btw in case u havent guessed

[unknown number 9:29pm] unless im not the only guy u call slick...?

the laughter that bubbles up in your chest is so potent and refreshing you find yourself falling back into your bed in a fit of giggles, eagerly unlocking your phone to save jungkook's number. you had totally forgotten to anticipate his text in the weeks hobi kept you busy.

[you 9:32pm] thanks for clarifying, ur actually slick #4. jimins #5 if that helps

[you 9:33pm] you didn't pay for my coffee so it was revenge

[you 9:33pm] plus you Might have looked a bit cute

[jungkook 9:35pm] are u kidding

[jungkook 9:35pm] i got u those overpriced chocolate things which was like 4 coffees

[jungkook 9:36pm] ahhhhh there it is :) i knew u had a thing for me

[you 9:38pm] they're called croissants jungkook

[jungkook 9:38pm] idc lets go back to how u think im cute

[you 9:40pm] i thought you didnt like me calling u cute

[jungkook 9:41pm] ill take what i can get in this fuckin drought

[jungkook 9:42pm] my plan is to run with the cute thing until i evolve. charmander was cute in the beginning too but then he becomes charizard n everyones like woahhh

[you 9:43pm] are you literally 7 yrs old. am i talkin to ash ketchum rn

[jungkook 9:43pm] pls dont be silly noona ash was 10

[you 9:45pm] so older than u then

[jungkook 9:49pm] can we stop talking abt pokemon now im trying to flirt

[you 9:50pm] dont say that or ur ash hyung will be sad

[jungkook 9:51] i actlly hate u

you're so busy laughing you almost miss hobi's incoming message. you should have replied then and there, but the influx of jungkook’s messages keep you occupied. 

[hoseok 9:43pm] got home safe xx

[hoseok 9:43pm] had a lovely night with you hun xx wanna meet before class tomorrow?xx

x

x

x

"you're having boy trouble, aren't you?" is the first thing taehyung says when you drag him out of his room. and he's not wrong. jimin's out so it's safe enough to take the conversation to the kitchen, tae's smirk over his coffee mug only making you flinch harder. "well?"

"i mean," you tap the table nervously. "sort of? it's just not something i wanna talk to the girls about. or jimin either for that matter. unfortunately you're the only neutral party i have to indulge in."

"charmed. so what did hobi do?" he asks simply. "eat the nuggets off your plate? propose a threesome before the third date? wear denim on denim?"

"...one of those is not like the other, tae."

"you're right. if he took your nuggets the fucker wouldn't be even be alive right now."

"but to answer your question, no he didn't do anything. in fact, i'd go as far as saying he's been so perfect it's starting to make me think he's a hologram or something. some kind of sexy robot designed to charm women but he broke out of the lab and now we're dating."

he gives a snort of derision. "come on, he's a guy. there's gotta be something gross about him."

"nope! he dresses well, smells good, never late, texts me back," you hold your head in your hands dramatically. "he even finishes his political arts essays extra fast just so i have an outline for when it comes to writing mine. the guy is a saint."

"so why did you drag me out of my room during wank hours?"

"jesus, taehyung! it's one in the afternoon!"

"well?"

"i just!" you throw your hands up comically. "i think there's something wrong me! he buys me flowers, texts me good morning...so why don't i have butterflies? why aren't i rushing to reply to him? just the other night i left him on read for ju-for some other guy. i mean, half of me is like if i don't feel something then that's valid but the other half of me is wondering why? why do i feel like i ordered the wrong drink at a coffee shop and i only realised after the first taste? like, it's not a bad drink at all, it's actually quite nice. but it's not what i wanted. you know?"

he raises a dismissive hand to your rambling. "answer me this. do you wanna fuck him?"

you pause, mulling it over. "yeah, i guess."

"you guess?"

"well i wouldn't say no," you admit, huffing as you shift your mug between your hands. "because he's crazy hot and a great kisser, if that's any indication. i'm sure he wouldn't let me down. but i have cause to say the same about you and probably half of jimin's other friends too, so."

taehyung rolls his eyes. "well, ignoring the fact that that was possibly the most tepid compliment you could have given me," he leans across the counter so you can't miss the way his eyes bore into you. "if you're not desperate to fuck him, and i mean getting so excited you shiver a little every time he comes within a meter of you, then that's that. game over, case closed. you should never have to guess whether you wanna fuck a guy or not."

"but he's doing everything right," you wail childishly. "and it's not like i don't like him taehyung, i do."

he shrugs to that. "right. you just don't like him enough to continue dating him on your merry way without coming to me for advice? come on, listen to yourself! the guy's half way to asking you to be his girlfriend, if there's no spark now then what are you waiting for?"

"but maybe there will be! eventually! i definitely like him more and more the longer we've been dating," you counter. "isn’t that worth waiting for?" you groan when tae does nothing but shoot a pointed look in reply. "fine, i'm making excuses. but in my defence if you had to break something like this to jimin you'd be stressed too."

"jimin?" taehyung repeats, brows furrowing. "what does he have to do with this?"

"i mean he pretty much set us up. he's super invested too, he remembers when i need to text hobi back more often than i do." taehyung chews on the information. it doesn't sit well in his stomach and it shows, his lips pursing and his legs jiggling restlessly. "at least it put an end to jisoo and seulgi's crazy idea that jimin liked me. weird though, i didn't think guys would give so much of a shit about their friends relationships."

"yeah, weird," taehyung grumbles, effectively switching the conversation to what he knows will distract you before you can clock onto his pinched expression. "speaking of friends, jungkook says you two have been talking a lot recently. that true?"

"oh, yeah. yeah, i guess," you suddenly find your empty mug very interesting. "we text a bit. went out for coffee a while ago."

taehyung double takes. "coffee?" a pause. "like a-"

you silence him. "don't say date. don't you dare say date. i swear to god if you say date i'll make you a new coffee and pour it in your lap taehyung, i'll do it."

he smirks. "did he pay?"

"no, i got the drinks. but he got the pastries."

"but did he order any pastries?"

silence.

"it was a date."

"no it wasn't!"

x

x

x

"how are you feeling about friday?" jimin asks quietly, lips pressed into your hair so the words come out muffled.

you're half asleep against him, it's one of the few times you're snuggled up into him and not the other way around. you're not sure what trashy romcom is playing anymore, all you know is that jimin's chest is so comfortable under your head, his body so warm with yours cradled into it. you yawn before answering, burying your nose into his soft hoodie. "lunch with hobi? we have lunch together all the time, why would-?"

"no," he says softly, pulling back slightly to look at you. "the other thing."

you meet his eyes, and then it hits you. "oh." a heavy beat. "i-i totally forgot. i can't believe i forgot..."

"i'm sorry, i shouldn't have said anything," he apologises, tucking you further into his arm. you hope your heating cheeks don't give you away with how close you are against him, breathing him in like you would a lover. you're so entranced by his flushed lips and tender expression that you barely listen to what he's saying. "it's good that you're with hobi that day, though. keep you distracted a little, you know?"

"yeah," you hum, but it doesn't keep the sinking feeling out of your chest.

"i only brought it up because i wanted to cook for you that night," he smiles. "i'll make that pasta you like, we'll play some video games. it'll be fun."

you gaze up at jimin in that moment and you hear the words he won't say loud and clear: i don't want you to be alone. your affection for him surges and you think he can see it in your face, because he smiles back at you with a tenderness you don't see often. you shiver a little when he brushes some hair from your face, his touch lingering ever so slightly to the point where you think he just might kiss you. he doesn't, of course. he never has, and never will.

"that sounds perfect," you say finally, dropping your head back into his shoulder to hide your flushed face if anything. you wrap a tight arm around his middle, a silent thank you, and he resumes his cheek tucked against your head.

x

x

x

the next day it rained.

the kind of rain that comes out of nowhere. one minute jungkook was flying down the road with all the windows down and namjoon hyung's playlist blasting and then the next it's pouring, the sound of raindrops hitting his truck so loud he thinks maybe it will leave a dent on the bonnet. jungkook's just glad he got his sunset pictures done and dusted before the downpour, because fuck if his photography degree didn't rest in the hands of the weather forecast at this point. he has enough time on his hands to consider squeezing in a smoke with namjoon before maybe heading out for the night or even seeing what yoongi hyung is up to, but all that goes flying out the window when jungkook sees you. again.

you. standing in the street in the pouring rain outside the post office like a fucking crazy person. you, with no coat, no umbrella, not even a jumper. it's like you've seen a ghost and you're too scared to walk through the door, or maybe you are the ghost. swerving into the curb in a haphazard park, jungkook doesn't know. all he knows is that if the rain doesn't sweep you away any minute now then the fucking pneumonia would.

"hey! noona, what are you doing?!" he screeches through the open window. you just stand there, dumbstruck. even when you finally hear jungkook's yelling, it’s like his voice slips through one ear and out the other. "hey! are you fucking insane? it's pouring!" jungkook shouts above the downfall. you still can't move. "____, get in the car!"

you probably wouldn't have if you hadn't looked up to see jungkook's face, twisted in disbelief and what also appears to be worry. cars honk at him from how badly he's parked, butt of the truck sticking out in the road. he stopped for you...

he stopped for you. so you get in the car.

"are you crazy?!" he asks again as he frantically rejoins the traffic while you fiddle with your seat belt, so sopping wet and freezing that you slip and slide with the buckle. jungkook helps you just like last time, reaching over to click you in before glancing back at your face. you're absolutely drenched, hands wrinkled and hair dripping, clothes soaked through to the bone. and even though you're shivering in the passenger seat with barely any semblance of sanity, your grip on the little blue envelope in your fist doesn't falter. "why the fuck were you just standing there?"

"i," you start, but the words freeze up. "i, um..."

jungkook eyes you like the mad person you most definitely are, and you don't blame him. you look mad. you feel mad. out of sorts, like your spirit is floating around your empty body and the only reason you can't hear her yelling is because the sound of the rain is drowning it out. your chest heaves, air not coming into your lungs fast enough, pulse pounding in your ears. "put on my hoodie," he snaps, gesturing to the seat behind yours. "do you see it, the red one?"

you twist in your seat after a shaky nod, clambering around before grabbing it and tugging it over your head as you're told. it's so big and soft, so warm and so...jungkook. your eyes flutter shut when you bury your nose into the fabric, breathing in the smell of him. fresh laundry, soap, the faintest cologne. and something unmissably sweet. you don't know why but your eyes suddenly brim with tears.

"hey," jungkook says nervously, not knowing how to handle this. "you okay?" another beat. "you gonna tell me why you were out in this goddamn monsoon, or?"

you finally turn your head to look at him, really look at him. silver bracelets glimmer from jungkook's wrists while he drives, his hair matted and sticking up at the back a little. his muscles are hard, you can see the bulge of his biceps. his jaw is sharp, his mouth pursed into a line unhappily, but his eyes are soft. his voice is soft. his hoodie is soft. "i was," you look down at the envelope. it's crumpled and sodden but you haven't let go of it. "i was going to post this. i mean, i wasn't. well, i might have, but..."

jungkook steals another glance because he still has no idea what the fuck is going on. "you couldn't have taken your indecisive ass inside the post office to do all that?" you go quiet again and jungkook's chest feels tighten for some reason. "what kind of letter is so important you'd get drenched for it?"

"it's not a letter," you mumble. then, louder, "it's not a letter, it's. it's a card."

"a card?" he frowns. "like a birthday card?"

you nod. it's hits you then, like a punch in the gut: the shame, the utter embarrassment of it all. of jungkook fishing you out of the rain like this so you don't catch a death wish of a cold, bundling you up in his car like a little kid who got lost. but that's what you feel like, a kid wandering around. a basket case with a birthday card. so it was no wonder your thoughts start to spew from your mouth like projectile vomit but in word form. "remember, um," you gulp, trying to reign in your racing mind. "remember i told you i had, uh, family issues?"

jungkook peers at you, eyeing the road nervously between pauses. "yeah..."

"well, um," you scratch your head, hair flat to your scalp from all the rain. you ruffle it, irritated. "long story short, it's that. like i know i showed you my sketchbook and let you watch me paint in the park and rush to draw flowers before they die but all that stuff is...it's the reason why i'm here. i love it, i love art and it's who i am but if i didn't i probably wouldn't have been caught out in the rain and you probably wouldn't have come found me and-"

he shakes his head. "woah, woah. you're not back tracking far enough, what are you talki-"

"my family," you gasp. "they're not like me. they're not like me at all, jungkook, but i tried to be like them. my mum's a brain surgeon and my dad's a chemical engineer and my sister's a physics professor in some fancy university and i was gonna be just like them. i was gonna throw out all my paint and charcoal and be medical biologist, but i couldn't do it. i tried so hard for so long, but. but i couldn't do it," you're faintly aware of the tears sliding down your cheeks. "why do you think i'm friends with jimin? or rather, that he's friends with me of all people? we met through mutuals and by the time i dropped out of my science degree he was the only one who would still talk to me. i would have been living out of my car for eight months if it wasn't for him."

"what?" he eyes you frantically. "what do you...?"

"my family renounced me. cut me out of their name, threw away all my stuff, kicked me out the house, removed me from their will. everything you can think of, they did it. they're smart after all." you start to laugh at how ridiculous it all was, even though you're crying, even though you're angry, even though you're conflicted. "we haven't spoken in years."

"wait, just wait a second," jungkook tries to keep up. "they disowned you because you decided to be who you are and not what they wanted? what kind of pathetic idiots would throw away their own kid over something like that?"

"because their reputation is everything," you sigh. "you don't get it, jungkook. the kind of name they made for themselves is some top dog shit. they publish papers and take part in groundbreaking research like it’s a hobby. for them to say that one their esteemed daughters dropped out of university because she wanted to be a painter or some shit is a disgrace to their reputation."

his mouth visibly upturns, like he's tasted something bad. "they're the ones who are the disgrace. god, what fucking assholes!"

"but maybe it's better to be an asshole than a dumb fuck," you wave the drenched envelope mockingly. "look at me! i stood outside in the rain because i couldn't decide if i wanted to post my dad a birthday card or not! they haven't spoken to me in years and i still send them a fucking card every birthday," you cover your forehead, embarrassed just from saying it out loud. "they probably set it on fire the second it gets passed the mailbox! they probably throw it straight in the trash and here i am, still sending it."

"but you didn't," he points out. "you still have it there in your hand, don't you? and it didn't exactly look like you were rushing to get inside when i saw you either."

"well yeah, because i think it finally hit me how stupid i am," you look down at your knees. "i just wanted them to know that i don't forget the important stuff. i'll never forget. if i don't post it today then my dad won't receive it on time for friday, and. god, why am i still calling him my dad when technically he's legally not even my relative anymo-" you wet your lips, shaking your head. "it's been years. it's been years. and they've never replied. the only one that's still holding onto this whole thing and getting hurt by it is me, so maybe...maybe it's time i end it. i've already moved on in every other way and this is the last thing that's left, the last tie i have with them, so...yeah."

you wait for it; the spiel of expletives that usually follows when you divulge your past. how your former family don't deserve you, how you should turn your back on them just as they did to you, how wrong they were and how much better off you are in the long run. all things that you whole-heartedly agreed with, if you didn't you wouldn't be here. but moving on isn't a straight line. forgetting isn't like waiting for a pin to drop.

"i can't believe you're related to such disgusting pieces of shit," jungkook starts, knuckles whitening against the steering wheel. it's the first time you regard him now that you've finished rambling, and you can finally see how livid he looks, his face pinched together angrily. "have they even seen your art, though? just because you aren't talented in the same thing they are you get thrown out? all those fucking degrees and scientific bullshit but they can't even see their children as people, what useless fucks," and then, out of nowhere, "do you want me to turn around?"

your head snaps up. "what?"

"the u turn is coming up," jungkook clarifies, looking over his shoulder to check his blind spot. you stare at him, wait for any indication that he's joking or just fucking with you. he takes your wary expression as hesitation. "i can go in and post it and you can just wait in the car, if you want."

"wh-what..?" you try again, unable to do anything but gawk at him.

jungkook regards your disbelief, sighing curtly. "look, my opinion about those pricks is just that - my opinion. at the end of the day it's your life not mine so i can't tell you to do shit. no one can. so if you want me to turn the car around to go and post that card for you, i will. i can't help you with the other stuff, but i can help you with that."

your eyes well up again, hands shaking like leaves. you hadn't even told jimin about the cards in order to avoid the scorn, and yet here was jungkook. a boy you had only met a handful of times ready to support a decision that even he didn't agree with. the feeling was as relieving as it was...foreign.

he wets his bottom lip while you blink away your tears hastily. "so?"

"no," you say finally. "no, it's okay."

he looks at you seriously. "are you sure?"

you nod. "yeah, i'm sure. could you just, um, take me to jimin's? i think seeing him will help me feel better."

jungkook nods, changing lanes for the new route. "does he know? about the cards, i mean?"

you shake your head with a tiny laugh. "no way, he'd flip a shit if i told him! you know how protective he is, he hates my family more than i do."

"well i'm not exactly far off at this point either," jungkook mutters, and you can't help but smile. it makes him smile too, the gripping feeling in his chest washing away at the sight of your shining teeth and dimpled cheeks. he likes the way you look in his big jumper, hair messy and eyes bright. out of all the sunset pictures he took today, he realises that none of them compare to you in his passenger seat right now. "do you think you'll say anything?"

"nah, there's no need," you pause thoughtfully. "he's making me dinner on friday. to get my mind off it all, you know? sometimes i really don't understand why he does all this for me, but..."

"he loves you," jungkook shrugs, and you can't help but wince like you've been pinched. "he said it himself, you're like family to him."

"really?" you chuckle. "what a sap."

"i told you. the nation's crybaby," jungkook smirks, pulling up outside jimin's place. he reaches out to touch your wrist when you go to remove his hoodie. "don't, you can keep it. don't look at me like that, i have like a hundred-"

"i'll wash it and bring it back to you," you take his hand before he can remove it. "thank you, jungkook."

"don't mention it," he starts, but you shake your head.

"not just for your hoodie," you say, the thrum of your heart suddenly in your ears again. you grip his wrist, tugging him over the console. it's like your body acts without your brain's permission because it's all over in a flash; jungkook's doe eyed face close to yours, your soft lips against his cheek in a short kiss.

his mouth is still hanging open slightly when you jump out his car and wave back cutely. he thinks maybe he imagined it, maybe he's about to wake up any second now. he's not sure why his palms are suddenly clammy and his heart is racing a mile a minute because lord knows getting his cheek kissed is the most innocent thing to take place in this truck, but he can't help it. the smell of you mixed with rain linger in the air and jungkook has to take a second to steady his hands on the wheel, fix his breathing like he's a fifteen year old who's never been within an inch of a girl before. for the first time in years, he panics. 

don't bite off more than you can chew, jimin had said. and suddenly jungkook hears it differently.

[blue---rose]

White Widow - Chapter Three

Fanfiction.net | AO3

Title: White Widow Chapter: Three Author: Blue Rose Rating: M (Hard R) Pairing: Sasuke/Sakura Summary: "Running away was easy; not knowing what to do next was the hard part." - Sakura needed to stop fantasizing about running away to some other life, and start figuring out the one she had. [Sasu/Saku, Modern AU]

Warnings: Adult Content Disclaimer: I own nothing, and I damn sure don't make a single red cent for this either. So please, don't sue the Blue

Author Notes: If you like please don't forget to review/comment/like. Kudo's to my amazing beta: MySoberThoughts.

PREVIOUS CHAPTERS

-  ﾟ･*･ﾟ -   Chap 1 -  ﾟ･*･ﾟ -  Chap 2 -  ﾟ･*･ﾟ -  

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Chapter Three

The front windows of the SUV were rolled down slightly, letting in a cool breeze. Parked on a quiet street, it sat next to a large maple tree that provided a protective shade from the bright sun. The glass was tinted, partially concealing the driver as his head leaned back against the headrest. A finger ideally tapped the steering wheel while dark eyes peered down the street, watching passing cars and pedestrians alike.

The area was pretty calm during this time of day. Nothing looked out of the ordinary… at least, not to the untrained eye. His eyes were focused on his target when his phone started to vibrate, immediately turning his attention away. Pale fingers reached out, retrieving it from the dashboard mount. His steady gaze shifted over the words, reading the incoming message notification before opening it.

Message:

"Hey, are you in the city? And before you yell at me; yes. I asked 'scruff lord' first."

Sasuke frowned, a stray lock falling to his brow as he wrote back. Had she heard from him? He straightened in his seat, ignoring the small bark from beside him as his phone vibrated in his hand. His eyes read the reply.

Message:

"Nope."

Making an impatient noise, his finger swiped across the screen. Bringing the device to his ear, he listened as it rang once, before a breathily voice picked up.

"Oh!? A phone call? Now this is a special occasion… to what do I owe the honor?" Ino sassed into his ear, in lieu of a proper greeting.

"You really haven't heard from him? Calls or texts?" Sasuke ignored her teasing.

"No, not for a while actually..."

He continued to listen as he leaned back against the headrest, glancing down the street to Kiba's duplex. His eyes scrutinized the dark sedan parked near the entrance, a few houses away. Sasuke had the perfect view from where he sat just around the corner, near the intersection. He was fairly confident he had not been spotted by its driver.

"-Well, he never responded so I'm reaching out to you. I just need some bud, and another friend of mines wants vike. I have cash, because the DollarApp phone thingy isn't working right now. Kiba's not picking up so-…"

"Yeah, whatever… just let me know how much-" A flash of pink from the corner of his eye had him turning his head, to look out the window. Dark eyes narrowing below furrowed brows as he saw-

"…Sakura?"

"Huh? What was that?"

His gazed volleyed back and forth between the pink haired woman standing across the street, waiting for the cross signal to turn; to the sedan parked further down the block, sitting near the duplex.

A few seconds passed before he perked up, moving into action.

He had just enough time to roll up the windows before making a grab for his keys in the console.

"-Gotta go." He ended the call abruptly, opening the truck's heavy door.

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Sakura ideally played with the lightweight scarf around her neck, a pale shade of green that brought out her eyes. The digits trailed to her pocket, running them across the cold metal of the keys resting inside before she pulled her hand out, zipping the pocket for safe keeping.

She welcomed the brief distraction the visit would provide from the work she was putting off. Her last few days were spent packing, preparing for her upcoming move. Going through drawers and other spaces turned up a lot of lost or forgotten things at her place.

She had been meaning to return the found items to Kiba, for quite some time now. A few calls and texts were sent, but there was no reply… just radio silence. She wasn't too concerned about it; there were many times in the past where he went missing for a few days, or even weeks. It didn't happen often, but she was still a bit miffed with the non-responses.

Alas, here she was… dropping by un-announced to come bug her sometimes-reclusive friend. She definitely could use the break. Her quest for a distraction manifested however, in the literal sense when she collided unexpectedly with someone.

"Whoa! Excuse me-"

She had just crossed the street; one heeled bootie just making it up on the curb, before the sudden impact. It wasn't hard enough for her to lose her footing, but it did catch her by surprise. She looked up mid-apology, only to be swept up in a hypnotic swirl of ink.

"Wh-…Sasuke?"

He only deposited a squirming Akamaru in her arms before taking her elbow, directing her to the left. They walked in the opposite direction of their friend's apartment, moving briskly down the sidewalk. She stumbled briefly, quickening her steps so she could match his longer stride. She could feel the warmth of his hand, even beneath the layers of clothing.

"Keep walking."

That was the only directive given for a time, until they were a block or so away. She finally turned, sitting down the puppy. Akamaru bounced around their feet, but she ignored him in favor of his human counterpart. Looking up in bemusement, she waited for an explanation.

"Have you spoken to Kiba?" Sasuke asked, fingers brushing the nylon leash wrapped around his wrist.

She shook her head, soft swept bangs framing her face as he peered down at her.

"No. I've been looking for him, though." She blinked up at him, eyes squinting in contemplation. "Why? What's going on?"

His strange behavior was setting her on edge.

Sasuke shifted, eyes darting up as a jogger ran past. Akamaru gave a brief chase after the unsuspecting runner, but the leash pulled, making him give up.

"He's been gone, and…" Sasuke started, meeting her eyes once again. When there was another pause, she began to realize that getting direct answers from this man was akin to pulling teeth.

He clearly wanted to say more, but hesitated. She made an effort to remove any impatience from her tone as she prodded gently, "…-And?"

"…And now, there's a car staking out the place."

She frowned, glancing behind him down the street. "Police?" she whispered.

"Not sure yet." He turned to look in the same direction, before turning to meet her eyes.

"Don't go near there. I don't want whoever has eyes on the place, to see you hanging around."

Sakura's brows drew together in a frown, perturbed at what this could all mean.

He just continued on, voice still carrying as he turned to leave.

"I'll meet up with you and Ino, later. We'll talk more, then."

With that, Sasuke walked back towards the direction they came… Akamaru trailing along behind him.

She blinked, belatedly realizing she never asked him why he had Kiba's dog in the first place.

Just what the hell was going on?

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The office's decor housed some very unique pieces of antique furniture. They were placed strategically around the spacious area, mixing abnormally well among the otherwise, modern layout. A hand carved, large oak desk the man currently sat behind, was one of them.

Eyes skimmed the documents placed in front of him hours ago; pouring over everything while taking notes in the margins. The reading glasses perched low on his nose allowed him to scan the words, without everything blurring together as they tended to do, in recent years. The door opening to the room did not entice him to raise his head, but he did pause in his work… head inclining slightly.

"I take it, you took care of things?" He asked. The muted sound of the pen moving across the paper was drowned by a heavy grunt soon after.

The newcomer sat down in a cozy overstuffed chair, sinking down in the worn leather. "It's been handled."

Another pause, before the man behind the desk finally glanced up. "And you are sure this was the right course of action?"

Their eyes met above the computer monitor, before the guest broke the stare with a smirk. "A little too late, to ask such a thing, is it not?"

The pen hovered above another document, his gaze falling to pay attention to his work, once again. "I suppose it is…"

:✧･ ﾟ･*･ﾟ･✧ B R ✧･ﾟ･*･ﾟ ･✧:

The heavy door swung open, allowing the puppy to walk through and enter. Akamaru made a beeline for the water dish, anxious to take a few refreshing laps.

Sasuke sighed, moving to hang the leash on the coat rack. Shrugging out of his jacket, he walked further into the loft.

"Did you know, I really made that key for you to use in emergencies?" He asked his brother, making his way to the fridge for a drink. He felt the other man's presence when he walked in, before he ever caught sight of him in his peripheral. The older Uchiha stood from the sofa, coming to stand next to the kitchen island.

"Noted. Now on to more important things… did you find out anything? I see you still have the dog."

"I think someone put eyes on Kiba's. I don't know who… but I should know something soon."

"You should be more careful. You shouldn't have driven your own car over there until you know who that is. Don't be sloppy."

"I'm not. They were amateurs… had no idea they were being watched, themselves." Sasuke grumbled, pouring the filtered water into a glass, before taking a sip.

Narrowing his eyes, his older brother cut right to the chase.

"Are you sure about this? Is he hiding from someone? Maybe some trouble you've kept from me?"

"No… he's been dependable since we've known him, so why start some shit now, by pulling this?"

Itachi just sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. "I don't know why. I'm not a babysitter Sasuke."

Sasuke wanted to say something else that would have had his brother reaching out to take a swipe at him. And if his memory was as sharp as he knew it to be, Itachi would have connected the blow. Instead, he took a deep breath… trying to make sense of the situation.

"I just… I think something is up, but I don't want to cause a full-blown panic either."

"And his friends? What are they saying?"

"Nothing so far. l'll see what I can find out tonight, and if she knows anything."

"…-She?"

His face immediately went blank, eyes fluttering to glance at his older brother briefly… before returning to the countertop.

"I'll let you know if I learn anything."

' Please don't talk. '

Sasuke raised the glass to his lips again.

' Please… just… don't say a fucking word… '

His brother's eyes had not left him, dark stare holding his own over the glass.

' For once, in your miserable life, don't you  fucking  dare make fun of me or- '

Itachi's mouth twitched, the corner turning up in a hint of a smile. Sasuke caught sight of it before the elder turned his back, moving away from the kitchen to leave.

"Ok… keep me posted." Itachi said retreating to the front door, slipping on his shoes.

Sasuke grunted, in disbelief he was being spared a round of relentless teasing… this time. Rolling his eyes he headed for the fridge again, looking for something to eat. Why did his brother even bother coming over, when he could have just called?

Itachi paused, looking back at him. "And Sasuke? Watch yourself. Until we know more…"

"…Yeah." he replied, already on the same page.

Their eyes met before he closed the door, leaving the younger siblings' home.

:✧･ ﾟ･*･ﾟ･✧ B R ✧･ﾟ･*･ﾟ ･✧:

✧･ﾟ* : *ﾟ･✧

Everything began to tighten as she squirmed against the sheets, her soft belly curving in as her breath was stolen. Pleasure hummed throughout her body as her lips parted. She had to lick them, catching the bottom one in-between her teeth, as another moan vibrated against her throat.

Her hair clouded some of her vision, the thick strands falling around her in a pretty mess as they continued to move. His large hands clasped her hips so perfectly, pulling and guiding, as she rolled with his momentum.

Her breath caught as she chased the rhythm he'd set for them both.

His magisterial pace was satisfying, moving her with him through every slick glide. His hair hung wildly in his face, casting his eyes in shadow as he flexed against her, grunting on a particularly deep thrust.

She reached back, her hand wrapping around his straining forearm. She felt the protruding veins beneath her sensitive finger pads, and her fingers tensed… nails biting gently into his damp skin. Looking behind, she met his gaze as she pushed back, their skin slapping together in one of the most sexiest sounds she'd ever heard in her life.

Her feet braced in the plush carpet, between his own.

Sakura's knees locked, trying to hitch her hips as high as they could go, while keeping her upper half flush against the bed beneath her. A soft pillow had been shoved beneath her hips ages ago, to help keep the angle that was driving them both insane.

He growled and moved one of his hands to grasp her ass, palming and pulling, eager to fuck her as hard as she was begging him to. The air was heated between them; the atmosphere becoming so heavily charged… crawling over them both as the excitement grew.

She whined underneath him, starting to ache in the best, and worst ways…

Something was approaching, making her clench deep inside and she pushed back against him.

Bottomless pools of green kept on him… through it all.

The look she gave over her shoulder ensnared him completely. She needed to see if he was going to finish what he started. He promised to make her fall apart, and stop the ache that was building...

…A heat that kept rising from the place he was currently penetrating, over and over and over again.

"Please-!" She could not help the cry that escaped in that moment. The plea was so honest, so desperate…

It was  so close , damnit.

All he needed to do was shift… just a little.

But… shit … maybe she could do it all on her own… just raise a knee to the bed to contort her body in just the right angle and…

"God…!"

Oh… it was so close…

And she finally closed her eyes as he-

✧･ﾟ* : *ﾟ･✧

"Sakura!"

A whimper escaped as she flinched, blinking rapidly as her tired mind tried to catch up with reality.

"W-…What?"

"I said 'We're here'. It's barely nine, you can't be that sleepy. Come on." The blonde exited the car, making sure to tug down the hem to her ridiculously short dress.

Sakura sighed, pulling out her compact to check for drool marks. She couldn't believe she had such a vivid dream like that. Hadn't she just closed her eyes for a moment? Her head rested against the glass but she didn't mean to fall asleep after Ino picked her up.

Although, now that she remembered… she was going out under protest. She thought it was going to be another lazy night of packing and ice-cream, but her best friend had other plans. Just one drink, she said.

And Ino being Ino… was not taking no for an answer.

'Besides', she had tried to reason, 'You get to see your booty-call again.'

It was a tempting thought, then, when it was first mentioned… but now they were here? Her stomach was doing flips. Why the hell was she so nervous all of a sudden? The butterfly faze should end once you've seen each other naked, right? Wasn't that how it should work?

Sighing, she closed the compact with a snap and stashed it in her bag. There were no lines on her face… but there was a redness that did not come from the blush makeup used earlier.

"You said a bar, this looks more like a night club… am I underdressed?" Sakura asked as they approached the entryway. Ino turned; giving her ripped black jeans and red-bottomed heels a once over.

"It's a hookah lounge-bar, with a nightclub in the upper level. And you look gorgeous; no one is turning you away from any door, ever. Besides, you're with me… duh."

Grabbing her hand, she marched them to the front, winking at the doorman who lifted the velvet rope. Another bouncer held open the door as the two ducked inside.

Sakura somberly hoped this would not be an all-night excursion.

:✧･ ﾟ･*･ﾟ･✧ B R ✧･ﾟ･*･ﾟ ･✧:

There were two things that stuck out to him, after meeting her for the very first time.

The first?

She had breathtakingly, beautiful eyes.

If you were in close proximity to her… you definitely took notice.

Even the most reserved or poised individual found themselves looking a bit longer than deemed appropriate sometimes. It always traveled into uncomfortable scrutiny if they weren't careful. Many people were given a pass though.

He even heard Ino tell her on one occasion that; 'staring came with being as pretty as she was', and that at least people chose to ogle her eyes, and not something else.

In a weird way, what she said made sense.

Besides… they were pretty.

An unusual shade of green that had to be seen, up close, to really get the full effect.

The second thing he could remember?

She wasn't irritating.

Granted, she had her quirks.

The obnoxious shade of hair that made spotting her entirely too easy…

The animated way she talked sometimes, hands waving and gesturing; hoping to help you keep up with the conversation…

There was a bit more to it, than just tolerating her, too. She was one of the only people he'd met, whose rambling didn't grate on his nerves, like nails on a chalkboard. Conversations; though short between them in the past, were usually pleasant enough. It never felt forced, and even the silence was comfortable.

She was into fashion and jewelry, but was not obnoxious with it all. She was smart and confident, but genuinely humble and kind. She cared for those close to her and took little, to no shit from everyone else. She'd proven herself to be loyal and true from what he could see, with those who knew her and called her a friend.

It was always easy to be in her presence since they'd first been introduced.

Well…

At least it had been, up until this past New Years.

And that… he would place squarely on her shoulders.

Shifting on the barstool, he glanced up at the endless liquor bottles and giant mirrors lining the wall behind the bar, finding his own reflection easily.

And why was thinking about such things to begin with?

He liked her.

It was a thought that flashed across his mind more than once since their fateful encounter.

He didn't chase… and he damn sure wasn't the clingy type. He usually was not the first to reach out. He was the one who shied away from repeated encounters. He was the one who avoided phone calls and dodged texts.

So to be put in such a position… was foreign to him.

He lost the opportunity to dwell on such thoughts as the quiet moment was interrupted; they had arrived. He caught sight of them as they entered, as did a few other men sitting at the bar around him. He watched through the mirror as they made their way to a cozy booth in the back, quickly ordering drinks. Taking a minute to finish his own, he made his way towards them.

Sasuke slipped inside the booth, causing the blonde to look up, setting her drink down to acknowledge him. "Well hello there, handsome." Ino greeted, pearly whites smiling at him.

His eyes flashed to Sakura, who was sitting on the other side of Ino, and gave a general greeting to them both. She'd barely kept his gaze, eyes shifting to the table after muttering a quick 'Hey'.

He could feel her unease, even from here. That made no difference. His mood was on the darker side tonight, so he really didn't care. He would embrace any temporary distraction, even if it was a mild confrontation.

Besides… they hadn't even started.

Ino reached up, slipping her clutch from the table to sit it against her thigh.

Turning his attention elsewhere for the time being, he retrieved a few zipped pouched bags from his inner pocket, sliding them easily into Ino's waiting hands. Moments later, folded bills were handed back.

Once that business settled, he moved on to another topic.

"Kiba's gone missing." He started. Sakura perked up, eyes lifting to meet his.

"He's pulled this before." Ino wasn't the least bit worried. "It just means he needs a few days to himself. He takes these breaks to deal with anxiety and other shit. Just give him some space."

"How long before? Without any of you knowing where he went?"

Ino paused, thinking hard.

Sakura's brow furrowed, shaking her head slightly.

"I think he's always told at least one person when he did. Besides, he hasn't done that since high school, right?" She asked glancing to her side at her blonde friend, who nodded in response.

"I have his mutt. I was supposed to meet up with him to drop him off, but..." he trailed off, but was soon interrupted.

"He'll turn up. He's probably just laying low for a while."

Sasuke knew he sounded like a broken record, but he needed to be sure…

"And neither of you have seen him, you're sure?"

"Yes, we are sure." Ino felt like they were being interrogated, and was becoming agitated. Everyone just needed to chill, and give the boy some space. If he needed a little time for himself, then they should let him have it. Besides, knowing Kiba he's liable to show up a week from now; with a tan and smelling like cheap perfume and coconut oil.

Sasuke relented, letting it go. "Just let me know if you hear anything."

His eyes met both of their own, and the girls gave slight nods in agreement.

Sasuke's eyes traveled past the blonde to the quiet girl on her other side. He silently dared her to look his way, but to no avail. She shifted discreetly, but the movement was caught by the other two parties.

Ino's eyes narrowed between the two of them, eyes darting back and forth before sucking her teeth.

Really, now… why the hell was there so much... tension? Didn't they already do the sex thing?

"So lame..."

Dark eyes blinked before darting to her much lighter ones, raising an eyebrow slightly.

"Hn?" He leaned away when her lip curled.

Drowning the rest of her martini, Ino grabbed her clutch, feeling the slight, added weight to the purse, and nudged Sasuke's side. They were boring her with all this pussyfooting.

"Nothing... now let me up, I'm going to take this to my friends upstairs. Thanks for coming through with this." Standing to her feet, she accepted the polite hand he held out to help.

"A gentleman too? Hmmm…" Ino smirked as she passed him, ignoring a random cat-call from a group of guys near the front. She climbed the stairs to the upper level, leaving her best friend to the dark wolf.

Sakura was oblivious to her new predicament, slowly moving to exit from the other side of the booth, but paused then Sasuke moved in the way. Sitting down, he slid across the dark leather, to settle flush against her side.

Now to handle the third reason he was here.

"Have a drink with me." He nodded to the cocktail waitress, who made her way over to them.

"I already had one-" she started, watching Ino's back as she disappeared from view.

"Then have another." He cut her off, body rigid next to her, despite the smoothness of his voice.

She could feel the hum of energy his body seemed to exude.

She shifted as their arms brushed against each other, still nothing but a bottle of nerves… eyes darting from Ino's abandoned drink to her own; refusing to meet his eyes.

There was silence as neither said a word, and even their drinks being placed in front of them did not break the heavy tension surrounding them. Biting her lip, she finally spoke up.

"Well… this isn't awkward at all."

There, she broke the ice.

At least… she hoped it would have that effect.

"More awkward than leaving the next day, to another country?"

"You really think that that; was the only reason I left?"

He had some nerve, and was a lot more arrogant than she gave him credit for.

"I didn't know you'd left, until a few days later." He took a long sip from his beer, his thumb wiping a bit of moisture from the corner of his lip. Her eyes followed the movement, drifting away before she got caught. He shifted beside her, before turning metal dark eyes to her.

"I didn't… have your number, so I got it from Ino."

' I had yours. '

She thanked any god who was listening that she did not say that out loud. Sinking underneath the table would not be low enough to erase her mortification. She could not recall exactly how, or when she came into possession of it, but she did have it saved in her phone, long before their tyst.

"I called you." He admitted, taking another drink.

' I know. '

She saw the call when it came through, along with the second one; the next day after that.

"It must have shown as a blocked number so I didn't pick up… sorry."

"I texted you." Something shifted in his gaze while he looked at her, and she was hard-pressed to look away. She became aware of the heat, radiating from his body and they… they were sitting way too close.

"I may be a lot of things, but I'm no one's fucking regret."

That snapped her back to the present, and she blinked rapidly, her brow lowered.

"Me? I thought you did…"

She thought he regretted it all, or at the very least… didn't really care.

He said nothing as his gaze remained locked on hers, not moving as he waited to see if she was joking or not. When she still sat there his eyes narrowed, his body turning slightly towards her and she leaned back; wide, pretty green eyes sparkling.

Successfully intimidated, she sputtered over her words as she finally began telling her story, explaining why she felt the way she felt, and had taken such a stance in the first place…

✧･ﾟ* : *ﾟ･✧

Sakura half listened to what he was saying as he sat on the edge of the bed, phone to his ear as he drags his discarded jeans from the floor. His voice is scuffed when he answers his phone; hardened from use over the last few hours no doubt … and even she can tell he is peeved. There was a brief pause, his eyes shifting behind to glance at her, before speaking into the device.

"…-Nothing important."

Coldness… seeming to come from nowhere, crept through her body at his words, the feeling of something very close to rejection and humiliation… made her fingers numb. He did not see her reaction as he stood, wandering over to the tall windows. He spoke in a raspy tone, the hushed words too low for her to now overhear.

Sakura swung her legs down, wincing at the slight throb between her thighs. She would definitely need to soak in the tub, after all of the rough play, no doubt.

But first, she needed to make a timely escape.

This would be easier, if this was not her temporary domain. If it weren't, she could just grab her shoes and make her way to the front door. Alas, that was not an option at this point. The bathroom would have to suffice… either that, or go down in the elevator.

She was halfway to the door when his voice stopped her. Finished with his call, he was now trying to explain his upcoming, hasty departure. She turned with a smile that didn't meet her eyes, watching as his chest disappeared behind the shirt he just found. She cheerily replied not to worry, and she would catch up with him later...

All without breaking her stride until she was hidden behind the safety of the bathroom door.

✧･ﾟ* : *ﾟ･✧

He continued to stare at her, even as her voice trailed off.

She didn't dare move, watching closely to see what his reaction would be. He broke their gaze and reached for his beer, taking another swig.

Placing it on the table, he looked at her, opening his mouth to say something…

…Only to change his mind instead, picking up the bottle to chug the rest of the alcohol.

Sakura sat in silence as he flagged down the waitress to order another round.

They sat there for a good minute, long enough for the eager waitress to return with his refreshment and clearing the used glasses. Two fingers and his thumb held the long neck of the bottle, resting it on the table before he finally spoke up.

"You are fucking annoying."

Before, when she got halfway through her story, he barely suppressed the urge to wipe his hand across his face in frustration.

He could instantly see where her mind was headed… could easily see how the tale was going to play out from her perspective. Combine that, with his sudden need to leave at the time… he could understand her side and how it all looked.

Still…

It didn't change the fact that she was annoying the shit out of him right now.

"I wasn't talking about you, about us, nor about what we did… when I said that."

She paled, and then… all at once, color blossomed in her cheeks. Why was she so quick to jump to conclusions sometimes?

Because that's the Haruno way.

Well… technically it was more the 'Ishikawa' way (her mother's maiden name, and definitely the correct side of the family to blame for such impulses).

Either way, it was in her blood to act foolishly, and definitely was something she was known for, in her early years. Well, she hadn't quite grown out of it, had she? It certainly was coming to bite her on the ass, in this situation.

"Oh…" She breathed, realization fully dawning on her.

He grasped the bottle and brought it to his lips again.

He wanted to spank her.

Sasuke didn't know where the wayward thought came from, but he couldn't help the overwhelming urge to drag her across his knee and swat her behind, at the incredulous response.

'Oh'? That's all she could say… was 'Oh'?

He drank his beer before he said something stupid.

All this time she had kept her distance because she thought he wasn't interested? He all but screamed (in his own way)… that he was interested, by reaching out… and she…

Finishing the beer, he stood… leaving a few bills on the table. There were some other things he had to take care of tonight, and should go. Even though he was reluctant, he needed to cut this meeting short.

Sakura looked up as he moved; missing the heat she felt when his leg was pressed against her own beneath the table.

Turning to leave he paused, looking at her over his shoulder. She could only freeze, swallowing thickly as she got caught up in his amorous stare.

"Haruno?"

"…Y-yes?"

"You make sure I'm not still… 'blocked', on your fucking phone, got it?"

A few minutes later, Ino found her… in the same spot. The poor pinkette looked as if she'd just seen a ghost or something, and despite the blondes prodding, she didn't say a word.

END CHAPTER

:✧･ ﾟ･*･ﾟ･✧ B R ✧･ﾟ･*･ﾟ ･✧:

Next: Chapter Four

[lotrobsession]

Letter to Brigit By Viggo Mortensen I could not bring myself to take pictures of any of it, to take anything, although I did for a moment consider grabbing my camera to ensure that later on I’d have an image, some tangible visual record of the process of losing you. Maybe that momentary impulse came from fear that the emotional weight of participating in your last days as flesh-and-blood would eventually outweigh or alter the straight facts that photographs might hold. Fear that visuals so fresh right then, as I sat on one of the two plush green leather couches of the crematorium waiting room, would reshuffle themselves and gently blend together as merely tolerable sentimental recollection. It wouldn’t have been right, though, to shoot what only you and I should know. The camera stayed in the truck. ---- The kind man in charge of the ovens had just gone out into the noon blast of July in the San Fernando Valley to check on the progress of your burning. I’d followed but stopped thirty feet back as he’d asked me to. “You don’t really want to see—it’s something you probably wouldn’t want to see… The. … uh …,” he’d mumbled, faltering in a way that had won me over instantly. “You mean if she isn’t done yet?” I’d said, completing the thought for him. “Yes, exactly. The, uh… sometimes they’re not completely …” He’d paused, looking as pained as if he’d known you the way I had. “Her insides?” “Yes,” he’d blurted out with a slight squeak in his voice. “It isn’t pretty.” “No. I can imagine it wouldn’t be,” I’d said. “Not at all pretty.” He had stood there, putting on his fire-retardant gloves and his sunglasses, still looking at me as if needing to say something more. And I had waited. It’d already been a hell of a long morning, so I hadn’t been in any big hurry at that point. “I do this all the time, but I couldn’t personally, you know, do this.” I’d thought I understood more or less what he meant. “My uncle’s dog,” he’d continued, “I had to do that one, and it was very difficult. I could never do it again.” “I understand,” I’d said. “Very difficult.” “Yes, I’m sure.” He’d started backing sideways toward the oven. It was one of the three on the back lot that seemed to be in operation, as evidenced by the grey smoke rising from their steel-pipe smokestacks into the smoggy haze above us. As inappropriate as the thought might have been, I somehow couldn’t help but think of the much larger indoor ones I’d once seen in the Dachau concentration camp memorial. I’d felt a momentary urge to ask if these ovens had been manufactured in Europe, but it had passed. “Please stay back here while I check and see how she’s doing,” he’d then said. “OK,” I’d said. “And how do you check?” He’d stopped side stepping toward the oven. “I open the door and look.” “Oh. Yeah.” “She might not be done. She might not be ready.” “Yeah. OK. I’ll wait… ” “Plus, it’s real hot. About 1,500 degrees.” “I’ll wait here then.” “I’m so sorry,” he’d said, tugging down the bill of his navy-blue ball cap and turning toward the oven. He’d said “sorry” several times since I’d arrived, and he seemed to mean it. “Sorry for your loss. I am truly sorry.” After a minute spent carefully peeking through the slightly opened oven door, he’d closed it and walked back to me. “I’m sorry. She’s not done yet. Another ten or fifteen minutes.” “Should I go back inside to the waiting room, then?” “Yes. If you don’t mind. Sorry. I’ll let you know just before I get her so you can come and watch me do everything. Check, you know, to see if… see that… ” “Yeah, good. OK, thanks.” ---- A tall, well-groomed black poodle named Paris, as I’d overheard her being called when I’d first arrived at the crematorium office, had been staring at me for a while. From her position under a sort of anaemic-looking potted ficus by the doorway to the office, she was able to monitor all comings and goings. Suddenly, she rose and bolted straight for me, jumping up on the couch right next to me, barking excitedly. Her breath smelled like boiled carrots. Sort of sweet and not altogether unpleasant, but not something I craved at that moment. The receptionist called Paris, no doubt trying to keep the dog from further upsetting me, the grieving customer. Paris was not bothering me at all. I understood that she had been barking for attention, not out of aggression—probably bored out of her mind in this place where all other dogs were dead and burning or about to be. She hadn’t even barked that loudly, really, and her company was comforting in a life-goes-on-and-there-are-lots-of-nice-dogs-in-the-world-sort of way. Paris gave me one more quieter bark right in my left ear, licked my face and left me to see what the receptionist wanted. “I’m very sorry,” the receptionist said, as she led Paris into the back of the office area. “That’s OK,” I said. “She wasn’t bothering me. Female, right?” “Yes, she certainly is. I am sorry for your loss.” I know she meant it as well. Expressions of sympathy for the customer would to some degree have probably been obligatory for the crematorium personnel, but everyone did seem to be personally and genuinely concerned. People doing their utmost to run a decent family-owned business with kindness and compassion. The compulsion to record all of this got the better of me, finally, and I went out to the truck to look for my notebook. After a quick scramble through the papers, books, cameras and other assorted commuter debris on the back seat, I found the notebook. Although I had not had the time to take many pictures or to sit down and write much of anything lately, a camera and something to write in are always in the car, or in whatever bag I carry, just in case a moment special to me presents itself to be stolen. Resisting once more the temptation to take the camera, I grabbed the notebook and a pen and returned to the waiting room to begin writing this. Kind strangers have given me a few handsomely bound journals and notebooks over the years. Some, like this one, are bound in beautifully tanned and tooled leather. This one’s cover has a giant oak tree cut into it, with other old oaks on a distant ridge beyond it. The big pewter button used for tying the notebook closed with a leather thong is cast with an oak leaf and acorn detail. I am not much good at keeping a diary, or diligent about any sort of regular journal entries. My way to remember has usually been to write stories, poems or more often than not, to make photographs or drawings. I felt a little rusty and awkward writing in the waiting room under the quietly watchful eyes of the receptionist and Paris. Maybe it didn’t seem at all odd to them, my scribbling away. Probably what bothered me was my own sense of guilt over being inclined to record the events surrounding the processing of your body. Just a short time earlier I had been openly weeping while crossing the city in morning rush-hour traffic. I suppose we humans can be resilient—nearly as resilient as you were, Brigit—and as accepting of life’s unpredictably rough patches as most animals seem to be. Whatever the reason, I found I could not write fast enough in my attempt to describe the events of the day. “Do you want to come out while I clean this out?” the kind voice of the oven-minder asked softly, interrupting me in mid-sentence. I looked up and nodded. “Yes, please. I’ll … let me … let me just finish this sentence—this paragraph. I’ll be right there.” “Sure …” ---- “Do you write a lot?” he asked, as I followed him outside. “Used to.” “Nice-looking book you got there.” “Thanks. Yes, it is.” I closed it, marking my place with the pen, just as he stopped and turned to me. I was standing on the same spot I had been asked to watch from earlier. “Please stay right here. I’ll shut her down and get everything. You’ll be able to see everything happening, but it is very hot now, and also …” “Yes, ok I’ll wait here.” As I stood still in the by-now withering heat and watched him switch off the oven and open it, I suddenly realised that there had been no muzak, no music of any kind playing in the waiting room. That was a pleasant surprise and seemed remarkable to me. The tact involved in such a choice on their part told me that they really must care. The ovens were out behind the small, one-story building that holds the tidy crematorium office, some oversize freezers and the very pleasant air-conditioned waiting room. The property was surrounded by twenty-foot-high stacks of automobile carcasses, entire auto bodies and an enormous variety of neatly sorted bits and pieces—fenders, doors, hoods, seats, side mirrors, steering mechanisms, engine parts, dashboards, roofs, etc., arranged in row after row—apparently according to year, make and model. The sprawling salvage yard dwarfed the crematorium and its modest parking lot. Although there was no vegetation in sight, the colourful, encroaching heaps and rows of rendered vehicles almost looked like exotic organic growth, a sort of postmortem environment that seemed to me to perfectly complement the pet-burning business. The thick, lightly buzzing strands of heavy-duty power lines drooping as they crossed some thirty feet above us from one massive steel support to another only added to this entirely man-made, and remade, end-of-nature garden. Its perfume was a blend of acrid and oily-sweet, of melting rubber and asphalt, of taffy-thick black engine grease, of yellowing plastic and peeling paint sluggishly wafting upward and blending with the constant dead-fish reek of Los Angeles smog. ---- I had risen very early—or, rather, got out of bed early, as I hadn’t slept at all. Knowing it was today that I was scheduled to pick up your refrigerated corpse at our trustworthy local veterinary hospital and drive it out to this industrial hinterland for cremating had kept me from being able to rest. Probably I am able to write about this with a degree of detachment because your brother Henry and I have already gone through the worst of your final decay and death process together. We took you, our fifteen-year-old, completely lame and largely incontinent pal, to be “put down” three days ago. In the intervening time we had to wait for a slot at the crematorium to open up. I have been able to largely digest and assimilate the stronger surface emotions of your final morning. As much as I am and will continue to be haunted by your sweet, departing gaze when the brain-stopping serum was administered, time and the responsibilities resulting from your passing have more or less carried me away from that heartbreaking scene. I will always see your eyes slowly lose their gleam as I gently lay your head down. Will always remember your final generous gesture of rolling halfway over to let us rub your belly one last time before the doctor gave you the sedative. I’d arrived at the back door of the vet’s office feeling like I was complicit in some sort of underworld transaction. As had been the case all week, the morning sky was overcast, and the clammy grey marine layer had only added to the death business I was now part of. Two men in overalls had come out with what looked enough like a curled-up “you” shape inside a light-blue trash bag. As I had taken the thawing bundle and carefully laid it on the towel-covered passenger seat of the pickup truck, I had looked at the older of the two men. He’d nodded, seeming a bit uncomfortable, and then had turned and followed his colleague back inside the building without a backward glance or farewell. I had been very tired, a bit teary-eyed, and had not said a word myself. Probably not the most pleasant person for them to be around. I had gotten in the car and begun making my way to the 405 freeway. Moving slowly, stuck in the usual massive commuter caravan headed north toward the Sepulveda Pass, it had occurred to me that tomorrow would mark the 60th anniversary of the Hiroshima and Nagasaki atomic bomb drops. Then I had thought, not for the first time when passing the Sunset Boulevard exit, about O.J. Simpson’s bizarre televised journey in the famous white Ford Bronco. I had continued in that vein for a while, my mind becoming cluttered with a dizzying assortment of images involving unforgivable murders and other perversions of justice. The ideals of compassion had seemed distant, insignificant. I’d felt resigned, passively understanding that life moves forward just as traffic eventually does. Suddenly, the cars in front of me had slowed abruptly and I had braked hard, glad to see cars in my rear-view mirror doing the same. The bagged corpse had slid off the seat and onto the floor, and I’d tried to pull it back up with my right hand. It had been quite heavy, and I’d realised it would be a difficult and dangerous task to accomplish while driving, so I had made my way across two lanes of traffic and off onto the side of the freeway. As I had come round the front of the truck and opened the passenger-side door, I had decided I’d have a look at you to see if you were intact. I had straightened out the towel on the seat and lifted the bundle back onto it, then poked a hole in the plastic bag, now wet with condensation, where I could feel one of your frozen paws. Long black hair, long black nails. Not much like any of your paws. I had quickly felt for the body’s head, finding a stiff tongue projecting beyond clenched teeth, and then a collar around the neck. We had taken your collar off when you’d expired at the vet’s, and I knew that Henry was wearing it wrapped twice around his wrist as a bracelet today. This dog was not you. The absurdity of it all had hit me immediately as I had stood up and stared at the mass of moving cars through the poisonous-looking heat waves. The sadness of it had been suddenly overwhelming, as was the smell of initial decomposition, which I had not been aware of until that moment, like that of a dead deer that’s been hanging for a few hours from a tree. I had never really wanted to live in Los Angeles. Here I was, on yet another ridiculous errand, feeling vaguely like I was being punished for some past transgression, marking time and forced to make sense of an oddly evolving riddle. I had secured the corpse and made sure the towel was placed so as to keep the dead stranger from touching the seat or any part of the truck’s interior. Eventually, I’d got myself turned around and headed back to the vet’s, feeling sorry for this poor dog I did not know, and for its unwitting owner. En route, I had called the crematorium and informed them that I would be late for our oven appointment because I’d been given the wrong dog. They’d been very kind, had said I should get there when I could, and that they were very sorry. ---- Now the crematorium is about two miles behind me as I sit listlessly sipping coffee at a Mexican restaurant. This is as far as I have got, with my new cedar box containing your remaining bone fragments and ashes. I had asked the oven-minder to please not crush your bones if that was what he’d planned on doing. “Yes, normally we do very gently break down the bone matter so that it fits comfortably in the box or urn as the case might be. If you prefer, though … ” “Yes.” “…we can also not do it and just try and place her, the bone matter—the bag, that is—in the cedar box for you. If they’ll fit—if it will fit—that is.” “That’s ok, I can do it.” Earlier, out by the ovens, I had been allowed to scoop up all your burnt bits from the metal tray that the man had scraped the cooling, fragile ghost-shape of your skeleton onto. I had stopped several times to carefully examine some of your more distinguishable pieces. Vertebrae, hip parts and most beautiful of all, the rounded piece of bone that I instantly recognized as the top of your skull. We have petted that part of you so often. I can feel its shape even now, in memory, feel the bone through your smooth fur, feel your warmth and your happiness. All of it had gone into the plastic bag he now held. “Ok, sir. As you prefer.” I proceeded to gently rearrange the bag and its contents inside the box, and then placed your crematorium nametag and the receipt for services provided on top of your remains before closing the lid with its little brass clasp. “We would like you to consider the cedar box a gift from us due to the unfortunate mistake that was made this morning. We are very sorry about that.” “Oh. Well … thank you …” A woman who seemed to be the oven-minder’s boss, and perhaps the owner of the establishment, stood up and came around her desk to address me. “We are very sorry that … Brigit?… that Brigit got confused this morning.” I almost pointed out that you had not been confused at all, being quite dead, but I resisted the temptation, knowing what she meant. “It is very unusual that something unheard of like that would happen,” she continued. “Very unusual, and we are extremely sorry. If you prefer a larger box or don’t like cedar as a wood type… maybe an urn would be more to your liking?” I was truly moved by her words and the generous offer. “Is it Western red cedar?” I asked, for some reason unknown to me now—perhaps being at a loss for anything better to say by way of response. “You know, I am not real sure about that,” she replied, a bit thrown off by my question. “I certainly can try and find out for you, if you like?” “No, thanks. I was just wondering. Just curious, I guess.” “Would you like to replace the cedar?” “Replace? No. I like cedar. Smells good, looks good. Thank you.” I now felt like a complete idiot. “You don’t have to give me the box, though. Don’t have to give it… I’m happy to pay for it.” “We insist. It’s something we want to do for you.” “Thank you very much. Very kind of you.” “If Brigit doesn’t fit comfortably, not being completely dust and all… ” (“Comfortably?” Never mind… ) “No, that’s fine. She fits. I got her in there ok. And it’s a beautiful box. Thank you.” ---- “Me podría traer un poco de arroz con frijoles, por favor?” “Would you like anything else with that?” the waitress replied, in heavily Spanish-accented English. “Gracias, pero la verdad es que no tengo mucho hambre.” She looked at me calmly, and said “I’ll bring it right out. Warm up your coffee for you?” “Fijese: ahora que lo pienso creo que sí me gustaría una pequeña ensalada de lechuga y tomate… y cebolla, si hay.” “Ok,” she continued in English, “and will you like some dressing—vinaigrette, ranch, French, blue cheese, or oil and vinegar—for that?” Doesn’t happen often, but once in a while my gringo looks or perhaps my Argentine accent seem to be held against me like that. She glances at the cedar box resting on the table to the right of my place setting. I wonder if she has seen this sort of box before. The crematorium isn’t far, and maybe other people stop here now and then as I have, unable or unwilling to drive any further. Maybe they sometimes come here and get a little drunk, become indiscreet and open their boxes to look at what’s left of their animal friends. Maybe they cry and have to be consoled. I do not look at my box, just hold the waitress’ gaze when it returns to me. I’ve taken an initial dislike to her because she seems to refuse to speak Spanish with me, so I’m certainly not going to give her any more clues now. “Will that be all, sir?” she asks dryly. “Sí… y si me puede traer la cuenta con la comida—y un poco más de café—se lo agradecería.” She looks at me for a moment longer, then reluctantly mutters “Por supuesto, señor,” as she turns to go place my order.

[nbula-rising]

Letter to Brigit By Viggo Mortensen I could not bring myself to take pictures of any of it, to take anything, although I did for a moment consider grabbing my camera to ensure that later on I’d have an image, some tangible visual record of the process of losing you. Maybe that momentary impulse came from fear that the emotional weight of participating in your last days as flesh-and-blood would eventually outweigh or alter the straight facts that photographs might hold. Fear that visuals so fresh right then, as I sat on one of the two plush green leather couches of the crematorium waiting room, would reshuffle themselves and gently blend together as merely tolerable sentimental recollection. It wouldn’t have been right, though, to shoot what only you and I should know. The camera stayed in the truck. ---- The kind man in charge of the ovens had just gone out into the noon blast of July in the San Fernando Valley to check on the progress of your burning. I’d followed but stopped thirty feet back as he’d asked me to. “You don’t really want to see—it’s something you probably wouldn’t want to see… The. … uh …,” he’d mumbled, faltering in a way that had won me over instantly. “You mean if she isn’t done yet?” I’d said, completing the thought for him. “Yes, exactly. The, uh… sometimes they’re not completely …” He’d paused, looking as pained as if he’d known you the way I had. “Her insides?” “Yes,” he’d blurted out with a slight squeak in his voice. “It isn’t pretty.” “No. I can imagine it wouldn’t be,” I’d said. “Not at all pretty.” He had stood there, putting on his fire-retardant gloves and his sunglasses, still looking at me as if needing to say something more. And I had waited. It’d already been a hell of a long morning, so I hadn’t been in any big hurry at that point. “I do this all the time, but I couldn’t personally, you know, do this.” I’d thought I understood more or less what he meant. “My uncle’s dog,” he’d continued, “I had to do that one, and it was very difficult. I could never do it again.” “I understand,” I’d said. “Very difficult.” “Yes, I’m sure.” He’d started backing sideways toward the oven. It was one of the three on the back lot that seemed to be in operation, as evidenced by the grey smoke rising from their steel-pipe smokestacks into the smoggy haze above us. As inappropriate as the thought might have been, I somehow couldn’t help but think of the much larger indoor ones I’d once seen in the Dachau concentration camp memorial. I’d felt a momentary urge to ask if these ovens had been manufactured in Europe, but it had passed. “Please stay back here while I check and see how she’s doing,” he’d then said. “OK,” I’d said. “And how do you check?” He’d stopped side stepping toward the oven. “I open the door and look.” “Oh. Yeah.” “She might not be done. She might not be ready.” “Yeah. OK. I’ll wait… ” “Plus, it’s real hot. About 1,500 degrees.” “I’ll wait here then.” “I’m so sorry,” he’d said, tugging down the bill of his navy-blue ball cap and turning toward the oven. He’d said “sorry” several times since I’d arrived, and he seemed to mean it. “Sorry for your loss. I am truly sorry.” After a minute spent carefully peeking through the slightly opened oven door, he’d closed it and walked back to me. “I’m sorry. She’s not done yet. Another ten or fifteen minutes.” “Should I go back inside to the waiting room, then?” “Yes. If you don’t mind. Sorry. I’ll let you know just before I get her so you can come and watch me do everything. Check, you know, to see if… see that… ” “Yeah, good. OK, thanks.” ---- A tall, well-groomed black poodle named Paris, as I’d overheard her being called when I’d first arrived at the crematorium office, had been staring at me for a while. From her position under a sort of anaemic-looking potted ficus by the doorway to the office, she was able to monitor all comings and goings. Suddenly, she rose and bolted straight for me, jumping up on the couch right next to me, barking excitedly. Her breath smelled like boiled carrots. Sort of sweet and not altogether unpleasant, but not something I craved at that moment. The receptionist called Paris, no doubt trying to keep the dog from further upsetting me, the grieving customer. Paris was not bothering me at all. I understood that she had been barking for attention, not out of aggression—probably bored out of her mind in this place where all other dogs were dead and burning or about to be. She hadn’t even barked that loudly, really, and her company was comforting in a life-goes-on-and-there-are-lots-of-nice-dogs-in-the-world-sort of way. Paris gave me one more quieter bark right in my left ear, licked my face and left me to see what the receptionist wanted. “I’m very sorry,” the receptionist said, as she led Paris into the back of the office area. “That’s OK,” I said. “She wasn’t bothering me. Female, right?” “Yes, she certainly is. I am sorry for your loss.” I know she meant it as well. Expressions of sympathy for the customer would to some degree have probably been obligatory for the crematorium personnel, but everyone did seem to be personally and genuinely concerned. People doing their utmost to run a decent family-owned business with kindness and compassion. The compulsion to record all of this got the better of me, finally, and I went out to the truck to look for my notebook. After a quick scramble through the papers, books, cameras and other assorted commuter debris on the back seat, I found the notebook. Although I had not had the time to take many pictures or to sit down and write much of anything lately, a camera and something to write in are always in the car, or in whatever bag I carry, just in case a moment special to me presents itself to be stolen. Resisting once more the temptation to take the camera, I grabbed the notebook and a pen and returned to the waiting room to begin writing this. Kind strangers have given me a few handsomely bound journals and notebooks over the years. Some, like this one, are bound in beautifully tanned and tooled leather. This one’s cover has a giant oak tree cut into it, with other old oaks on a distant ridge beyond it. The big pewter button used for tying the notebook closed with a leather thong is cast with an oak leaf and acorn detail. I am not much good at keeping a diary, or diligent about any sort of regular journal entries. My way to remember has usually been to write stories, poems or more often than not, to make photographs or drawings. I felt a little rusty and awkward writing in the waiting room under the quietly watchful eyes of the receptionist and Paris. Maybe it didn’t seem at all odd to them, my scribbling away. Probably what bothered me was my own sense of guilt over being inclined to record the events surrounding the processing of your body. Just a short time earlier I had been openly weeping while crossing the city in morning rush-hour traffic. I suppose we humans can be resilient—nearly as resilient as you were, Brigit—and as accepting of life’s unpredictably rough patches as most animals seem to be. Whatever the reason, I found I could not write fast enough in my attempt to describe the events of the day. “Do you want to come out while I clean this out?” the kind voice of the oven-minder asked softly, interrupting me in mid-sentence. I looked up and nodded. “Yes, please. I’ll … let me … let me just finish this sentence—this paragraph. I’ll be right there.” “Sure …” ---- “Do you write a lot?” he asked, as I followed him outside. “Used to.” “Nice-looking book you got there.” “Thanks. Yes, it is.” I closed it, marking my place with the pen, just as he stopped and turned to me. I was standing on the same spot I had been asked to watch from earlier. “Please stay right here. I’ll shut her down and get everything. You’ll be able to see everything happening, but it is very hot now, and also …” “Yes, ok I’ll wait here.” As I stood still in the by-now withering heat and watched him switch off the oven and open it, I suddenly realised that there had been no muzak, no music of any kind playing in the waiting room. That was a pleasant surprise and seemed remarkable to me. The tact involved in such a choice on their part told me that they really must care. The ovens were out behind the small, one-story building that holds the tidy crematorium office, some oversize freezers and the very pleasant air-conditioned waiting room. The property was surrounded by twenty-foot-high stacks of automobile carcasses, entire auto bodies and an enormous variety of neatly sorted bits and pieces—fenders, doors, hoods, seats, side mirrors, steering mechanisms, engine parts, dashboards, roofs, etc., arranged in row after row—apparently according to year, make and model. The sprawling salvage yard dwarfed the crematorium and its modest parking lot. Although there was no vegetation in sight, the colourful, encroaching heaps and rows of rendered vehicles almost looked like exotic organic growth, a sort of postmortem environment that seemed to me to perfectly complement the pet-burning business. The thick, lightly buzzing strands of heavy-duty power lines drooping as they crossed some thirty feet above us from one massive steel support to another only added to this entirely man-made, and remade, end-of-nature garden. Its perfume was a blend of acrid and oily-sweet, of melting rubber and asphalt, of taffy-thick black engine grease, of yellowing plastic and peeling paint sluggishly wafting upward and blending with the constant dead-fish reek of Los Angeles smog. ---- I had risen very early—or, rather, got out of bed early, as I hadn’t slept at all. Knowing it was today that I was scheduled to pick up your refrigerated corpse at our trustworthy local veterinary hospital and drive it out to this industrial hinterland for cremating had kept me from being able to rest. Probably I am able to write about this with a degree of detachment because your brother Henry and I have already gone through the worst of your final decay and death process together. We took you, our fifteen-year-old, completely lame and largely incontinent pal, to be “put down” three days ago. In the intervening time we had to wait for a slot at the crematorium to open up. I have been able to largely digest and assimilate the stronger surface emotions of your final morning. As much as I am and will continue to be haunted by your sweet, departing gaze when the brain-stopping serum was administered, time and the responsibilities resulting from your passing have more or less carried me away from that heartbreaking scene. I will always see your eyes slowly lose their gleam as I gently lay your head down. Will always remember your final generous gesture of rolling halfway over to let us rub your belly one last time before the doctor gave you the sedative. I’d arrived at the back door of the vet’s office feeling like I was complicit in some sort of underworld transaction. As had been the case all week, the morning sky was overcast, and the clammy grey marine layer had only added to the death business I was now part of. Two men in overalls had come out with what looked enough like a curled-up “you” shape inside a light-blue trash bag. As I had taken the thawing bundle and carefully laid it on the towel-covered passenger seat of the pickup truck, I had looked at the older of the two men. He’d nodded, seeming a bit uncomfortable, and then had turned and followed his colleague back inside the building without a backward glance or farewell. I had been very tired, a bit teary-eyed, and had not said a word myself. Probably not the most pleasant person for them to be around. I had gotten in the car and begun making my way to the 405 freeway. Moving slowly, stuck in the usual massive commuter caravan headed north toward the Sepulveda Pass, it had occurred to me that tomorrow would mark the 60th anniversary of the Hiroshima and Nagasaki atomic bomb drops. Then I had thought, not for the first time when passing the Sunset Boulevard exit, about O.J. Simpson’s bizarre televised journey in the famous white Ford Bronco. I had continued in that vein for a while, my mind becoming cluttered with a dizzying assortment of images involving unforgivable murders and other perversions of justice. The ideals of compassion had seemed distant, insignificant. I’d felt resigned, passively understanding that life moves forward just as traffic eventually does. Suddenly, the cars in front of me had slowed abruptly and I had braked hard, glad to see cars in my rear-view mirror doing the same. The bagged corpse had slid off the seat and onto the floor, and I’d tried to pull it back up with my right hand. It had been quite heavy, and I’d realised it would be a difficult and dangerous task to accomplish while driving, so I had made my way across two lanes of traffic and off onto the side of the freeway. As I had come round the front of the truck and opened the passenger-side door, I had decided I’d have a look at you to see if you were intact. I had straightened out the towel on the seat and lifted the bundle back onto it, then poked a hole in the plastic bag, now wet with condensation, where I could feel one of your frozen paws. Long black hair, long black nails. Not much like any of your paws. I had quickly felt for the body’s head, finding a stiff tongue projecting beyond clenched teeth, and then a collar around the neck. We had taken your collar off when you’d expired at the vet’s, and I knew that Henry was wearing it wrapped twice around his wrist as a bracelet today. This dog was not you. The absurdity of it all had hit me immediately as I had stood up and stared at the mass of moving cars through the poisonous-looking heat waves. The sadness of it had been suddenly overwhelming, as was the smell of initial decomposition, which I had not been aware of until that moment, like that of a dead deer that’s been hanging for a few hours from a tree. I had never really wanted to live in Los Angeles. Here I was, on yet another ridiculous errand, feeling vaguely like I was being punished for some past transgression, marking time and forced to make sense of an oddly evolving riddle. I had secured the corpse and made sure the towel was placed so as to keep the dead stranger from touching the seat or any part of the truck’s interior. Eventually, I’d got myself turned around and headed back to the vet’s, feeling sorry for this poor dog I did not know, and for its unwitting owner. En route, I had called the crematorium and informed them that I would be late for our oven appointment because I’d been given the wrong dog. They’d been very kind, had said I should get there when I could, and that they were very sorry. ---- Now the crematorium is about two miles behind me as I sit listlessly sipping coffee at a Mexican restaurant. This is as far as I have got, with my new cedar box containing your remaining bone fragments and ashes. I had asked the oven-minder to please not crush your bones if that was what he’d planned on doing. “Yes, normally we do very gently break down the bone matter so that it fits comfortably in the box or urn as the case might be. If you prefer, though … ” “Yes.” “…we can also not do it and just try and place her, the bone matter—the bag, that is—in the cedar box for you. If they’ll fit—if it will fit—that is.” “That’s ok, I can do it.” Earlier, out by the ovens, I had been allowed to scoop up all your burnt bits from the metal tray that the man had scraped the cooling, fragile ghost-shape of your skeleton onto. I had stopped several times to carefully examine some of your more distinguishable pieces. Vertebrae, hip parts and most beautiful of all, the rounded piece of bone that I instantly recognized as the top of your skull. We have petted that part of you so often. I can feel its shape even now, in memory, feel the bone through your smooth fur, feel your warmth and your happiness. All of it had gone into the plastic bag he now held. “Ok, sir. As you prefer.” I proceeded to gently rearrange the bag and its contents inside the box, and then placed your crematorium nametag and the receipt for services provided on top of your remains before closing the lid with its little brass clasp. “We would like you to consider the cedar box a gift from us due to the unfortunate mistake that was made this morning. We are very sorry about that.” “Oh. Well … thank you …” A woman who seemed to be the oven-minder’s boss, and perhaps the owner of the establishment, stood up and came around her desk to address me. “We are very sorry that … Brigit?… that Brigit got confused this morning.” I almost pointed out that you had not been confused at all, being quite dead, but I resisted the temptation, knowing what she meant. “It is very unusual that something unheard of like that would happen,” she continued. “Very unusual, and we are extremely sorry. If you prefer a larger box or don’t like cedar as a wood type… maybe an urn would be more to your liking?” I was truly moved by her words and the generous offer. “Is it Western red cedar?” I asked, for some reason unknown to me now—perhaps being at a loss for anything better to say by way of response. “You know, I am not real sure about that,” she replied, a bit thrown off by my question. “I certainly can try and find out for you, if you like?” “No, thanks. I was just wondering. Just curious, I guess.” “Would you like to replace the cedar?” “Replace? No. I like cedar. Smells good, looks good. Thank you.” I now felt like a complete idiot. “You don’t have to give me the box, though. Don’t have to give it… I’m happy to pay for it.” “We insist. It’s something we want to do for you.” “Thank you very much. Very kind of you.” “If Brigit doesn’t fit comfortably, not being completely dust and all… ” (“Comfortably?” Never mind… ) “No, that’s fine. She fits. I got her in there ok. And it’s a beautiful box. Thank you.” ---- “Me podría traer un poco de arroz con frijoles, por favor?” “Would you like anything else with that?” the waitress replied, in heavily Spanish-accented English. “Gracias, pero la verdad es que no tengo mucho hambre.” She looked at me calmly, and said “I’ll bring it right out. Warm up your coffee for you?” “Fijese: ahora que lo pienso creo que sí me gustaría una pequeña ensalada de lechuga y tomate… y cebolla, si hay.” “Ok,” she continued in English, “and will you like some dressing—vinaigrette, ranch, French, blue cheese, or oil and vinegar—for that?” Doesn’t happen often, but once in a while my gringo looks or perhaps my Argentine accent seem to be held against me like that. She glances at the cedar box resting on the table to the right of my place setting. I wonder if she has seen this sort of box before. The crematorium isn’t far, and maybe other people stop here now and then as I have, unable or unwilling to drive any further. Maybe they sometimes come here and get a little drunk, become indiscreet and open their boxes to look at what’s left of their animal friends. Maybe they cry and have to be consoled. I do not look at my box, just hold the waitress’ gaze when it returns to me. I’ve taken an initial dislike to her because she seems to refuse to speak Spanish with me, so I’m certainly not going to give her any more clues now. “Will that be all, sir?” she asks dryly. “Sí… y si me puede traer la cuenta con la comida—y un poco más de café—se lo agradecería.” She looks at me for a moment longer, then reluctantly mutters “Por supuesto, señor,” as she turns to go place my order.

[flashbic]

@spaceviking @kittenfightclub i kinda scribbled a thing because of that one fic prompt ask meme that i didn't reblog last week or so? i didn't mean for it to get low-key depressing, but then it kinda happened and i tried to fix it and i'm not sure if i managed or not. welp.

Scott buys too many things.

The door slammed open and Scott ran inside, and before Raimi could place a single word he grinned this big, almost too large smile of his. It was the one Scott always had when he got particularly excited about something; whether it was firing an employee he didn’t like, watching an contestant he hated lose on a TV show or buying an exorbitantly expensive suit. Whatever the reason was now, Raimi couldn’t help but smile back.

“Sam, you gotta close your eyes, I have to show you something.”

He walked over to the couch where Raimi was sprawled, grabbing him by the arm.

“What, did something amazing happen at work today?” Raimi replied, a chuckle escaping his lips when Scott used his other hand to cover his eyes. “You finally got that new phone you were talking about?”

“Don’t play stupid, come on,” Scott huffed before pushing him through the room and towards the door. “It’s a surprise, and you’re going to fucking love it.”

He led Raimi outside, keeping quiet but almost radiating excitement as he guided him by the arm through the doorway and down the small flight of stairs. They made a turn left and Raimi counted his steps until Scott made him stop on the concrete, near the mailbox. The sun was warm on his face and it was nice to see Scott in such a good mood; the last few weeks had been rough, something about a particularly stressful contract at work, Raimi had to admit his mind had often wondered whenever Scott had tried to explain the details of the whole story. Really, all that matter was that Scott was feeling better now.

“I know this is something you wanted, and I couldn’t resist…”

Raimi grinned. “Is it a dog? ‘Cause I know you said no, but hey, it’s not too late to-”

“It’s not a dog, Sam,” Scott cut him, and though Raimi could hear the smile in his voice he could also imagine him rolling his eyes. “We’ve talked about this, it’s not happening. Plus, this is way better. You’re ready?”

“I was born ready. Ready to own a do-”

“Please shut up.”

Before Raimi could add another word, Scott took his hand away from Raimi’s eyes, letting him see. Blinded by the sunlight for a moment, Raimi blinked, looked around… and his stomach dropped.

In the parking spot, next to Scott’s cherished silver Ferrari was a car. Next to the sleek sports model it looked like a monster; all gleaming black metal and wheels, almost more of a truck than a car, really. The windows were down, and so Raimi could see the leather seats, the hundreds of buttons on the dashboard and, hanging from the mirror, a short gray chain from which hanged a little Millennium Falcon-shaped charm Scott had no doubt added as the final touch to his too-expensive gift. Raimi paled and opened his mouth to speak, but before he could utter a word Scott started rambling excitedly :

“Okay, so, I know it’s big, but you needed a new car, and I figured why not get something you could use to bring along your billion weird friends with you when you go for a drive, right? And then I found this one, and guess what, it’s electric! So you won’t have to feel bad for driving it, and if your friends try to give you shit for it you can just tell them…”

“Scott, it’s-“

“…I swear I tried to find a decal of one of those awful bands you like to put on it, but none of them had any merch, Sam, because turns out you’re their only fan. Or maybe I just didn’t look in the right place, but honestly my first idea seems more plausible. But I guess you can always ask Yutani to design you something if you want, it’s your car after all…”

Raimi grabbed Scott’s arm and squeezed it gently to get his attention.

“I-I can’t accept this. It’s a car.”

“Oh, come on,” Scott laughed. “It’s a just gift. I knew you’d like it.” His smiled weakened a little. “You do like it, right? I can still get a different color if you want, I thought red might be a little too flashy for you, so black seemed like a good pick…”

Raimi shook his head, trying to find the right words to avoid getting into a fight he had already endured a few times before.

“We’ve talked about this before… Scott, I could never afford this car by myself, you can’t just… throw stuff at me like that.”

“It’s a gift, Sam.” Scott replied with a dismissive gesture. “You don’t have to afford it, that’s the entire fucking point.” His smile disappeared as he seemed to grow impatient. “You can just tell me if you don’t like it, it’s fine.”

As always, arguing calmly with Scott Ridley was about as effective as talking to a brick wall. Raimi sighed and ran a hand through his hair, trying to keep his cool. “It doesn’t matter if I like it or not, I can’t accept it. It’s a great car, but I can’t. I bet you paid even more for it than for your own car!”

Scott shrugged, exasperation pointing into his voice. “So what? I just wanted to buy you something nice! You needed a car anyway; I wanted to buy it, and I bought it, and now I’m giving it to you. What’s the fucking problem?”

Raimi sighed and put his hands in the pockets of his hoodie, keeping his eyes on Scott and pointedly avoiding the car.

“I don’t want you to buy me expensive stuff like that! You should’ve asked first, at least. It’s just too much, Scott, I don’t want it. I’d never be able to repay you, and-“

“You don’t owe me anything, you idiot!” Scott interrupted, losing patience. “Why can’t you just take the gift and be fucking happy about it?”

“I’ve told you before!” Raimi snapped. “You’re always buying me all those expensive things, and it’s just… weird, okay? It feels wrong! It’s too much, I don’t want you to be spending so much just for m-“

“For fuck’s sake, Sam, don’t tell me what to do. You’re not my mom. I wanted to spend that money because it’s fun! This was supposed to be nice! Why do you always have to ruin everything?” Scott glared at him, brow furrowed and with that weird, almost manic look in his eyes that Raimi had learned to recognize. It meant Scott was confused, but also fully ready to pick a fight if Raimi was not careful with his next words.

Scott’s inability to understand why shoving an ungodly amount of money in Raimi’s face made him uncomfortable was enough to make Raimi want to bash his head against the nearest wall. It would have been so easy to keep going, to turn this into a full-blown fight. His instincts were screaming at him to do it, to reject the gift harder and make Scott angry because he just never listened when Raimi tried to explain. Still, fighting would not help anyone here, and when he got angry Scott was even less inclined to listen…

So Raimi took a deep breath and tried to calm down. He would try and explain again. He would do it as many times as he would need to, and eventually Scott would understand. It was a work in progress, and a lifetime of bad habits and questionable behaviors could not be changed in just a few months...

Raimi reached out and took Scott’s hand. When he spoke, his voice was serious but calm :

“Let’s go talk inside, okay?”

Scott took one last look towards the black car, seemed to think for a second, then turned his attention to Raimi again. He did not say anything, but followed him back inside the house.

[abangtansymphony]

My Pet Cat Turned Into A Boy Chapter 2 - ... And Now I’ve Got A Boy!

It had been two weeks since I had adopted Fluffy – yes, I know! Not very original. But while trying to think of a name for the cat I had started calling it Fluffy, and it just sort of stuck. His leg had healed up really nicely and the vet had given him all the necessary shots.  

After my inquiry at the police station had turned up nothing I had thought about giving the cat up for adoption, problem was I had started looking forward to the way it waited for me in front of door when I got home, and to the way it curled up in my lap when I was watching television. I even let the bloody cat sleep in my bed, and after a week I had finally admitted to myself that I was never going to give Fluffy away – even after he had torn two rolls of paper to shreds and ripped my drapes down the middle. He had looked so guilty I couldn’t even bring myself to be angry at him. But besides those incidents he was the sweetest cat ever, he didn’t even make a fuss when I bathed him, in fact he seemed to enjoy playing in the water. He never scratched or bit me and he even enjoyed riding in the car with me, he would lie on the dashboard and fall asleep. And now two weeks later I had to admit I loved Fluffy to bits, and I couldn’t imagine not having him around. I hated leaving him at home when I had to go to work.

But today was Sunday and that meant – no work! I took Fluffy to the park and spent the day enjoying the sun, at first I had been afraid Fluffy might run away, but I couldn’t have been more wrong. He stuck really close to me the whole time except for chasing after the occasional butterfly. I was leaning against a tree trunk reading a book and Fluffy was watching a dog chasing after a stick with some interest.

‘I don’t suppose you want to play fetch,’ I murmured jokingly.

And, I swear to God, the cat shot me a disdainful look before looking away superiorly.

‘Fluffy, come here,’ I called him.

He turned his back to me completely and huffed, his tail flicking against the grass in annoyance. Sometimes he did this when I called him Fluffy – like he didn’t like the name, not that I could blame him.

“Maybe I should find you a new name,” I mused out loud.

Fluffy turned around with a soft meow and jogged up to me, rubbing his head against my hand. I sat stunned. There was no way, just no way, he could have possibly understood what I’d just said. It was just a coincidence. I didn’t have time to dwell on it though as my phone began to ring. It was Baek. He wanted to come over for a movie night. We hadn’t had one in ages because we had both been so busy with work. I happily agreed. He would bring the movies and I would make the popcorn.

 When I got home I took another shower and changed into something more comfortable – a large worn Guns N’ Roses t-shirt and a pair of shorts because it was boiling hot. As I finished changing I leaned down to pat Fluffy on the head. He was watching me from the bed lazily and purred when I patted him. The doorbell rang and I ran to get it. Baekhyun stood there with a grin on his face. He opened his arms and I jumped into them as he gave me a bear hug.

After we broke the hug he looked behind me and his eyes widened in surprise.

‘When did you get a cat?’

I whirled around and saw Fluffy staring at Baekhyun intently, his tail flicking from side to side.

‘I found him on the street and decided to keep him. He’s the sweetest cat and so smart too,’ I said proudly.

‘I love cats,’ said Baekhyun enthusiastically as he crouched down on the floor and made to pat Fluffy.

Fluffy’s fur stood on end, he hissed and raised his paw threateningly. Baekhyun pulled his hand back and stood up quickly.

‘Too bad they don’t seem to share the sentiment,’ I said trying, and failing, not to laugh.

‘I thought you said he was sweet,’ he said accusingly.

‘He usually is,’ I said bending down to pick up Fluffy, who immediately started purring in my arms. ‘See.’

‘All I see is your cat giving me the evils,’ said Baekhyun keeping a safe distance between us.

‘You’re not giving him the evils, are you, baby?’ I cooed at Fluffy in a baby voice.

‘Oh my God, you’re becoming one of those people,’ said Baekhyun in a tragic tone of voice.

‘What people?’

‘You know, the type that talk to their animals and end up as old spinsters with fifty cats.’

‘Hey! I happen to like cats – and talking to them too,’ I added the last in a murmur as I gave Fluffy a peck on the head.

An hour and a half later later we were well into our first film and both equally terrified. It was a horror film, and it sure was living up to its genre, as I tried to hide my face behind a bowl of deliciously buttered popcorn. Baek had tried to play it cool at first, but had firmly given up on that about half an hour ago as he shamelessly cowered behind me now. Fluffy was lying on the table staring at us and judging hard – only the way cats can.

‘No, no, no, don’t go there – GAH! He went there,’ said Baek in disgust.

‘No, no, no, don’t touch that – GEEZUS!’ I shouted almost dropping the popcorn.

Almost at the end of the movie when it was at its gory scariest, Baek and I had our arms wrapped around each other, I was carefully peeking at the TV screen ready to turn my face away at any sign of danger – yeah, so I’m a bit of a wimp – when Baekhyun let out an unearthly screech, and jumped up in the air, dislodging me in the process. I promptly rolled off him, and landed on the floor with a loud thwack (and a string of curses that would have done a sailor proud) as my head cracked against the table.  

In an uncharacteristic show of amazing flexibility and quick reflexes I quickly rolled back up on to my feet, grabbed my brass candleholder (given to me by my Aunt Lissete and which I suspected I had kept to use in moments such as these) and waved it around wildly, while shouting, ‘WHAT? WHERE? WHAT IS IT?’  

Baekhyun, who was now sitting on the back of my couch and cradling his left hand close to his chest, was staring at me with wide eyes.    

‘Are you okay? You hit your head pretty hard.’

‘Well, now that you mention it,’ I said resting one of my hands on my hip and gulping in air like a dying fish, ‘I do feel quite…dizzy.’

I collapsed on the couch my head spinning both from the scare and, what was probably, a mild concussion.

‘Are you okay, Cas?’

‘What the hell were you screeching about anyway?’ I snapped at him.

‘First of all, I don’t screech,’ he said in a dignified tone of voice.

‘Oh, really? So what do you call that?’

‘That was a very manly, and entirely understandable, exclamation of pain when your demon cat sank his bloody teeth into my hand,’ said Baekhyun with a wary look in said demon cat’s direction.

‘Fluffy?’ I asked in surprise as I followed his gaze.

‘Fluffy!? You seriously named that thing Fluffy?’ asked Baekhyun incredulously.

‘I’m sure he was just trying to play,’ I said looking at a very unpreoccupied looking Fluffy as he licked his paw.

‘Really? This is playing?’ he asked holding up his bleeding hand for me to see.

‘Fluffy! Bad kitty! Very bad kitty,’ I said wagging my finger reproachfully at him.

Baekhyun turned to look at me and his eyes widened.

‘Oh my God! You’re bleeding, Casey!’

At that moment I felt something drip down my face. I put my hand up to my forehead and it came back red.

‘Oh! That can’t be good,’ I said feeling incredibly light headed all of a sudden.

‘I’m taking you to the hospital. C’mon!’

I stood up and everything started spinning. I staggered to the bin in my kitchenette just in time to throw up all the popcorn I’d just eaten in the last hour.

‘Shit, I think you’re concussed,’ said Baekhyun bending over me as I collapsed on the floor.

‘Is that what this is?’ I asked feeling really dazed and barely understanding my own words.

‘Hey! I can walk,’ I protested as he put his arms under my knees and picked me up bridal style.

‘I highly doubt that,’ he said wryly.

The last thing I saw before leaving the apartment, was Fluffy looking extremely distraught – or maybe that was just the concussion making me think that.

‘Don’t worry! I’m fine,’ I whispered to him before Baekhyun closed the door behind us.

 xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

 A few hours later after I had been diagnosed with a – surprise, surprise! – concussion, Baekhyun drove me home and insisted on staying over. The doctor had advised someone be present to wake me up every four hours or so, just to be safe. The wound on my forehead had been shallow enough that it didn’t need any stitches, the doctor had explained that head injuries often bleed a lot. Everything was a big blur to me, and a lot of this was told to me the next day by Baekhyun – including how I had been singing Backstreet Boys songs in the waiting room and later accused the doctor of killing Dumbledore (although at this point Baekhyun had admitted that, to be fair, the doctor had sort of looked like Alan Rickman). I vaguely remembered Baekhyun saying he was sleeping in the lounge if I needed anything, but sometime during the night I felt a pair of strong arms wrap themselves around me and a voice whisper ‘I’m sorry’ into my ear. At the same time this incredible smell wafted over me, it smelled like how I imagined a Giorgio Armani’s perfume for men would smell, dangerous and utterly delicious.  

‘Don’t worry, Baek. It’s not your fault,’ I murmured with what I hoped was a comforting pat on his arm and passed out.

‘Cas, wake up! Wake up!’

A voice was saying urgently as someone shook me. I woke up feeling incredibly confused.

‘What? What’s happening?’

‘Doctor’s orders, remember?’ said Baekhyun softly as he stroked my head.

‘Oh, right, I guess,’ I murmured still feeling confused. ‘Didn’t you apologise to me like a minute ago?’

‘Apologise? No. Why would I apologise when it was your bloody cat that attacked me, and it was you that hit yourself on that table? I see myself as nothing more than a victim in this whole story. I blame that cat – and the table,’ he said jokingly.

I guess I had just imagined it then, I thought before falling asleep, but I could still smell that wonderful smell next to me. I guess I was just going to have to chalk it all up to the concussion.

How wrong I was.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

 I was going to find out how wrong I was exactly two days later. I had gone to sleep that Tuesday like any other Tuesday, with Fluffy sleeping contently beside me. I woke up the next day way before my alarm, for some reason, something didn’t seem right. I felt incredibly warm, and instinctively I turned towards the source of the heat, my hand connecting with something hard and warm – and much too human.

My eyes snapped open and the first thing I saw was a perfectly sculpted pec just inches away from my nose. My gaze travelled all the way up smooth tan skin to an alarmingly unfamiliar, albeit beautiful, face.

I jumped out of bed faster than if someone had set it on fire with a soul piercing scream. The boy sat up rubbing his eyes in apparent confusion, then he looked down and his eyes widened – and so did mine when I realized how very naked he was. I screamed again and lugged a heavy book from my bookshelf at him.

‘Wait! Calm down. I can explain,’ he said taking a step off the bed.

I screamed even more loudly and jumped up on my table picking up my stapler and throwing it at him. I looked around the room frantically for my mobile and spotted it next to him on my nightstand.

‘HELP! SOMEONE HELP ME! HELP!’ I shouted as loudly as I could.

He cursed, and before I could react, he had lunged across the distance separating us and thrown me over his shoulder. He was so quick I barely registered dangling over his back before I’d been unceremoniously dumped back on the bed. I scampered back on the bed and tried to jump off, but he caught me easily around the waist, flipping me back around like I weighed nothing. We then had a brief but somewhat violent tussle as I kicked, punched and bit with every ounce of strength I had, only to be overpowered with disconcerting ease. I was trapped under him and he had his hand covering my mouth so I couldn’t scream.

‘I need you to calm down, Casey. Take a deep breath,’ he said soothingly.

I narrowed my eyes at him, wandering how the hell he knew my name – oh my God, maybe he was one of those stalker serial killers that liked to torture their victims before killing them, I thought in horror. I really had to stop watching horror movies with Baekhyun. If I made it out of this alive I swore never again to go near another slasher flick.

‘I’m not going to hurt you. I swear. I just need you to keep calm and hear me out, okay? Now, if I remove my hand will you promise not to scream?’ he asked me with pleading eyes.

After a second, I slowly nodded and as soon as he removed his hand I started screaming for all I was worth. He quickly covered my mouth again and sighed. Meanwhile I was trying very hard not to focus on the fact that there was a very naked boy lying on top of me, and that the only thing separating us was my flimsy boxer shorts and tank top. And something that was really annoying me was how good he smelled, a pervert maniac had no right smelling this good…and somehow the smell seemed really familiar.

‘This is so not how I wanted this to happen,’ the boy said quietly. ‘You know me, Casey. Look at me.’    

I looked directly into his eyes and the hairs at the back of my neck stood on end. I was getting a really bad feeling about this.

‘It’s me, Fluffy. Your cat,’ he said softly.

I bit his hand as hard as I could, and he pulled it back with a surprised yelp.

‘If you hurt Fluffy - I swear to God, I’m going to kill you! FLUFFY! FLUFFY!’ I called frantically.

The boy sighed again and suddenly he started shrinking, and transforming, and in his place was Fluffy - lying on top of my chest.

‘Oh, I see,’ I said very calmly before fainting.