#i will return one day. probably after i eat a neuron

[theseasideskies]

I decided to finally do Rain World mods and the first custom region I decided to explore was Coral Caves and I gotta say

What the fuck <3

[wevegottogetaway]

El Patrón

I’m so excited to finally be posting this piece. I’ve been working on it for the past few days and it’s been consuming my mind. If you like angst, smut, art student Harry, and great plot twists, this story is for you, so buckle up, cause you’ve got 13700 and then some waiting for you! And on that note, I don’t thing I have many words left in my brain... so, hope you enjoy xx

TW: smut, fool language

After her first day back to classes, Y/n is not surprised to see Harry Styles’ lanky frame standing behind the bar of Bottom’s Up. She hoped that he would bugger off to work some place else but alas, all her summer prayers were unanswered. For yet another semester, she would have to endure bartending by his sides, trying with all her might not to jab a corkscrew at his throat every time he opened his gob. Granted, she could have switched jobs herself, but the pay is too good to turn down and the bar sits literally right around the corner from her place; a match made in heaven if you ask her. Besides, she’s been mastering the art of tuning out the insufferable green-eyed prick for two years now, so what’s one more? Of course, knowing it is likely to be the last - having just kicked off the final year of her psychology major - makes the news easier to stomach. And with any luck, the fool did some sort of soul-searching over the break and came back a changed man.

"Well, well, well. Look who decided to grace us with her delightful presence again. Knew you couldn’t stand to live without me, y/l/n." Harry greets her with a smirk as he looks up from his phone. 

Well, some much for change, but luck has never been on y/n’s side anyway; she knew it was wishful thinking to entertain the idea of a pleasant or even tolerable Harry. "Shut it, Styles. I’m not in the mood for your bullshit," she quips back and goes straight to the employee’s locker room to dispose of her stuff and swap her top for one bearing the bar’s logo. Once done, she takes a brief look in the tattered mirror still hanging by the door to readjust her ponytail, before joining her co-worker behind the counter. The bar is rather quiet for now, clock having not chimes 6pm yet, but y/n expects the place to be soon crawling with students drinking the classes’ return off their mind. 

The next few minutes are spent in unexpected peaceful silence, y/n prepping for the upcoming rush while Harry idly sits by, not lifting a single finger to help her out. Admittedly, he’s completed all his pre-shift duties during the last hour, but y/n doesn’t think it warrants the smug look painted on his face as he watches her battle a jar of olives with an old opener and  a concentrated frown. So peaceful silence was a bit of a stretch, maybe.

Then to make matters worse he decides to taunt her, "I see you’ve grown zero muscle strength over the break. Too busy vegetating on the beach?" 

The surge of anger triggered by the provocation is enough impetus for her to crack the can open, but it doesn’t stop her from turning to face him, "I see you’ve grown zero neuron in that thick head of yours. Too busy making people miserable instead?" she counters with flaring nostrils and a look of disdain hardening her features.

"Ah, still got a feisty mouth on you. ‘Was worried you might turn soft on us." Harry sasses back, but y/n doesn’t bother telling him off this time. No matter how strong her comeback, he’ll just brush it off with that smile of his that irritates her to no end. That’s the thing with Harry, the bastard has the thickest skin of all, he’s downright unattainable. And believe it or not, bad-mouthing doesn’t come naturally to y/n, he just seems to draw it out of her, perhaps as the trigger of some kind of survival instinct. Time and time again she’s tried to come up with a quip that would leave him speechless, tail between his legs, but he always has a wittier reply to throw back at her. For so long they’ve been playing this debilitating game of ping pong and she has yet to claim a point to his countless wins. 

It’d been the case since their first meeting on that dreadful Friday two years ago. Y/n was about to embark on her second year at uni and decided to get a job so she could afford her own place instead of the dreary dorms she’d gotten used to. Bottom’s Up had seemed to be the perfect choice, a 2 minutes walk from the sweet little apartment she’d just visited a few days prior. She’d been excited for her first shift that night, air still warm from the Indian summer sun drawing a plethora of eager students to come enjoy their last day of freedom. Her happy jitters had quickly dissolved once she’d made her way in the staff-only area located behind the bar though. There, she’d walked in on a very frustrated Harry vociferating at a lost-looking colleague, "how many times do you have to fuck up before doing your bloody job, Steve? Stop sitting on your lazy ass, or I swear I’ll-" 

She’d come to this Steve guy’s defense then, furious at the tall curly hair jerk for bullying his way around, "stop it, you asshole. You can’t talk to people like trash, who do you think you are?" Granted, she didn’t know it at the time, but the lost look on Steve's face was in fact pretty standard for the amount of weed in his system; nor did she know that the lad could actually win the Olympics of lazy asses hands down, should such a discipline be appended. It was too late to call off the hostilities though. War had been declared, and aside maybe from that one time he had graciously accepted to cover for her when she’d had a trip to Brighton planned for one of her classes, no truce had ever been reached. Besides, she’s sure it was more so because he was low on cash rather than to fulfill the hidden desire to help her out for once in his life.

Now, as she finishes wiping her work surface with a wet cloth, y/n wishes more than ever to be teleported in a parallel universe where she doesn’t have to work with the bane of her existence, much less see his annoyingly handsome face four times a week. (Also, exams would only be optional in this alternate reality of hers, but that’s another fantasy for another day.) Mainly, she’s just glad she doesn’t see him around campus ever, the art building standing all the way across from the psychology department. At least she’s Harry-free the moment she steps out of the bar; she’d probably have a nervous breakdown if she had to put up with his antics outside of work.

                                                       ***

A month in the new semester, the novelty of it all has finally worn off to make way for routines to settle in. Y/n’s weeks now consist in a well-practiced cycle of sleep, study, eat, work and occasionally go out with her best friend Mia. Her shifts at Bottom’s Up still prove to be challenging because of the company she’s forced to keep but things seem to have calmed down at the bar too. Students are now less inclined to party the week away, mainly indulging during the second half of the week, but more importantly, Harry appears to be less of a smug bastard and more of a sulky sod. For some reason, the lad has been stuck in a sullen mood, constant frown wrinkling his forehead. He has reverted to distant one-word answers as though he is saving a dictionary worth of words for whatever conundrum is going on in his brain. Y/n doesn’t mind though, and almost welcomes the transition if it means less digs taken at her expense.

Now y/n finds herself on her way to the campus library for a much needed paper-writing cramming session (the assignment is due the following day and she barely has two thirds of the work completed). After a quick stop by the coffee shop down the block, she finally strides in the lobby of the library, ready to dive nose first into the riveting matters of cognitive psychology. She’s already so focused mulling over concepts’ definition in her mind, that it takes her a minute to realize something is going on.

It’s nothing major really, no big fire rushing around the premises or fist-fight breaking the crowd into a frenzy. No, just everyone seemingly hushing and gasping, bewildered expressions etched upon their faces as they keep pointing towards the nearby study room. Truthfully, y/n might have been completely oblivious to it, it she weren’t a psychology major; but reading people’s feelings and interactions is kind of her thing, so she does notice the bubbly energy infiltrating the usually quiet space. What could possibly have them so intrigued, she wonders as more students come out of the room with the same looks of wonder.

Her confusion is finally quelled when she steps into the study room in question and her eyes fall on what has everyone so engaged. On the wall to her right, between two sets of shelves brimming with decades-old books, hangs a life size canvas of audacious shapes and bold colors. Not one seems to have been left out, the painting seemingly transporting the viewer in a psychedelic albeit appealing trance. It’s full of contrasts, an embodiment of serenity and boldness at the same time, and y/n can’t stop ogling the masterpiece for the life of her. The amount of passion is so obviously overwhelming, yet she can feel all of the artist’s emotions underneath each of the brushstrokes.  

After another minute of wondrous observation, her thoughts are interrupted by a foreign voice. "El Patrón? I wonder who that could be," the stranger wonders aloud, and her eyes immediately drift off to the bottom right of the painting to catch the small but unmistakable signature: black cursive letter spelling the two words withholding the real artist’s identity. The mystery only adds up to the appeal of the work and y/n already feels a bubbling feeling in the pit of her stomach at the idea of ever finding out what beautiful soul is responsible for such mind-bending work. She hopes this won’t be last she sees of it. 

                                                       ***

It’s Friday night and unfortunately for y/n, she’s stuck at work with her least favorite person in the world. It’s all the more unfortunate that Harry seems to be back to his usual annoying self, his thoughts finally free from whatever trouble had plagued them, and eager to fall back into nuisance mode. Less unfortunate for y/n and much to Harry’s discontent, Mia decided to stop by and keep her company. Though she feels slightly sorry for her having the act as her buffer for the night, y/n figures she’s more than making up for it with every free cocktail she keeps sliding towards her friend. Their conversation is scattered at best since patrons keep interrupting them for a fresh pint of ale, but as the night slowly dies down they manage to talk longer than 20 seconds.

The manager of the bar has long clocked off and gone home, as per usual on Friday nights, leaving both her and Harry the pleasure to indulge in a few drinks of their own. They don’t do it every week and always keep it low-key of course; Mia’s tonight presence mostly accounting for y/n’s partaking while Harry just likes a nice glass of tequila when the week-end comes around and there’s nobody to tell him off about it. One thing they never do though, is drink together, like two friends celebrating yet another week they survived at uni. Come to think of it, the only thing they do share is a job position and their never-ending bickering. Cheers to that, y/n takes another sip of her gin martini in sarcasm. 

She’s brought back to reality by Mia as the tipsy brunette lets out a loud gasp before she inquires in a slightly high-pitched voice, "y/n! totally forgot to tell you, went by the library today and you’ll never guess what was there!" 

"Oh my god, you saw the painting too, didn’t you" y/n answers, excited at the idea of discussing the whole thing with her best friend. Truth be told, the majestic work of art hasn’t left her mind since she’d first seen it a few days before. 

"Yes" Mia squeals in confirmation, "I mean, it’s kinda impossible to miss. I wonder how they got it there without anyone seeing."

Y/n has wondered the same thing and she came to one conclusion, "they probably sneaked in last Sunday after the library closed, it’s the only time the building is empty," Mia humming in agreement. The campus library is opened 24/7 all days except on Sundays, so realistically speaking it is the only window of time that would allow for such an experiment. Whether said experiment required an actual break-in or was conducted in full legality remains a mystery but that is just bygones in y/n’s eyes. She’s much to mesmerized by the work to give a damn about how it got there in the first place. 

"Oi y/l/n! What are you two fawning over this time" Harry chirps in the conversation, uninvited as always, and y/n hates how condescending he just sounded.

"Not that you could ever understand something with substance, if your lack thereof is any indication, but it’s none of your damn business," y/n spats out dismissively but Mia’s Margarita-induced brain seems to have forgotten all about their concerted hatred for piss-taking bartenders.

"Harry, you’re an art major aren’t you? D’you know who’s behind that beautiful painting at the library?" 

Y/n tilts her head back in a sigh at her friend’s behavior before turning to watch the puzzled look on Harry’s face. He seems to silently gauge the both of them; for what, y/n doesn’t know, and then his whole expression switched to a blasé look. He shrugs in disinterest, "who cares? ’s just one more Banksy wannabe who’s trying at it too hard ‘f you ask me." 

Y/n takes it as a personal offense, her admiration for the painting outweighing any instinct she has of avoiding the brazen man taking a sip of his tequila on rocks across from her, "of course you’d say something like that. You’re just jealous you’ll never compete with his talent."

Harry raises a brow at her accusation, "and how would you know since you’ve never seen any of my work?" 

It’s a valid point, but not enough to rebut her. "Doesn’t take a genius to know a shallow mind like yours could never create something as deep and transcending. That would require actual emotions from you Harry and we both know the only emotion you’re capable of spreading is irritation." 

For once she’s confident she’s gonna have the last word, but in true Harry fashion he just gives her a bored look as if to say ‘is that all?’ towel thrown over his shoulder, "right, and here I thought talking to people like trash was a bad thing. You should really take a page out of your own book, y/n, wouldn’t want anyone to think you’re as big of a jerk as I am." Then he turns back to face the room full of customers, and tends to one disheveled looking guy slurring out an order. 

Y/n barely registers the friendly "alright Joe, but ’s the last one," Harry rasps out to the guy, her ears are still ringing from the last words he’d said to her. More specifically, the little truth they held despite how much he deserved the backlash, and y/n absolutely loathes the way her throat seems to be closing in on itself. She’s afraid she’s turning like him, bitter words at the ready and always trying to outdo his own taunting spiels. Before anxiety can settle in her bones though, she swallows back the knot tightening in her airways and goes back to serving customers and conversing with her friend.

                                                        ***

The next time it happens, she expects it even less. A couple weeks have passed since her gruesome interaction with Harry at the bar, and along with her doubts, all thoughts about art have seemed to vanish from her busy mind. She’s had a few tests occupying all her free time and now that they’ve been done and over with, all she can think about is calling Mia up to plan their next night out; she needs a few drinks that she didn’t make for once. 

She’s about to take her phone out of her pocket to send her best friend a text, when she enters the lecture hall of her Monday experimental method and research design class. The déjà-vu feeling that creeps up her spine stops her from completing the action, and y/n frowns at how her fellow students seem to be all entranced in deep conversation, exchanging baffled looks with one another. Even the sleeping kid that sits at the back seems to be more alert than during their last fire evacuation procedure test. 

It’s then y/n turns around to see what is hanging at the front of the room, covering the large board. This time, the colors were carefully handpicked by the artists, flashes of pink and yellow dancing along to a frenzied rhythm of salsa as their union creates powerful jets of oranges across the canvas. It vaguely reminds her of the pendant she wears on a daily basis, rose gold laurels wrapped around a delicate sunflower, an orange topaz incrusted in its center. The painting is of abstract nature much like the last one, but the movements of the brush still bring her mind back to the jewel presently nestled between her collarbones. How odd.

The piece is slightly smaller than the last but no less impressive, catching the attention of even the least artistic eye. The sensibility of the artist is so distinct, intentions clearer and more in touch than most people with their own. For a second, y/n thinks she’s glad the pieces have only been ones of unadulterated happiness and colorful bliss so far, because god knows how heart-wrenching the outcome would be if all this uncorrupted honesty was used to fill canvas with pain.

As the professor enters the room, everybody settles back on their seat, and wait for the chap’s reaction. "Well, that sure is something. It seems we have a bit of a mystery painter on our hands, don’t we; and a talented one at that," y/n’s professor smiles at the class as he pulls a computer out of his satchel and places it at top of the front desk. His words make her look back at the artwork, this time settling on the small signature reading El Patrón on its corner. And it’s all it takes for Y/n’s obsession with the anonymous artist to be back in full force.

                                                       ***

That night she can’t stop raving about the painting as she starts closing the bar after a long and tiresome shift. She’s got a shoulder pressing her phone to her ear, Mia on the line, while she absentmindedly sweeps the floor. Normally the exertion of the job would have her stifling yawns and her bones aching but tonight her voice is perky as ever as she recollects the pinnacle of her day, "you shoulda been there Mia, it was gorgeous. And same as last time, like you’d be minding your business, doing your thing and then boom, it’s there. Damn, this guy is a genius."

As she comes back around the counter, Harry makes sure she notices the roll of his eyes. He’s been wiping and tidying the bar space after making sure everything is stocked up for the next day, all the while listening to her drone about El Patrón and his stroke of genius, praise after praise falling from her lips. She completely brushes off the patronizing gesture and that’s perhaps what irritates him the most. She’s barely acknowledging him or his stunts with all her attention placed on the mystery painter and well, Harry quite likes riling her up. Doesn’t do it out of spite, but merely because he likes the way it ignites a fire in her that he’s seldom seen in people. But now, all her fire is directed elsewhere and he doesn’t know what to think of it.

                                                         ***

Over the next month, the rumors around El Patrón spread like wildfire as more and more of his works are found scattered around campus. Much to y/n’s delight, she always seems to fall upon them as though they’ve been placed specifically on her path. It didn’t start as obvious though; the first following pieces hung in common areas around campus such as the lunch hall or the student center but as time went by they tended to follow her whereabouts somehow. Y/n knows she’s probably fabulating but when she’d stumble across two absolutely stunning pieces in the lobby of her gym and at the entrance of the psychology building, she couldn’t help but feel deeply attached to them. And the possibility that this mystery artist might have the same attachment to her, only fuels her obsession further, sending her reeling with all but one nerve-wracking question: who is this guy?

And it’s not like she’s the only one pondering over their identity either. Hell, the genius has literally everyone on campus under their spell, trying to uncover the enigma of the year. Everyone seems to be determined to find clues, easter eggs hidden within the paintings that could lead them closer to the truth. El Patrón has effectively turned the whole uni into a large-scale game of Cluedo, people speculating left and right and swapping theories about who it can or cannot be, what year they are probably in, or whether they have an accomplice. Nobody has ever executed such a tour de force in the history of campus, and it has everyone one edge, y/n included, desperate to be in the loop.

The fact that each painting is more beautiful than the last and always seems to connect with her in personal ways doesn’t help her daydreaming either. Take the one she found at the gym for example, for a few second she’d sworn she was looking at a familiar piece of the English South Coast, dark hues of blue fighting dots of white, reminiscent of the way foam always seems to top even the most raging waves as they crash along shores. She’d only had to close her eyes to feel the wind blowing her hair in a thousand directions and the sand engulfing her feet, making its way between her toes and every crevice of her skin. She was still in the middle of her gym when she reopened them though, her sport bag straddling her shoulder as she kept gaping at the painting in adoration.

Her suspicious keeps nagging at her head, the desire to unveil the identity of her beloved artist getting stronger by the day. The feeling is almost unbearable when she spots yet another work of his across from Bottom’s Up. The coincidences keep piling up and the more she mulls it over, the more she’s convinced this mystery guy is talking to her. Damn, is it possible to have a crush on someone because of their work? After months of this cryptic scavenger hunt, she’d dying to know if all her theories are right and the fact that she has no way to find out, is positively killer her.

That’s why when she stumbles across a flyer for a midterm exhibition gala hosted by the art department as she waits in line at her favorite coffee shop, she doesn’t think twice before jotting down all the info. In a week time, most of the uni’s art students would be gathered up in one place to present their term’s work. The chances are too high for y/n to pass up the opportunity, her guts telling her he’ll be there. It makes sense doesn’t it? Surely, this El Patrón ought to be an art student if not a teacher. How else would they have access to all the campus amenities most of the paintings were found in? 

As she goes to pick up her coffee from the counter, y/n walks with a newfound spring in her steps; she really can’t wait for this gala to happen.

                                                       ***

Y/n stands at the entrance of the art building, a black floor-length long-sleeves open-back dress hugging her curves in all the right places. Her heart speeds up at the nervous jitters crawling underneath her skin, and the million question swarming her frantic mind. What if he actually doesn’t know her and doesn’t give a damn about her thoughts on his work? What if it’s actually a woman and she’s been hiding a man’s pen-name to consolidate her deceit? Is she about to make the biggest fool out of herself by coming to this exhibition? She doesn’t know anyone here, nor has she ever been to this kind of event before but she’s decided this guessing game has run its course. Maybe this all thing has nothing to do with her and that’s okay. All she really wants is to have a chance to tell this exquisite mind how remarkable their work is; the rest be damned.

Y/n slowly makes her way inside, and after a quick stop at the coat room to dispose of the unnecessary garment, she is finally greeted by a room full of dressed-up people roaming  and chatting around, champagne flutes in hands. How cliche, she thinks with humor, before picking up a glass of the bubbly beverage. It’ll help sooth the nerves, she reasons as she starts walking around the place to observe each of the displays. Despite not having had a glimpse of her number-one painter yet, she finds herself having a good time. Most of the work offered to her is engaging in one way or another; some pieces quite provocative is their depiction, others straight out pushing the limits of 2D, with structures coming out of the canvas as though they were about to grip at the viewer. 

Turning at a corner, she comes across his art before she sees him, having almost forgotten art was supposedly his thing too, and she realizes she actually knew someone here apart from the mysterious painter. She takes a brief look at his tall frame, the baby blue suit over his crisp white shirt fitting him perfectly. A black tie is completing the look, and it makes y/n waver for a second. She’s never seen him dressed in anything other than jeans and the bar’s t-shirt every employee is supposed to wear on call. Granted, even that he can make work better than anyone else she can think of, but that suit is something else altogether. 

Her eyes shifts back to his work, not wanting to waste too much time on his appearance; she is here on a mission after all. She can’t deny his painting is good as much as she wants too. It’s made of a perfectly executed optic illusion that has her pause for longer than she intended to. The colors are picked wisely only adding to the entrancing design, tempting the viewer to reach out to the painting to convince themselves that this is fact a pretty subterfuge and no reality; the frontier between both worlds much too hard to distinguish. Just like for the rest of the exhibition, a single plaque hangs underneath the canvas, introducing the title of the piece above the name of its artist: Fine Line by Harry Styles. Damn, the bastard had to be talented…

"Is it as depthless as you thought it would be?" A hoarse voice interrupts her inner thoughts. She knows it’s his at the first word and already she regrets ever thinking positive things about him.

"Funny, I would have shared a compliment but you just had to go and open your stupid mouth," she bites back as she fully turns around to face him. She can feel is eyes shamelessly scanning her body, sending her nerves on overdrive. She wants this exchange to be as curt as possible, she’s got important matters to tend to.

"Here for you mysterious bloke, I presume?" he inquires in a taunting voice.

"What’s it to you, anyway?" y/n dodges the question with another, hoping it’ll steer the conversation toward its end.

She’s answered by rosy pouting lips, a hand on his heart in faux vexation, "ouch, was just hopin’ you’d come to see me, and now you’ve just crushed my dreams, love."

The pet-name is not lost on her and Y/n has had enough. In own gulp she downs the rest of her champagne and forces the glass to his chest for him to hold as she makes her way past him, "just leave me alone and go be a pain in someone else’s ass, Harry." She doesn’t wait to see if he’s following her as she marches across the room in long and purposeful strides. 

Something in the corner of her eyes catches her attention right then. Halting abruptly, almost making someone walk right into her, she turns her head to the side and that’s when she finally sees it. A whole part of the wall has been dedicated to his work, a shrine of his most outstanding pieces randomly hung against the white surface. Y/n recognizes each and every one of them, but then her eyes take in the extra work added for the exhibition: next to each of the pieces are displayed a bunch of photos capturing the students’ expressions as they first discovered the paintings. Dozens of faces lighting up in amazement, widening eyes and finger pointing at the unexpected intrusions; some show confusion and puzzlement while others simply behold laughter and animated conversation.

In the center of the wall, a video is projected. It’s a compilation of those same moments but this time captured on tape. The sound was removed, but as y/n takes in the faces of her fellow students she can almost hear the sound of their laughters; she’d been there for most of it after all. She thinks the idea is amazing, El Patrón has managed to make the viewer a permanent part of the art. The paintings are marvelous of course, full of emotions and passion, but the mysterious artist has gone one step further by also displaying how those emotions had reflected back on the audience. It is an ode to art, to the power of sharing, and proves art is limitless; not owned by museums, not bound between walls and certainly not restricted for trained-eyes only. Because art isn’t all about beauty, it speaks for the need for sharing that human have but often forget, and this is a perfect reminder of it.

The next tape playing has her eyes doubling over the video, a small gasp escaping her lips as she takes in her own figure. It was taken the day she found the painting at the gym and unlike all the other videos she’s alone. No group of students by her side elbowing her in disbelief, or sharing a puzzle look with her. Just her doe eyes gleaming at the painting, lips slightly parted in pure wonder, as she studies every inch of the canvas. And the feeling that this might mean just as much to him as it does to her comes back crashing on her. She’s not paranoid; this artist his using her as some kind of inspiration, she’s sure of it. Random cannot be this accurate, it would defy any laws of statistics. 

After the slideshow finally moves on to the next video, y/n looks around in the hopes of finding the man that has wormed his way into her heart. She’s imagined it a thousand times over during the past week. A young man would be discretely standing on the side, watching the evening pan out and waiting for her to find his work. Then they would make eye contact and he’d make his way over to greet her and share more of his beautiful mind with her. That’s the happily ever after she’s hoped for since that first painting in the library, but alas everyone around her seems to be engrossed in conversation about this and that. 

"I thought he would be there too," the unexpected voice makes her jump. She recognizes the student from that first day, she’d also be intrigued by the mysterious man.

"I know, all of his work is here, he has to somewhere around," y/n tries to convince herself. She hasn’t given up yet, she won’t let herself unless she goes home tonight empty-handed. Only after that will she stop searching, she promises herself. If he doesn’t show up tonight, then that’s because he doesn’t want to be found.

The girl next to her has the same disappointed tone when she explains, "you’d think so, but I’ve been asking everyone around and nobody has a clue still."

Before y/n can come up with her own rationalizations, someone starts speaking in a microphone, asking for everyone’s attention. It’s a man in his early fifties making a speech about the whole reason behind the exhibition so y/n pegs him as the head of the art department. "Thank you all for coming tonight, it is always a pleasure to see so many of you supporting our young talents. As you may know, tonight’s exhibition signs off our students’ final work for the semester, and will also see one of them receive a one-time collaboration with a renown art gallery in the city. Now, before the judges finish deliberating, let me tell you a bit about the topic of this exhibition which, by the way, serves as the main criteria for this contest. Our artists were asked to work around audience engagement and crowd reaction. The task was to produce art that would prompt an active response from the viewer and go beyond a passive experience. I hope this info helps this event take all its sense, I’ll let you all meander for a couple more minutes before we announce the winner. Thank you for your presence." 

Since she has a couple more of minutes, y/n decides to take advantage of the fresh insight she was just given about the artwork and goes around the exhibition one more time. The whole thing does take on a new meaning, now that she knows what was going one in the students’ mind as they first got their assignment. But what has her in awe really, is El Patrón’s coup de maître in all of this, because unlike any other applicant here tonight, he’s had the strongest reactions from the public for months now and had even documented it. So really, in a way he’s already won, no bias to blame. The amount of work and planning behind such a tour de force surely has exceeded everyone’s expectations and secured the number-one position for the still-to-be-revealed artist. In the pocket, as they say.

"Alright everyone, without further ado we are going to announce the lucky talent selected by the judges tonight," the head of department speaks up again. "On behalf of the whole department, I would like to salute each and every one of the students that presented their work tonight. Skills are certainly not scarce among you all, and as always it gives me great pleasure to see you all grow into yourselves alongside your craft. As you know, there can only be one of you coming up to this stage tonight and I must say, this semester has proved to be full of surprises. Never in my 26 years working here have I ever seen something of the sort, so ladies, gentleman, I have no idea who is about to join me now, but please give a warm round of applause for El Patrón!" 

The room explodes in loud cheers as people clap their hands in honor of the mysterious artist. Y/n probably the loudest amongst them all, is still craning her neck in every possible directions trying to catch sight of anyone moving towards the stage. The standing ovation quickly fades into silence as everyone realizes nobody is coming to claim their prize. The usual hushing following any of El Patrón’s stunts is once again spreading across the room to match people’s incredulity at the situation. It was one thing to keep their identity a secret, as it was clearly a crucial condition for the plan to work, but now that it is all over and done, prize ready for the taking, it doesn’t make much sense.

"Mister El Patrón? I think you more than deserve to drop your mask and receive your prize," the host reiterates in hopes that the much awaited artist comes out of his lair, but he’s met with the same result. Perhaps he’s not here after all, or perhaps y/n was right to think he might not want to be found, but regardless a strong feeling of disappointment takes over a body. He won’t be coming, she knows. No matter how many times the host calls for him, he won’t be coming. 

She lets out a long sign in frustration then, she really thought tonight was the tonight. But now that the evening is coming to its end, tears pearl at the corner of her eyes and she just wants to go home and forget all about El Patrón. Aren’t artists supposed to be dark and twisted anyway? Maybe she just dodges a bullet, she tries to make herself feel better, but no amount of sarcasm can save her from the painful pinch at her heart. As she comes to term with the fact she won’t get any more answers by staying (and possible ever), she decides it’s her cue to go. 

On her way to the exit, her eyes fall upon Harry’s slightly hunched figure. He seems deep in his thoughts, eyes fixed towards the floor though he’s not looking at anything in particular. For some unknown reason, y/n is not irked by his presence like she usually is. He’s just lost a great career opportunity so his preoccupied disposition is understandable. Feeling as though she needs to end the night on a different note - whether positive is yet to be determined - she approaches him slowly as not to startle him. "Your painting is really good. I’m sorry you didn’t win, but you should still be proud," she softly tells him to cheer him up. At least, one of them might get to go home in higher spirits. 

He looks up at her then, curls bouncing on top of his head, as he aligns his two glistening emeralds to her own gems. He seems quite surprised to hear her voice, probably rightfully so since he can count on one hand (scratch that, one finger) the number of times she’s actively sought him out for conversation. She can tell he’s debating whether to say something or not, as they keep their eyes locked. It’s probably the longest and only civil exchange they’ve ever had, and somehow it manages to soothe some of her sorrows. 

Y/n likes this reflective side of him, she realizes. Not that she wishes him any torments (at least not tonight) but his quietness makes him look vulnerable in that beautifully human way for once. That’s twice he’s proven her wrong about the assumptions she had on him, tonight: first his talent, now his character; she doesn’t know what to make of it. Silently, she accepts the timid smile and light nod he offers her in gratitude, before making her way to out at last.

                                                       ***

Two days after the night of the exhibition, y/n still has a hard time to let her grievance go. Her mood has yet to upgrade from crappy at best, and the fact that all the artwork has been removed from their previous spots is not helping much. Of course she knew they had been put down for the big night, but her heart still missed a beat when she went to the gym only to find the walls of the lobby bare of any craft that would liven up their otherwise dull and colorless structure. Just like her state of mind, she’d joked. And y/n is not one to throw pity parties, especially to herself; but then again, she’d never fallen under the charms of a faceless virtuoso because his art brought to life parts of her that she’d believed otherwise dormant, only to be metaphorically stood up at the end of the process. So really, what does she know anymore?

Now that she’s back at work, she revels in the constant effort she has to provide. The ever-growing list of task to complete gives her mind reprieve and focus, but she still hasn’t budged from her unusually distant and withdrawn self. Even harry’s own standoffishness hasn’t caught her attention; a week ago, his awkward demeanor would have flashed red flags all over her radar. An unfiltered narcissistic prick he could be, but y/n has never known him to be anything even resembling reserve; apart maybe from that one fate-less night not even 72 hours ago when she found him on the outskirts of the attention even though she knew full well that he is more of center kind of guy.

As they’re about to start closing, the awkwardness becomes more palpable by the second. They’ve skirted around it during the whole shift, the steady solicitation of customers enough to ignore the growing tension; but as the last of the patrons finally make their way out of the bar, an eery silence settles in their wake, making them both want to crawl out of their skin. Even the heavy-served drinks they’ve indulged in, despite the absence of their respective motives, hasn’t help assuage the strain between them. Instead, they start their usual routine in overrated silence, y/n in charge of the floor while he tends to the bar. Then before long, Harry bursts the uncomfortable bubble they’ve locked themselves in, voice void of its usual teasing tone, "so, what’s got you so grumpy?" he inquires.

"Please don’t start, Harry. I really can’t be bothered tonight," y/n sighs in response, failing to recognize the note of concern in his question and thinking she wouldn’t survive another bickering session. It hasn’t been the lad’s intention though, so her false accusation has his thick skin itching against his will. To be honest, Harry’s never taken much offense from any of their past squabbles no matter how hard she’d come at him, but this one he can’t brush off. Not when for once, he’s trying to be decent, dropping the attitude he knows rubs her the wrong way and she responds by telling him to get lost.

"Fuck sake, I wasn’t tryin’ to start anythin’" he berates her for lashing out unjustifiably, "you need to take a chill pill." The hostile reaction as her pausing mid-swipe in the middle of the room. He was always so unbothered by everything she said, she hasn’t expected him to be so hard on the defensive (or even know what a defensive is in the first place). 

Still, she doesn’t appreciate the same chastising tactic he’s used on her countless times, especially because given his serious temper, she knows he means it for real now. "Oh I’m sorry Harry, I didn’t know what sympathy actually sounds like coming from your mouth," she quips back in sarcasm. 

The response makes him livid, "you tell me I’m a jerk every chance you got, but you sure know how to be a bitch, y/n" he spats before finishing wiping the counter. As his hand reaches the end of the surface, he finds his half-empty glass of tequila, most of the ice completely melted through the amber liquor by now. He takes one long sip in a vain attempt to calm his nerves but the alcohol merely tingles the back of his palate and warms its way down his stomach. His mind is still burden with frustrations he doesn’t know how to alleviate; the end of term, the exhibition, his career’s future, and y/n’s stubborn nature all wreaking havoc in his tired brain.

"Shut the fuck up, Harry. I didn’t ask for your attention," y/n retorts, trying not to expose how bruised her heart is. While he’d mocked her plenty during the past two years, he’d never resorted to calling her names, unlike her; so the insult does more damage than she’s willing to admit, even coming from Harry. And to think she’d thought of him as a half decent being not three days ago…

"Right, I forgot only anonymous bastards are worthy enough of your attention," he replies before checking the shelves behind the bar to make sure they’re stocked enough for the next shift. "And even when they turn out to be cowards, you still choose them over the people that are actually around you. You need to open your eyes and wake up, it’s pathetic."

Y/n has almost finished cleaning her area but at this point, she’s ready to call it quits and run as fast as she can, away from him. "Go fuck yourself, you don’t know anything you’re talking about," she manages to croak past her swelling throat and quivering lips. The man in front of her is breaking her heart even though he’s never had it in his calloused hands, and y/n doesn’t know why. 

"Fuck this, ’m done," he quite literally throws in the towel, leaving it in a bowl on the counter before making his way back to his drink. In a swift movement, he grabs the bottle of tequila to pour himself a new one. "You keep blindly mopin’ about your precious painter, I don’t care, you’re probably right anyway," he says before chugging the bitter spirit in one go and slamming the bottle of tequila down on the counter in a loud bang that has y/n jump in fear. "I don’t anything about bloody anything," is all Harry says as he locks eyes with hers, before making his out of the bar, not bothering to put the bottle back to its rightful place.

Y/n is still trembling from the exchange, and it takes her a hot minute before she can finish what she was doing. As she resumes wiping the floor with shaky hands, she tries to even her breath out. Why had he been so hurtful? What could have possibly impelled him to utter such malicious words? The questions are still reeling in her mind as she twists water out of the mop  for the last time. Once the floor is spotless and all the tables are no longer sticky with spilled alcohol, chairs stacked up onto them upside-down, she makes her way back behind the bar, checking that Harry didn’t leave any of his duties unattended before his theatrical exit. She spots the bottle of tequila sitting lonely on the counter but just as she goes to reach for it, she freezes. 

It’s a cold shower pouring over her body all at once then, dots finally connected as her eyes read over the label of the fat bottle she’s seen him take out of the stack countless times before. Everything that happened for the last few months falls into place and suddenly there is no mystery left to be solved. ‘You’re probably right, I don’t know anything about bloody anything’ Harry’s final words keep playing on a maddening loop in her head. 

Y/n takes in the small bee design printed under what is unmistakably the last piece of the puzzle she’s been craving to complete: one word that has her stomach churning in a myriad of emotions she can’t possibly untangle. Anger, relief, surprise, fear, curiosity, warmth and more, are all rushing through her in one colossal wave, because printed on that bottle in black capital letters is the brand of Harry’s favorite drink: Patrón.

                                                       ***

The next day, y/n navigates through her classes purely on autopilot mode. She doesn’t quite remember picking the floral blouse nor the light-shade pair of jeans she’s wearing, and barely recalls the brief conversation she had with an old lady during her bus commute to campus. One thing she sure as hell hasn’t paid one iota of attention to, is the behavioral psychology class she’s just got out of. Two hours she spent pacing up and down every twist and turn of her mind only to come out more lost than she’d started. Add to that the fact she’s running on 4 hours of sleep, she’s quite simply a recipe for disaster. Fortunately for y/n, she isn’t due at work tonight, having called sick this morning, because sleep-deprivation aside, she still has no idea how she’s supposed to face Harry.

The revelation of the night prior is still something she has trouble wrapping her mind around, as it goes against every constructed opinion she’s made about her life. Harry is Patrón, she’s pretty sure. Harry, the allegedly conceited asshole she’s been bickering with since their first minute spent together, is the mind-blowing painter that had taken residence in y/n’s heart since the first time she set eyes on his art. The two characters have yet to fully merge into one in her mind, despite the fact it makes perfect sense to her. 

The Brighton painting, the one inspiring her necklace, it was all true. And with that revelation comes two intimidating truths y/n is kind of scared to delve into: one, all this time she’s been right to think she is the muse behind this all scheme; two, if Harry is the mystery painter, that makes her Harry’s muse more specifically. And that’s the part of the equation she struggles the most with, because up until last night she was pretty positive that the twat despised her (the night in itself being prime evidence of that) but now she doesn’t know what to think.

It’s like there are two versions of Harry battling in her brain, splitting her heart in halves; the one that made her miserable at work for years and made her cry last night, and the one she’d gotten a glimpse of at the night of the exhibition. The one that hid a fully blossomed bouquet of emotions behind teasing banter to protect a diamond-rough talent that had the power to touch just about anyone’s sensibility. The one that had her wrapped around his finger in awe with that beautiful mind of his. The question is, can she or will she see this Harry the next time she’s facing him or will all their bad-blood history come crashing down on her instead? Y/n doesn’t think she’s ever fit more the definition of having mixed feelings about something.

On her way home, she makes sure she doesn’t fall asleep against the bus window, despite yawning every thirty-seconds. It feels like the trip is taking forever, she almost lets out a cry of relief when the automated voice finally announces her upcoming stop. Once she’s thanked the driver and stepped out of the bus, she’s met with a gust of brisk air, instantly blowing her hair all over her face. She draws the lapels of her coat tighter around her shivering body and starts making her way towards her apartment building. 

It doesn’t take her long to complete the walking distance to her place and tread her way up the stairs, but the sight greeting her in the hallway of her floor almost sends her down on her ass. Because right across from her door, is Harry hanging yet another one of his chefs-d’oeuvre. He’s dressed casually in his usual jeans and t-shirt ensemble, with a thick grey hoodie covering his broad upper-half in a feeble attempt to combat to cold weather raging outside. As he reaches in the back pocket of his jeans to retrieve a sharpie - no doubt to apply his trademark signature - the movements of her feet on the laminated floor catch his attention. Spinning around in a jolt of surprise, he realizes too late that he’s been caught red-handed. There was no going back this time, but he doesn’t necessarily see it as a bad thing.

There is a short moment where they are both just standing in front of each other a few feet apart, as their eyes bounce back in silent conversation, before y/n softly breaths out, "so it is you." The weight of her words has him swallow in nervousness, "of course it’s me," he replies in a gentle tone. A smile pulls at his lips when he realizes she’s not running for the hills or bursting out in a furious rant. 

"I just…how? why? I mean, you gotta help me understand Harry, cause I’m pretty fucking lost over here," she blurts out with wide doe-eyes begging him for answers. Her obvious jitters earn her a soft chuckle., and for a hot minute all he can bring himself to do is study her snuggled figure and the way she keeps fiddling with her keys. It’s so endearing to him, if they were at his place, he would have offered to make some tea. The thought has him hesitantly looking at the door across from them, "can we maybe talk inside?" he inquires, beckoning his head towards her place. "I know I haven’t given you much reasons to let me in, but I promise I’ll explain everythin’," he feels the need to convince her, " after that, you can kick me out if you still want."

The last bit has her smile timidly, "yeah, let’s go inside. I wanna hear what you have to say," y/n admits as she steps to the door and unlocks it. She’s intrigued by how gentle and well-mannered the man following her to the living room seems to be, light years away from the rowdy lad she’s come to know. 

For a second, y/n is worries about the state she’s left the apartment before she rushed to classes this morning, but her apprehensions quickly go away once she takes in the sight of her rather tidied living space. A velvety throw blanket is covering the couch in a makeshift comforter from the way she spent the night on the couch, and apart from a few class notes scattered across the coffee table, everything seems to be where it’s supposed to be. 

They both discard their top layers on the armchair adjacent to the couch, Harry slipping his hoodie off above his head in one swift gesture, while y/n simply lets the sleeves of her coat slide down her arms. He brushes his hair back into submission with one swoop of his hand, before sitting down on the couch and directing his attention back at her. She decides to leave some distance between them, taking the other end of the sofa and the move desperately makes him wonder what thoughts are running through her head. The only way to uncover them  however, is if he starts talking first; and so he does.

"So uhm," he starts clumsily, clearing his throat, "remember the first day we met, you walked in on me telling some stoner guy off," he watches closely as y/n nods. "It was our first ever conversation and we fought through the whole thing. I was pretty pissed when it happened, not gonna lie, but once I got home and slept it off, I thought it was really cool how you’d stand up for that random guy." The admission has her eyebrows raising but he keeps going, "and okay maybe, just maybe, I found it a lil hot, the way you tried to put me back in my place." 

He stops to make sure he hasn’t offended her, "tried to?" she challenges instead, Harry laughing at her objection. 

"Right, maybe you did. My poin’ is, no-one really calls me out on my bullshit, so it was kinda refreshing that you did. But then the next day, you were still mad at me, an’ we bickered that time too. It felt like you’d already made up your mind about me. So in a way, all I had left was doin’ this thing where I push your buttons and rile you up. Know it doesn’t make sense, but it was the only way you’d interact with me so I kept doin’ it, because being jerk-Harry was better than having nothin’." 

He pauses for a minute and waits as y/n swallows all the information. All this time he’s been teasing her just to have some sort of connection, no matter how perverse, while she thought he just hated her guts. When she shares this thought with him, he shakes his head with a smile, "never hated you. If I ‘ad, I wouldn’t have bothered talking t’you."

Suddenly, her chest feels lighter, as though all this months of anguish had evaporated from her mind, now that she knew their rocky relationship was the result of miscommunication, "sound logic, Styles," she replies in good humor. Then she remembers the El Patrón’s fiasco so she urges him to go on.

"My final. Right. Well as you know, we were given the assignment at the beginning of the semester, and I came up with the idea of creating this alter ego that would plant his work around campus. I thought by taking people’s by surprise I was guaranteed strong genuine reactions. People are always more opened when they don’t expect it. Like if I had just brought my paintings on the night of the exhibition, the same people wouldn’t have reacted that way, probably because they’d know they’d be observed so they would have adjusted their behavior accordingly." They both know he’s getting slightly off trail, but watching y/n so enthralled with his words makes it hard for him to stop. Fact is, for month she’s dreamed of meeting and picking at the brain of this mysterious painter, and now that he’s sitting on her couch, walking her through his thought process, she finally feels like she is. 

"Anyway," he resumes the storytelling, "I started with that painting in the library and it worked so perfectly, I knew if I followed the plan I would have somethin’ really good. But then you just had to go on an’ rave about the paintings without knowing they were mine, and it was killin’ me inside. Because I knew if there was a real chance I could change your mind about me, I’d do anythin’. But no matter how much I wanted to, I couldn’t tell you. Couldn’t jeopardize my final… so I tried to tell you through the art. I started painting stuff that made me think of you and placed the pieces in locations I knew you’d pass through. It was the only way I could tell you."

Harry’s confession had Y/n’s heart beating so hard in her chest, she can almost feel it thumping through her ears. Her next question is on the edge of her lips, but she takes her time tracing each of Harry’s graceful features until his eyes catch hers, "tell me what, Harry?" she asks barely above a whisper. 

His response comes in three bashful steps: first his lips curve into a shy grin that has him look down with rosy cheeks; then his hand inches its way along the soft fabric of the couch to gently hold her fingers, thumb grazing over her knuckles; and as he looks up from their joined hands to connect their gaze once more, he finally spells it, loud and clear, "tell you that I like you, y/n." 

The sentiment sends her own emotions reeling in a tornado of passion. This is it, this is what she’s been half-knowingly wishing for, and now that she knows the truth in full, she’s ready to embrace it. Her eyes twinkle in bliss, a growing smile illuminating her face as she squeezes his hand in a silent invitation to slide closer to her. Harry is much happy to oblige, and once he’s sitting directly next to her, knees grazing her own, he cups her face with one of his bear-paw hands. A few strands of hair are caught in the cuddling gesture, but none of them care. Harry just keeps smiling at her, waiting for her next move, and his beam grows two sizes wide when she mirrors his affection. "I like this side of you," she whispers fondly, as her thumb draws slow circles across the skin of his cheeks.

Harry closes his eyes at her words, "this is the real me, I promise," he reassures in an almost pleading tone, vulnerability seeping through. And y/n feels like she’s lying down on cloud nine really, because dropping his fortress of pretentiousness is all she’s ever want from him. With a hushed ‘okay’, she finally brings her mouth to taste the rose-tinted flesh of his. It starts off chaste and slow, lips dovetailed in perfect symbioses like they are made to cohabit, but quickly the kiss heats up to a full on make out session. "Show me, then", y/n mutters out when they part for a breather.

Harry slowly nods his head, before helping her straddle his lap and y/n immediately brings both her hands to his neck once she settles her hips against his. The friction already had them deeply inhale, trying not to work themselves up too fast, but Harry doesn’t think he’ll have much self-control when it comes to y/n. Already he can feel his cock fattening up inside his brief, the tingling sensation making him roll his hips up into hers. Their lips are back in a sensual duel, tongues tentatively taking their turn to lick their way inside the other’s mouth. Every now and then, he teases her bottom lip with a graze of his teeth, and the move as her tugging the root of his hair at the back of his head every single time without a fail.

He loves discovering all the quirks and tells of her body, thinks he could spend hours on hand learning every single one of her curves and memorizing each of her special spots. The smell of her fragrance infiltrates his nostrils as he dips his head to her neck to plant open-month kisses along her skin. Head angled towards the ceiling to make room for his ministrations, y/n can’t do much but let her hands scout any expanse of skin accessible to her. She starts at his shoulder, squeezing the flesh to feel out the strong muscle laying underneath, before making her way down his tone arms, then to his hands currently holding onto to her waist. She gives them an affectionate pinch at the same time she presses down onto him with a deep moan, and Harry retaliates with a buck of his own. 

As he starts kissing down the exposed skin of her cleavage, y/n finally drops her head to place a tender kiss to his hairline. One of her hand is back at his neck, holding him firmly to her chest as he licks at the valley of her breasts down her sternum. The other worms its way underneath his shirt from the neckline, nails grazing down his back in soft enough pressure not to leave any marks.

Harry’s descent is obstructed by the soft material of her blouse, so he takes the garment off of her in one swoop, and places his hands back on her newly exposed body, rubbing up and own the skin. As his mouth goes back to the supple flesh of her breasts, y/n increases the pace of her hips grinding on his cock. The sensations seem to be not enough and too much at the same time for her; the heavy material still covering their most sensitive parts in the way of her pleasure, while Harry’s work has her going into overdrive under his velveteen mouth and calloused fingers. She starts kissing her way up from his shoulder to the edge of his jaw, and Harry revels in the sound of her moans tickling his ear. 

Done with the excess of fabric between them two, y/n grips at the top of his shirt and pulls it upwards, leaving him shirtless. "Fuck, I didn’t know you have so many tattoos," she babbles against his lips, while her hands smooth over the ink. 

"Plenty you don’t know about me, love," Harry chirps as he bask in the praise and the feeling of her skin of his. 

He then circles one arm around her waist to bring them chest to chest, and the contact has y/n once again intensify the friction between their crotches. "Wanna find out," she murmurs against his neck while she grinds on his clothed member, "Harry, please take me to bed."

He jolts at the quick bite she delivers to his neck, the impish gesture her way of saying ‘now’ but before she can make her way out of his lap to bring him to her room, he presses her back down with both hands on her waist. "Nuh uh, y’not goin’ anywhere. Want you to come once, b’fore I take you to bed, pet," he says, smoothing his hands over her ass to guide her rocking motions. The term of endearment sounds so innocent yet dirty all at once, it sends a chill down her spine. Nobody had called her that before.

"Can’t," she shakes her head, "can’t feel you through the jeans."  

"Alright then, stand up," he calmly asserts and she doesn’t hesitate to comply, standing in between his spread legs, in her flimsy bra and jeans. "Take ‘em off then, ’s what you want no?" he sends her a tantalizing look and bites at his lips as he watches her peel the pants off her legs. He can’t help the light squeeze he gives himself through his own jeans, as y/n stands in front of him awaiting his next instructions. "Come sit on my thigh now, think should be enough to make this pretty pussy tingle in all the right places, no?" 

Y/n’s insides are already twisting in a knot as she settles back on his lap and lets the rough material of his jeans against the softness of her cotton panties spread a prickling sensation through her pelvis area. Quickly, she resumes undulating her hips, gripping back at Harry’s neck to pull him in a languid kiss, pleasure vibrating against their lips. It is not long before her pace picks up, and her eyes shut at the intensity of her bliss. "That’s it, pet. Already makin’ a mess of me. You’re doin’ so well," he coaxes her with his words. 

As promised, y/n feels the lips of her sensitivity start to throb at her impending release, the sensation making her clamp her thighs tighter around his meaty limb. As her knee now presses against his bulge, Harry cries his sudden pleasure out in her mouth, and that’s all it takes for her to let her orgasm consume her. She unravels on top of him, one of her hands shooting to cup at her pussy in an attempt to quell the overwhelming throb. Harry draws soothing caresses down her back as he look at the sticky mess she’s left in her panties, damp patch matching the one tainting the material of his jeans. "All ruined, just as they should be," he smirks at the sight before giving her a sweet kiss. 

Flushed skin and blown pupils, she slowly regains her breath, "take off your pants and take me to bed now?" she requests.

"You’re quite demanding for someone who’s just gotten off," he keeps taunting her. After all, winding her up has always been one of his favorite thing to do, and dare he say in the past two years, he’s gotten quite good at pushing her buttons. Now he’s got new ones to figure out and play with, the thoughts has him pulsing in his jeans. 

Y/n doesn’t relent in her advances, she’s never been one to bow at his mockery, "thought you like how bossy I could be. Something about the way I put you in your place, if my memory serves right." 

"Anytime, anywhere, you’re the boss of me, love. But this," he cups at her cunt, adding pressure on her clit, "this is mine to have. Understood?" 

Y/n’s about to combust from all the desire firing up every one of her nerve-endings. His words might be the strongest aphrodisiac she’s ever experienced, she can’t wait to see what more tricks in has up his sleeves. "Now get up and show me the way to your room, pet," he softly commands before leaving a peck on her cheek. 

They both get up from the couch, and y/n guides them both down the hallway to her room, her hand wrapped in his tightly. Once they’re standing by the bed, Harry is surprised to face a patient y/n, biting her lips and awaiting his next directive. He doesn’t think he’s ever been more turned on in his life, "undress me, love" he murmurs against her skin after kissing her forehead. 

His jeans are quickly discarded but before his boxer briefs follow suit, y/n can’t help but tease him in reprisal, "looks like I’m not the only one who made a mess in their panties." 

He lets out a boisterous laugh while she smears open mouth kisses along his stretching jaw, "mmm, I’d rather make a mess somewhere else," his innuendo causing her to gasp while he works the strap of her bra.  Once she’s gotten rid of his last piece of clothing, his cock springs up, free of it’s confines, dollop of pre-come already pearling at his tip, and sticking to the skin of his stomach. 

With a gentle grip at her hair, he has y/n’s head tilted backward, to let his mouth make its way towards her already pebbled nipples. Since she can’t look down, y/n blindly reaches out to wrap her hand around Harry’s thick shaft and starts massaging him in languid strokes. "Your hand feels so fuckin’ good around me, pet, I wanna fuck you so badly," he hisses around her nipple, before kissing his way back up to her lips. 

He starts backing her towards the bed in small steps, but she brings a hand to his chest at the feeling of the edge of the mattress brushing against the back of her knee, "wait, wait, wanna taste you first," she insists and Harry doesn’t think he could ever say no to that face, no matter how much he wants to just sink home inside of her in this moment. 

"Fuck, you’re killin’ me, love," he pinches at her waist and lays his forehead against hers, "you want my cock in your pretty mouth, before I drive it home in your cunt, is that it?" She nods, eyes turning into two lustful fireballs. "Okay, love, but y’ can’t keep it on your tongue fo’ too long, cause I really need to fuck you, alright?"

Y/n hastens to lower herself when he bids her "right then, on your knees and open wide fo’ me," and her brows furrow in confusion as she watches him stray from her spot. Picking up a plush cushion from her bed, he places it on the ground for her to knee upon, "there love, want you to be comfortable," he runs his fingers through her hair, and her heart grows three sizes bigger at how tender he can be in amidst his filthy ways. 

Sensually, y/n brings her lips around the crown of his cock, her tongue teasing its way across the salty skin. Once she’s licked up all the previous mess, she starts working her way down his cock, hand stroking at the base. After bopping up and down a few time, she removes her month from his swelling cock, and lets a string of spit fall down onto its head and make its way to his balls. "S’right, pet. Get me wet," Harry rasps in appreciation. Now that she’s got him properly slicked, she goes back to pumping his hardening cock and takes him into her warm inviting mouth, determined to have him all the way inside. She feels her throat expands to accommodate his thickness, and the pressure makes Harry tighten his hold in her hair, "fuck, that’s it, love. Take me good." 

Muscles already tensing up in preparation for his climax, when y/n’s hand finds his full and swollen balls to roll them together like dice, he is quick to calm her zeal, "Christ pet, you gotta stop before I can’t help myself," but his tone hardens when she defies his demand, "come on now, s’enough." 

Once she pulls off, the sight of her flushed face and puffy lips induces an animalistic groan to come out from his chest, as he thumbs through the wetness coating her chin. Taking the hand resting on his hip to guide her up, he captures her lips in a searing kiss, the taste of his arousal blending in their mouths. 

His hands come down to knead at the flash of her ass, before he scoops her up and on the bed with a quick flex of his biceps. "Harry, please," she whines in impatience, hands gripping at his sides to pull him down against her. His rock hard cock slides against her clothed pussy, pins and needles cruising along their skin and only fueling their eagerness. 

"Need me in your belly, pet?" Harry keeps working her up, as he slides her soiled panties down her legs, "need me to fuck you so good, you forget I was ever a jerk?" 

She’s putty in his hold, legs wrapping around his waist to feel the pressure of his member on her bare lips , "yes, yes, I wan’ it," she pleads.

Harry would love to tease her further, have her writhing and proper begging underneath him, but at this point it would be self-torture to even consider. Instead he pumps at his shaft to give himself some relief, their sex so close his knuckles graze at her clit every time his fist comes at the top. "You ready?" Harry utters softly while spreading and skimming her cleft with the head of his cock. It has y/n gripping at his hair, a series of delirious ‘yes’ tumbling form her mouth, so he doesn’t wait a second more to push his tip past her threshold and begins his descent in her warmth. "Fuck, t’feels so good. So wet, and tight, and warm," he thinks out loud once he’s stuffer her full, balls pressing against her ass.

Y/n whimpers against his lips, urging him to start moving to quell the building pressure coiling in her belly. A slow roll of his hips finally gives her reprieve causing her to moan in gratitude. She’s already so close, it baffles her how this man could have her coming apart at the seams without doing much. His thrusts starts gaining zeal then, betraying his own yearning to take the final leap. "So tight, love. Can feel you squeezin’ me, are you close already? Is my girl gonna cum fo’ me again?" he grunts in her ear while he pounds into her dripping cunt. Y/n doesn’t offer a response, too caught up in a daze of bliss, but her clenching muscles is all the answer he needs to start nudging his thumb at her clit. A several flicks across the sensitive bud later, her orgasm is pulsing through every bone and fiber of her body, walls hugging Harry’s cock so tight, it has to pause his hammering. 

Waiting for her to catch her breath, he peppers delicate kisses along her cheek, "was that good, love? Think you can give me another, uhm?" he asks when she’s regained some of her senses. The pressure at his groin is growing more and more the longer his cock remains unmoving entombed within her vice, and the luscious agony must be written all over his face, "yes, Harry, wanna be good for you" y/n cups his jaw tenderly. 

He nods at her approval, "good girl," delivers a sweet earnest kiss to her pouty lips as he pulls out and spins her around to lay on her stomach. His hand brushes the hair off her skin so he can sew a string of kisses at her shoulder blades and neck. Painfully red, his cock is propped between her buttcheeks, "can I take you like that?" he punctuates his inquiry by rolling his hips backward, tip lingering at her soaked entrance. Y/n clutches the sheets firmly, as she murmurs a faint ‘please’, back arching at the thrills consuming her mind. 

Harry plunges in her wet core in one smooth swing, hand digging at her hip to keep her steady as the other one interlaces with hers to lay on the mattress above her head. Unforgiving lunges have y/n cinch around him, face buried in the sheets and muffling salacious wails of pleasure, and he doesn’t think he’ll be able to steer from his end for much longer. He slows his cadence to steady and firm strokes, slipping a hand around her waist to polish her swell. 

A million tremors spark off the onset of Y/n’s climax as she shudders in a firework of ecstasy. Harry  doesn’t relent until he’s worked her through completion and can no longer stop the coil in his loins from snapping. His release fills her in several spurts of wet warmth before he flops down next to her, positively fucked out.

They both lay unmoving in comfortable bliss for a few minutes, before y/n plops her head on his chest and an arm around his torso, her leg sneaking in between his. "Well, here goes two years of sexual tension," Harry says jokingly, fingers drawing abstracts design on the skin of her back. It might just be his favorite canvas to paint on from now, he muses before chastising himself at the onslaught of filthy thoughts tagging along. A playful slap on his abdomen takes his mind out of the gutter, "don’t ruin the moment," y/n says in fake admonition before placing a tender kiss on the spot she just abused. 

"M’sorry, love. M’just really chuffed to be in your bed finally," the last word reminding her that while she’s struggled to come to term with her feelings for him, ransacking her mind for a possible change of heart, he’d only seen her in but one light. The revelation still has her floored and giddy, "can I ask you something?" she asks as there was still one question pacing back and forth the pathways of her mind. Harry hums in acquiescence, "anythin’ love, by brain is yours."  

She feels his hand cradling her skull followed by a small peck to her forehead, and she smiles at the gesture, "why did you stay away that night at the exhibition when you got the prize? Why not coming forward?" It’s been bugging her brain since it happened. Although she didn’t have much insight on anything at the time, most of the pieces of the puzzle fell in place after the big reveal; but this, she still can’t make sense of.

Harry lets out a long breath, organizing his thoughts, "two reasons," he starts off tiredly. "One, I kinda like having this secret business going on, and like, as long as nobody knows, I am in control of how and when it happens, you know? And the moment I let go of that, I can’t go back." He searches her face for any hint of confusion but she’s just patiently listening. "Two, when we bumped into each other at the gala, I got convinced you’d never see me differently regardless of how good a painter I was; and that had become a big part of who El Patrón was." 

It’s the first time she hears his alter ego’s name from his mouth and with how flowingly natural it sounded coming out of his lips, y/n suspects that it’d been a conscious decision on his part. She recalls their interaction that night, the way they fell in their usual ways of ping-ponging vindictive words until one of them has enough and leaves the premises (usually y/n). A lump starts forming in her throat at the recollection of all the other fights they’ve had and how they’d all been pointless wastes of time and energy, now that she knows she is meant to be in his arms. She wishes things could have been different but the warmth of his body around her overweighs her regrets. They’re here now, looking bright toward the future, and it’s all that matters.

"I’ll keep your secret if you want, be the Lilly to your Hannah Montana," she tells him lightly before they both laugh at the silly reference. 

Happiness and glee has Harry tightening his hold around her shoulder, "nah, I don’t wanna play double-agents anymore. I wanna be the guy who gets the girl." He dips his head to catch her lips between his own, reveling in their newfound intimacy. Turning her face against his chest, Y/n impresses her bashful smile on his swallow-tattooed skin, before she lays a trail of pecks tickling the area underneath his armpits, "well, you got me now."

➪ Masterlist

[timextoxhajima]

Love Me A Little Less: Chapter 1 - Frankenstein

LOVE ME A LITTLE LESS CHAPTER MASTERLIST

Member: (3rd person pov) arranged marriage au with Lee Juyeon

Genre: angsty wangsty

Taglist: @hyunvelies​

“We buried you.”

The feast before Kim Jang Won is absolutely stunning. Lemon meringue tarts, strawberry smoothies (with actual strawberry bits in them), pancakes and freshly buttered croissants, a gorgeous transparent glass pot with the golden shade of chamomile tea and a beautiful tray of puffs and eclairs.

It would be even more stunning if it wasn’t her view every morning though.

“Hey, um, don’t we have like alternating menus or something for breakfast? I feel like I’m eating the same thing every morning now, it’s kinda getting tacky.”

“Miss Kim, I hope you know you’re the one who decides what the menu is. You chose this set like a week ago and you told us not to change it for the next two weeks.”

Jang Won sneers at her butler, arguably the only person on the property to has the guts to talk to her in a way that could get her fired.

“You’re lucky I can trust you.”

Ro Il Jung purses his lips into a thin white line, scratching his cheek with one of those knuckly, wrinkly-skin-covered fingers of his. “You seem to forget that I wanted to retire last year, Miss Kim.”

Jang Won huffs childishly, sticking her tongue out, now a gentle, thick shade of smoothie on her tongue. “I’ll let you retire when I find someone else I can trust, Mr Ro. It’s just too bad I don’t have anybody in mind right now.”

Mr Ro shakes his head like a parent disapproving of his child, but a house guard pulling the heavy doors of the entrance over accompanied by some urgent yelling tears his attention away from the owner of the mansion. 

Jang Won looks up from her butter and croissant, at Mr Ro, who excuses himself before heading for the entrance hall. 

“Sir,” He begins before he can even note the visitor. “If you could--”

“Mr Ro!”

Jang Won hears her butler’s words fade to a complete silent, only listening to their visitor talk. But it’s strange, because it’s a familiar voice...

Mr Ro cannot believe the sight before his eyes.

“I can’t believe you’re still working here. It’s so great to see you again!” Then the visitor pulls Mr Ro into a hug, harshly patting the space between his shoulder blades. 

The lady of the house cannot take it anymore, not when she can’t eavesdrop on the conversation occurring in her own halls. So she gets up from the table, heels clacking against the marble floor as she heads into the entrance hall.

“Alright now, who’s got the guts to stop me in the middle of my French breakfast this morning?”

Mr Ro turns in silent shock, eyes wide and glaring while Jang Won processes the face of the visitor. 

The man hadn’t looked like he aged a day since he was--

“I’m sorry,” Jang Won scoffs, waving her beautifully done manicured fingernails in the air. “If this is some impractical joke, please do tell because my brain is just about to explode from the sight right now. Y’know,” She gestures to her head and mimics the sound of a bomb. 

“Jang Won...” The visitor strides towards her, arms wide. But she raises a palm and shifts backwards, a cautious half-smile mixed with a frown plastered to her flawless skin. 

“Not another step, nuh-uh,” Waving a finger before his nose, she shakes her head. “There is no way in Hell you can be standing here.”

“Oh, but I am, love,” Once a warm voice that sang her to sleep, Jang Won cannot decide if the tears in her eyes are welling from relief or fear. “I’m home.”

“No... no!” She slaps away his outstretched hands. “We... we buried you...”

“And I can only imagine what you’re feeling right now, my child, but... we have more important things to worry about.”

Mr Ro’s face is contorted with a mess of confusion and anxiety and he watches the first tears fall down Jang Won’s cheeks. 

“What...? ‘More important’-- No, how is anything more important than you... standing here?” The last word comes out like a final breath, at a volume just enough for him to hear. 

“I came bearing news, Jang Won. I-- Well...” He rubs the back of his head, eyes tilted down to his feet. “Because I’ve return to the board of administration now... part of the company now comes back to... me--”

What?

“And... you cannot inherit any part of the company unless you are married to someone from a family from the same administration board.”

Jang Won’s tears solidify into fumes of anger as the thought runs through her neurons. The middle aged man begins to panic when he can read the rage in her eyes, her fists now clenched and the markings of her rings probably embedded into the flesh of her palm. Her knuckles begin to turn white as does his face, ever so slightly.

“Now, now, love. I know what you’re thinking and we can sit down and have a chat about this--”

“‘Sit down and have a chat’?” Jang Won scoffs miserably, lower jaw hanging agape. “Why don’t we sit down and let me ask you whiCH SCIENTIST MADE YOU FRANKENSTEIN?!”

The hallways of the mansion echo the shouts, the sound waves bouncing back and forth between the marble walls mostly adorn with gorgeous, one-in-a-million paintings. 

“That’s not important now, hun. I just need you to understand that without this marriage, you will lose the house and everything you own from HERA & ARTEMIS.”

“I built HERA & ARTEMIS after you were fucking bURIED! Who are you to tell me that you will inherit it ownership and I can’t just because I’m not married?!”

“These were instructions from The Board, Jang Won. I had absolutely no say over this--”

“BULLSHIT! If you have the power to take ownership of HERA & ARTEMIS just because you climbed out of your own grave, why don’t you have the power to help m-- Oh, oh...” Jang Won frowns in disdain, disgust welling her lungs and her gut. 

“What?” His eyes widen and shoulders shrug.

“You came back just to tell me this... because you want HERA & ARTEMIS for yourself.”

“What-- No--”

"You... low-life... scumbag!" The sharp shatter of the glass cabinet behind him echoes through the entrance hall of the mansion. One of the palm-sized statues sitting on the table in the middle of the circular hall lands amongst the billion pieces of glass on the marble floor.

"You give me my freedom and now you tell me I have to get married?!" The final word is literally pushed through her teeth when she cannot clench her jaws even harder. The tremors vibrating up her fist and into her arm and then her entire body makes her look like a volcano ready to erupt, so if these people haven't gotten enough, they have yet to see what's in store.

"Just who the HELL do you think you are?!" Grabbing another one of those tiny statues, Jang Won throws it into the other glass door of the cabinet.

"Jang Won, will you calm down?!"

"Don't you DARE tell me to calm down! You waltz back into this house after GOD knows how long- Hell, we BURIED you!"

"There was a mistake of the body identification and frankly, I expected a warmer welcome from you!"

"HA! A ‘warmer welcome’?! What do you want me to do? Set the entire house on fire? Do you want me to? Because I will!" The man has his brows furrowed back, palms out stretched to her. The mansion staff have all gathered a safe distance around the two of them, Mr Ro and some of those closer to Jang Won trying their best to get to her and calm her nerves but there is just absolutely no way she isn’t going to hurl a brick at her father.

"I can't BELIEVE you're standing there as if you own this place," The muscles around Jang Won’s nose twitches as the frown sinks deeper into her forehead. "I want you to hear this mighty well and crystal clear. You may have been the one who gave me life, but you will never EVER be my dad.”

The huffs that are billowing out Jang Won’s nostrils are starting to hurt.

"There is not a single cent you're stepping on - or touching, for that matter - that belongs to you. The only reason why I haven't fucking put a bullet through your right eye is because I'd go to jail and every thing I've worked for would be thrown out the window.”

“Now, now, love, we can sit down and be civilized about this—”

“Fuck you,” The anger surges through her, and she picks up one more palm-sized statue from the blue resin table. The heavy bronze weight leaves her fingers, and before it can hit the slightly aged man, someone reaches out and catches it instead.

“What the HELL are you doing?!” The scream echoes through the hall of the mansion. Younghoon sighs heavily, hand retreating back to his side as he hands the statue to one of the house staff.

“You have no right to get involved in this—”

“Jang Won, let’s go,” Younghoon strides across the space and grabs her arm, back-facing his father and trying to pull her in the opposite direction. “We can talk about this in your office.”

“How are you thinking straight?! We BURIED him! We watched his coffin get lowered into—”

“I know! I was there!” His eyes flutter shut in frustration, shoulders raising as he sucks in a deep breath, flaring his nostrils. “There’s no point destroying your own property over this. We can carry out some investigations, figure out what really happened, then we’ll work from there.”

The grip on her arm tightens when her instincts try to writhe away from him, but obviously, he doesn’t relent.

“Don’t do it. It’s not worth your time, or mine.”

He stares down at Jang Won, but it doesn’t scare her, not when she has a ghost standing right in the middle of some shattered mess. Not one cut on him.

Younghoon grimly shuts the door as Jang Won stomps over to her office desk and rests her palms flat against the Agar Wood surface. With a sharp, swift feat, she swipes nearly all the documents off the furniture. But when she misses the empty glass (that would usually be filled with some kind of alcohol or soda), she doesn't hesitate to pick it off the desk and propel it into the marble by the television mounted to the wall.

The shatter startles Younghoon as he whips around, eyes darting frantically between her and the mess she’s made.

"Jang Won!"

"Should I be concerned you don't seem one bit bothered that a dead man is standing in our living room - MY living room?"

"That dead man is our father."

"No, that dead man WAS our father before he ditched us! How are you not- UGH!"

Frustrated, furious and absolutely exasperate, she plops down into one of the two sofas sitting in the middle of the office, feet almost tempted to kick the frosted glass table in the middle but she holds herself back. Younghoon manages to get a few house staff into the room, who hurriedly help clear the glass and return the documents to the table. Fingers pressed into her temples, Jang Won could only imagine the gratification she could receive have if she had the chance to ram her first into someone's face.

Younghoon waits for the staff to leave, then stands by the sofa opposite her, one hand on his hip and the other running through his hair. The late morning sun reflects off his soft, dark brown locks when he absent-mindedly rubs the back of his head and he proceeds to unbutton his blazer to allow him a seat. The leather squeaks under his weight before he leans his elbows on his knees, knuckles resting under his lips and chin.

"Please tell me you're actually thinking and not just trying to look pretty. You're in my house now, not some studio photoshoot."

"I'm thinking about where to put a whole person for you."

"Don't bother, he's moved half his things into the first guestroom. He's probably holding a conductor's wand right now and asking the staff to help him with the second half."

"Have you called the funeral services?"

"And say what? 'Hey sir, have you... perhaps mis-screwed a coffin about 2 years back and now we might have a problem of a zombie'?"

"I'm just saying someone might've paid someone to replace the bodies!" Younghoon frowns, eyes stuck to the rug under his feet. "We don't know how it happened but someone MUST know, right?"

"I think your best bet is the asshole living down the hall now."

"He's not gonna budge, we both know that."

"Well, Sherlock Holmes, thanks for pointing out the obvious."

"I'm just trying to help. You need to stop your nonsensical whining and use your brain like how you used it to get all this money."

Jang Won picks up a pillow and hurls it into Younghoon. “You’re lucky you still stick around, else I’d have the both of you screwed over.”

Younghoon catches the pillow, holding it to his side. “The day I stop looking out for you is the day I die, alright? So you can be rest assured I’ll--”

“Miss Kim!” Mr Ro’s voice calls out from outside the office. 

“What is it, Mr Ro?” Younghoon turns and returns the call, head tilted towards the door. It croaks open, and Mr Ro’s eyes are tired, wary as he sticks his head in.

“Your father just left and... and I think you should see the news.” Mr Ro pushes past the heavy door and reaches for the remote sitting on the frosted glass. The television screen mounted above the fire place flickers on, and there it was, her father’s face.

“The Board has just confirmed the ownership of HERA & ARTEMIS will thus forth be returned to Kim Jo-Pil, father of Kim Jang Won, the current owner. Investigations as to Kim Jo-Pil’s supposed death two years ago are still ongoing.”

“I’m gonna kill him.”

“You can’t.”

“Watch me.”

“We’ll be-- Wha-- The Board’s just come in with some new information! Kim JO-Pil has announced a marriage between Kim Jang Won, current owner of HERA & ARTEMIS and Lee Juyeon, the next-in-line to becoming the next Director of Apple, South Korea.”

Younghoon’s eyeballs are about to bludgeon out of his eye sockets. “Jang Won... I know what you’re thinking... But don’t--”

“I’M GONNA FUCKING KILL HIM!”

[todisturbtheuniverse]

FIC: Adjacent Truths

Rating: M Fandom: Stardew Valley Pairing: Shane/Female Farmer, Shane & Jas Tags: Depression, Suicidal Thoughts, Friendship, Pre-Relationship Word Count: 1900 Summary: Jas overheard something Shane can't take back, and it's eating him alive. The farmer notices. Also on AO3. Notes: Post-4 Heart Event—a direct sequel of it, if you will. Content warning for suicidal ideation.

When Jas had still been just a baby, Charlotte had told Shane that something changes in your brain after you have a kid. Hormones, chemicals, neurons firing, all fine-tuning, honing in on the sound of the baby's cry, making interpretations on an instinctual level. He'd panicked when Jas had started crying apparently unprovoked in his arms, but Charlotte hadn't even twitched. "She's just hungry," she'd said, with her tired-happy smile.

"She seems mad about it," Shane had said, looking down into the scrunched-up, red face, the tiny mouth open in a hiccuping wail.

"She gets that from Patrick."

But Shane wasn't, had never been, Jas's parent. By the time he'd learned to sort her hungry-crying from her tired-crying and everything else, she'd been nearly out of babyhood.

And there was no easy fix, anyway, for the way he'd made her cry this time.

She avoided him after what she'd overheard. He didn't blame her. She was a smart kid; it was a good time to cut her losses, free herself of any emotional attachment she had to him. Marnie would be a better guardian than he was, anyway. Maybe the ranch wasn’t doing all that great, but no one in the valley was, and they all managed to keep limping along somehow. Once he was gone, they'd probably be just fine, lightened by the absence of his dead weight.

But he kept hearing her. That was his brain's special talent: replaying, over and over again, the bad moments, so that he wouldn't forget how terrible he was. The sound of her sobbing echoed around in his head with the hundreds of other unpleasant things that repeated themselves there: the song he’d been using as a ringtone when he got the call about Patrick and Charlotte; the stuffed pig that Jas wouldn’t let go of that first week, the one that made the most obnoxious oinking sound; the disinterested scratch of the social worker’s pen on paper, changing the course of their lives forever.

“You want to talk about it?” Lydia asked.

Jas still went to the farm with him on Saturdays. She just didn't make conversation during the walk. The first words she spoke were to Archimedes, and then she waded into the woods, heading for the treehouse, silent.

He didn’t talk much, either, but that was how it had always been. Lydia would tell him about whatever project she was working on; she would remind him again that he could come back later for Jas instead of helping; and then, inevitably, they would get to work. Because he still wasn't enough of an ass to pawn his goddaughter off entirely on someone who hardly knew her.

It was a low bar, but it was what he could clear.

“Talk about what,” he said, and swung for the tree again. He was glad that the damn sprinkler system hadn’t had another crisis since last weekend. If Lydia had put him to that kind of fiddly work today, maybe he wouldn't have cleared that bar.

“Whatever it is,” Lydia said. She watched the tree, eyes darting between trunk and canopy, waiting for the moment it began to tip so that she could warn him out of the way. “I can’t read your mind, but obviously something’s been eating you the last few days.”

He swung the axe again. She hadn't traced his mood back to The Incident. Maybe she didn't want to bring it up if she didn't have to, or maybe other people just didn't spend as much time thinking about how much of a loser he was as he thought they did.

Sounded fake.

“I don’t know,” he said. Thud. “Maybe you’re imagining things.”

Lydia was no saint. Sometimes, just like everybody else, she got impatient. Usually it was because of the sprinklers. But those sometimes were rare, and she wasn't taking the bait today, as usual.

“Maybe,” she said amenably, and lapsed into silence again.

After a few more strikes, the tree creaked warningly. “Now,” she said, and they both hustled out of the way of the trunk. It fell slowly at first, then faster, faster, until it hit the ground thunderously right in the space they’d cleared for it.

Lydia was the mastermind, but at least Shane wasn't terrible at brute force labor.

She picked up a second axe; they both positioned themselves along the fallen tree to start chopping. She needed a fair amount of lumber to get that barn built before winter hit. It was hard for him to imagine thinking so far ahead. The farm was just overgrown enough that she could probably collect all the lumber she needed right here, instead of having to buy it. He didn't need to ask if she'd be able to afford it, if it came to that.

“But maybe I’m not,” she said, picking up the conversation after five minutes, like it’d never been dropped. “I mean, you’re cutting up this tree like it’s personally offended you, so there’s a chance. Just saying. I know you think I talk too much, but I’m a good listener.”

Shane took a deep breath. He fully intended to let out a heavy, annoyed sigh, the kind that usually sent anyone who’d dared take an interest scuttling.

But, as happened too often with Lydia, a stream of words came out instead, like he was powerless to stop them. One more thing he couldn't control.

“Take your pick,” he said, and went on dicing up the tree like it deserved the cutting. “Morris is on my ass about saying the catchphrase whenever I spot a customer.” Thwack. “Gus is on my ass about my tab, which is nowhere near as bad as Pam’s, but apparently it’s a problem when you’re not best friends.” Thwack. “Marnie is on my ass about looking for a better job, like there’s a lot of options in Pelican Town.” Thwack. “Jas won’t even look at me, let alone talk to me.”

They'd established a pleasant kind of rhythm. Lydia’s axe fell not far behind his, creating a rhythmic one-two-beat, one-two-beat.

“Jas,” Lydia said after a moment.

His axe fell out of rhythm. “What?”

“You told me to take my pick. I say Jas is the item on that list that’s really bothering you. The other stuff happens all the time.”

It was no use telling her it was just a figure of speech. It was, but at the same time, she was right. All that other stuff was background noise, compared to Jas.

He hated when she was right. Except when he didn't mind. It was always hard to tell which it was until much later, which didn't help a lot with in-the-moment reactions.

He settled for hitting the tree again.

“Why do you think she’s not talking to you?” Lydia asked, taking up the rhythm again behind him.

“You know why.” He said it to warn her off, in case she’d forgotten—but he didn’t think she had. He wasn't that lucky.

“Maybe. But tell me again.”

Lydia didn't believe in hiding things, letting them fester. She was completely fine wearing most of her bruises out in the open, cheerfully admitting that something had gone wrong and she was working on it—again, most of the time. She had a couple secret bruises that he'd poked, accidentally or intentionally.

But he was all secret bruises, or at least, he'd have liked to be. As long as he kept hanging around her, though, she'd keep digging them up to air out. The obvious solution was to stop hanging around her. He wondered, again, why he hadn't done that yet.

“She overheard something she shouldn’t have,” he said, “because someone dumped a canteen of water on me and made a scene.”

Lydia actually laughed, a little breathless, in the middle of her swing. “Oh, I see. It’s my fault.”

She was kind of refreshing, was the thing. Everyone else at The Incident had taken it so damn seriously. Granted, that was exactly two other people—Marnie and Jas—and one of them was seven, so maybe that wasn't surprising. But still. It was nice that someone had heard the thing he said and wasn’t afraid to talk about it.

“Maybe,” he said.

“I panicked,” she admitted. “Not my finest moment. I’m sorry.”

He grunted in acknowledgment. They went back to the beat, one-two, one-two. In the distance, Archimedes barked.

“So she knows you meant it,” Lydia said, after a moment.

His axe hit a little crooked, and the rhythm stuttered again. He looked up at her. She realized he'd stopped, and she stopped, too, returning the look.

It wasn't that she didn't look sad, or worried. It was just that those things seemed secondary to a kind of openness, a thoughtfulness, like she was solving some kind of puzzle. He wasn't sure if that was a good or bad thing, or whether he liked it or not.

“Haven’t told her otherwise,” he said.

He expected a lecture. He gave one to himself more or less every hour. Put on a good face for Jas, or Just tell her you were having a bad day and didn’t mean it, or Tell her you’re going to be around for a good, long time, even though you don’t know, even though it might be a lie. The kid had already been through hell. He should've figured out some way, any way, to keep her from going through more by now.

He just couldn't. He didn't know why.

But she didn’t lecture. She said, “You don’t want to lie to her.” As if she understood.

He went back to his wood-chopping. “I don’t know how to lie to her.” He wished he did. That would have made this a lot easier.

But then, if he lied, she wouldn’t see the inevitable coming before it hit, which would make it all the harder for her.

Lydia went back to chopping, too. “I don’t think you need to, for what it’s worth.”

“Yeah? You got an age-appropriate way to explain wanting to die?”

Finally, she hesitated, but only for a one-two beat of the falling axes. “Not really,” she said. “But Jas has already been through a lot. She knows stuff that most kids don’t at her age. So you can tell her adjacent truths.”

“Lotta syllables.”

Finally, she gave an impatient little sigh. “I mean things like—you’re sorry that she had to hear that. That it has nothing to do with her, and doesn’t mean you don’t love her. That things are just hard for you right now.” She breathed heavily on the next swing, more exasperation than effort. “She gets that you’re grieving, too, Shane.”

Trust a person like Lydia to paint it in such nice strokes. Like his best effort, which fell far short of winning any prizes, would be sufficient to a needy little kid.

But maybe...well, saying something could always make things worse, but the idea hadn't come from him. It was a start.

“I’ll plagiarize,” he said. “Thanks.”

It seemed like she was going to let it lie there, but then she spoke up again. “Like I said, I’m a good listener, so. You need an ear, I’m here. Day or night. I mean it.”

She wasn't wrong. She was a good listener. But she had some kind of future ahead of her, still, and he'd poisoned enough people with his failures. It was out in the open now; it didn't need to be rehashed. Next time, he would keep his mouth shut.

[seasonsofeverlark]

Pumpkin Pie and Cheese Buns

Author: @evestedic​

Prompt: Hard working coming home for thanksgiving. Stops at the store on the way to pick up the dessert she didn’t bother to make no one will notice anyway and runs into their ex lover. Tries to leave fast but has to take the walk of shame back to grab the cranberries too. Arrives home not just with the cranberries and pie…  [submitted by anonymous]

Rating: T

____________

“God damn it!” Katniss was not happy. 

It was Thanksgiving, which meant she was being forced to spend time with people she didn’t even know.

Why?

Because they’re family, Katniss.

She could hear her Aunt Martha’s voice. 

Why should she care that her cousin was getting married?

Or that her nephew had gotten into college? 

Or that her godfather was slipping her a 20 buck bill while winking an eye at her? 

She wasn’t a total bitch, so she bore with it, but this was people she saw one fucking time per year! 

If it wasn’t for Thanksgiving, she was sure she wouldn’t see them again as they never even called. Nor did she.

But, be that as it may, Prim loved big gatherings and the attention; she was, after all, quite cheerful. Her father also bore with it, although better than her. 

However, who knew? This year her mother was coming with her new boyfriend. 

Ugh, puke… 

And that was why she was there, November the 26th, coming back from work and on her way to Aunt’s Martha’s house. 

Katniss was not happy. 

She had already left the store not five minutes ago, but something kept nagging at the back of her head while she accommodated the bags in the back of her car. 

Of course, being who she was, she had forgotten dessert. The pumpkin pie with maple whipped cream. Sighing and fuming, she went back to the absolute chaos of the aisles. If she arrived at her aunt’s without dessert…well, she would rather face a biblical plague. 

After perusing the dessert stand and seeing everything was completely wiped out‒not even crumbs were left‒she gave up and thought about getting some canned peaches and cherries.  That’s when she heard it…   

“Is that you, Katniss?” 

That voice. 

She had loved it at one point. Now, it was just nails on a chalkboard. 

Turning around, she set her eyes on a huge blonde guy; he had a perfect gym advertisement body, a smirk on his face, and his arm around a blonde girl with the same perfect gym advertisement body. 

“Cato.” 

“Buying for Thanksgiving?”

“No, just came because I was craving some peaches.” 

“Oh.”

Seriously? It was the most direct sarcastic answer ever, and he had actually believed her? 

Katniss rolled her eyes and was about to turn around when the Barbie clone spoke. 

“Is this the one, babe?”

“Yes, baby, that’s her.”

“Oh, I thought she’d be…I don’t know, prettier?”

“She never wanted to put in the effort, baby.”

“She is standing right here. And if working out turns you dumb, I’m glad I didn’t do it.” 

Katniss had gone out with Cato for two years when they were nineteen. Back then, he had been a kind guy, funny and perhaps a bit silly, but very nice, normal. He had asked her out after a college party, and she accepted; the rest was history. 

However, after one year of being together, he began frequenting the campus gym and suddenly started to change. All he could talk about were diets, exercise, and protein. Katniss was all in for a healthier life; hell, she knew if she kept on eating Greasy Sae’s food every other night, she was going to clog her arteries by the time she was 35, but Cato was relentless. He got rid of all of her comfort food and she had been forbidden to eat chicken and meat ever again. Only turkey and fish were allowed, vegetables, no dairy or eggs, no sugar! She was going crazy; Katniss had reached the obscene point of hiding in the bathroom to eat a Snickers bar, only to quickly brush her teeth and rinse with Listerine at least thrice so that her boyfriend wouldn’t taste any trace of chocolate when he kissed her. It was that night when she knew she couldn’t do it anymore. She no longer recognized the guy she had agreed to date or herself, for that matter. So, Katniss decided to end it right then and there. She skipped her next class and went to their dorm only to find him banging the very same Barbie girl who was in front of her in the canned aisle right now. 

Quickest breakup ever. 

He had said it was her fault for not ‘putting in the effort,’ and she hated him for it. 

“Jealousy doesn’t fit you, Katniss. Well,” Cato gave her a once-over, “I doubt anything does. Have you gained weight?” 

“If I have, that wouldn’t be any of your fucking business. What are you doing here? Came to buy something for dinner? I think there’s a celery and mineral water pack on sale.” 

“Still salty because I chose someone better?” Cato shamelessly licked the girl’s ear, making her giggle in an obnoxious way that made Katniss want to gag. 

She didn’t have to stand here and watch this; she-

Was that a hand on her waist?

“Hey, sorry I took so long. I literally had to wrestle this from an old lady.” 

That voice. 

Peeta Mellark was holding onto her waist and smiling that charming smile that could probably tame a wild animal, while proudly presenting a ham to her.

“Um…” Eloquent as always. 

“Oh, sorry. I didn’t know you were with friends.” 

“Yeah, no…Not my friends.” 

“Aren’t you the baker guy? You’re slumming it with the bakery employee?” Cato laughed while Barbie‒Katniss really couldn’t care less about her actual name‒looked at Peeta appreciatively. 

“I haven’t introduced myself,” Peeta said, extending his right hand but not letting Katniss’ waist go. Cato immediately took it, flexing his bicep as he did so, but his expression faltered when he shook Peeta’s hand. “Peeta Mellark, owner of ‘The Cake Lair’. Have you guys ever been?” 

Katniss was confused. 

It wasn’t as if she and Peeta were actually friends. They had talked, yes. She simply loved the pastries he sold, and because of how she had raved about his cheese buns, well…the double entendre put her in an uncomfortable position, but he had only laughed and thanked her for the compliment, as he had, in fact, baked those himself. 

Peeta always made sure to set aside at least two cheese buns for her prior to the end of the day. 

And okay, yeah, they had exchanged numbers and texted from time to time, but nothing deep. It was always things about the weather, the cheese buns, or how Prim was. Did that qualify as being friends? 

Katniss was awful at being a good friend, hence why she only had two: Gale and Madge. Her sister and father didn’t count; they were family. 

Shaking her head, she returned to the present to find that arm still around her and Cato’s face getting red. 

“Just let go, dude.  You’re about to pop a vein.” Peeta chuckled. 

Katniss directed her gaze at their hands; she could see they were both squeezing the hell out of each other. Cato probably thought he could scare Peeta off with his muscles, but he clearly hadn’t seen Peeta shirtless on a hot day, hauling 100-pound flour sacks onto his back as if they were light cargo. Peeta was strong, like ‘I could iron clothes on your stomach’ fit; he just didn’t flaunt it, and Katniss appreciated that.

Cato huffed and let go, and Peeta smiled once more and winked at Barbie, who was giggling like an idiot. 

“So, we should be going soon if we want to make it, Katniss. You know how Aunt Martha gets if we don’t get the groceries in time for her.” 

So yeah, she had told him about her hellish weekend to come last week, but Katniss didn’t think he would remember. 

With his hand still on her waist and her still not shrugging it off, they made to pass Cato and his doll, but, of course, the bodybuilder felt the need to use the sole neuron in his brain. 

“You know you’re just a replacement, right? I mean, she went and looked for the next guy that kinda looked like me because she clearly can’t forget me.” 

Tuck your thumb over your middle finger to make a proper fist. If you wrap your fingers around your thumb, you’re likely going to break it. 

Her father’s words and the boxing lessons came back in a flash, and before Peeta could hold her back, Katniss pivoted on her left foot, momentum aiding her, and connected her first with Cato’s jaw. She wasn’t an expert boxer or anything of the sort; she just liked the exercise, and she was strong. But Katniss must have been lucky enough to hit the sweet spot because Cato dropped to the aisle floor, unconscious. 

“Babe!” Barbie girl screeched, and suddenly, two more gorilla-looking guys were coming to her aid. 

Friends of his, no doubt. 

“Tell your boy toy, next time he wants to bully me to think twice, lest he finds himself beaten up again by a woman,” Katniss spat at the blonde girl. 

“You did this?” A broad and tall black guy asked. He was actually pretty scary, but Katniss held her ground and managed to nod. To her surprise, he chuckled and sort of bowed to her. “He’s an ass. I bet he had it coming. We’ll take care of him.” 

“Thresh! He’s your friend…” Barbie girl actually had tears in her eyes. 

“He’s not. We’re just in the same weightlifting class. And don’t cry; he’ll come to soon. Finnick, help me bring this idiot back.” 

“You must have a mean right hook, hon,” the guy with reddish hair and perfect teeth told Katniss. 

“I do.” She jutted out her chin proudly; her dad had taught her well. 

“Nice to know you have it all sorted out. Katniss, should we go?” Peeta was pulling her a bit, and she let him, both soon finding themselves out in the parking lot, having decided to leave behind the cans and the ham. 

Once they were in front of her car, Katniss did something she rarely did. 

“I’m sorry I cost you your ham.” 

Peeta seemed surprised, but he simply smiled. “That’s okay. There are a lot of hams left, actually; I just needed an excuse to walk up to you.” 

“Why did you do that?” 

“That guy was an ass, and I know you could’ve handled it on your own, but…,” he leaned in a bit and whispered, “doesn’t it feel good to let him know you’re with someone much better now?” 

Katniss couldn’t help it, she laughed. “You’re full of yourself, Mellark!” 

“Hey! I’m a catch, I tell you. Owner of his own bakery, hard-working; I know how to cook and bake, and I’m easy on the eyes, too.” 

“Not to mention, tons and tons of humility.” 

“That, too.” He smiled, and Katniss rolled her eyes, but she really didn’t feel angry with him. She hadn’t needed his help, but he had offered it freely without expecting anything in return. “So, I guess this is where we part ways.” 

“What are your plans for tonight, Peeta?” Katniss suddenly asked, and he was surprised as well. 

“Uhhhh, not much. Bake something? Eat it while watching TV, nothing exciting.” 

“You can come to my Aunt Martha’s, if you want. Prim would love to see you, and this way I can repay your ‘act of kindness’.” 

“Really? You sure it wouldn’t bother you?” 

“If it did, I wouldn’t have asked.” 

“Sure, I’d love to.” 

“Okay, but before that, there’s something I need you to do for me.” 

“What is it?” 

“Can you drive? My right hand is killing me.” 

                                                °•. ✿ .•°

“Why couldn’t you just buy it?” Katniss whined.

“Because I actually enjoy baking. You should know this already.” Peeta chuckled as he handled the mixer. After a few more turns, it seemed everything was ready. “I just need to flour the containers now.” Peeta patted his hands on his apron and went back to the pantry. 

Katniss took her chance. 

She slowly inched her hand forward, her eyes not leaving Peeta’s back, just in case. 

Two more inches and-

“I swear, Katniss, if you’re reaching for that dough I won’t make any cheese buns for a week.”

“You wouldn’t dare!” she exclaimed, shocked. That wasn’t fair! Peeta hadn’t even turned around, but he knew what she had been about to do. 

“Try me, love.” He then approached the table again, watching a grumbling Katniss cross her arms. “You know you can’t have raw dough while pregnant.”

“That’s a stupid rule. I bet it’s invented. How did women manage centuries ago, then?” 

“Oh, I don’t know. They sometimes died intoxicated, so no biggie.” Peeta was serious now. 

“I wouldn’t die over a bit of dough…” She said it under her breath, but he heard.

Peeta sighed, and Katniss felt a pang of regret. Damn him. “Katniss, do we really have to discuss this again? It’s Thanksgiving, and I’d bet my bank account Aunt Martha would come down here and force you to go to the party if you weren’t so-” 

“Go on, finish what you were going to say.” Katniss knew she was so big she might be in need of her own postal code. 

“-tired. You’re carrying twins, and that’s not an easy feat. The only thing she asked for was the pumpkin pie with maple whipped cream.”

“Every fucking year.” 

“She indulges during the holiday.”

“Why not just get one from the bakery?”

“She wants it fresh.” 

“Why doesn’t she come down here and get it herself?”

“You really want your Aunt Martha here? Right now? Today?”

“…No.” Why did Peeta have to be so logical? 

“I know you’re crabby and your feet are probably swelling. Let me put this in the oven, and then I’ll massage them with some of that lavender cream your mother gave you.” 

“And a bath.”

“A massage and a bath, you got it.” 

Peeta, of course, fulfilled his promise and left Katniss so relaxed she fell asleep and didn’t even notice her husband had gone and come back from the Everdeen’s annual Thanksgiving gathering. 

By the time she opened her eyes, he was sitting next to her, reading a book. 

“Hey…did you all get a proper rest?” Peeta put a hand on her belly, smiling. 

“I think so, yeah; they just started moving.” 

“I can feel. Here, let me help you up.” Peeta’s strength was no joke. He could single-handedly lift her up, yes, even when she felt like a whale, and prop her on the bed so she could sit comfortably. “That okay?” 

“Yes, perfect.” 

“Happy anniversary, love.” He presented her with a huge cheese bun, making her laugh.

“Peeta, just because we fucked for the first time four years ago today, doesn’t mean it’s an anniversary.”

“For me it is! Come on, I bet you didn’t think we’d end up doing it in the bathroom that night.” 

“I seriously didn’t.”

“But here we are, and that’s all that matters.” 

Her husband really was the cheesiest person alive, but she secretly adored that part of him. 

“Shut up and let me enjoy my cheese bun.”

“Your wish is my command.” 

[izzisanauthor]

Siren Song

A Prodigal Son fanfic by IzzIsAnAuthor (izzygrace07)

Based during episode 1x05 - "The Trip"

-------------

"Why is everyone moving in slow motion?"

Malcolm says it casually as if an altered passage of time is an everyday occurrence, and Gil's eyebrows furrow with concern. He should have known that Malcolm would go against orders and talk to Estime early. It shouldn't have even been a surprise when he found his two younger team members at the club he specifically told them not to go to; when a case gets personal, either will rarely stand down.

Gil takes a step closer to Malcolm, placing a protective hand on his shoulder and leaning in to speak. "You okay, Bright?"

He watches as Malcolm's eyes widen, a quick array of emotions crossing his face that range from terror to overwhelming happiness. His usually kempt hair is messily tossed, reminiscent of the bed head that Gil has grown a deep adoration for. He doesn't often get to see Malcolm this way. After all, Jessica would never let him leave his apartment looking anything less than the nines.

Malcolm's hand lands on Gil's shoulder with purpose, his grip strong and secure. His lip is quivering as he says, "When my dad was arrested…" He stops, seemingly to calm down his emotional state. He gulps before continuing. "You showed what a good man looks like. What a good man is."

The hand on Gil's shoulder lands gently on his cheek, cradling his face while Malcolm stares lovingly. It's intimate enough for Gil to falter his breathing, the air getting caught in his throat. Usually, these interactions are had behind closed doors and drawn blinds, hidden from the rest of the world. Nobody, not even their families, has any idea what kind of love the two men share, one that goes further than anyone would expect. If this had been any other time, Gil would remove Malcolm's hand and continue to reprimand him for disobeying direct orders. However, the dilation of Malcolm's pupils and the specks of white powder clinging to his suit tell him that doing so right now would have absolutely no merit.

Gil glances over to Dani and his eyebrows raise. "He's high as a kite."

Malcolm seems shocked by the accusation, but it fades into giddy instantly. A bright, beaming smile crosses Malcolm's face and the corners of his eyes crinkle as he laughs, "I'm higher than a kite!"

Gil lightly grasps Malcolm's wrist and pulls the hand off his cheek. The moment he does, the kid's eyes visibly line with tears and for a moment, Gil worries that he's about to break down. Luckily, Malcolm remedies that sadness by grabbing onto the sleeve of Gil's jacket with his free hand, an impish smile on his face.

"Come on, let's go home!" the consultant exclaims with newfound energy, tugging at the sleeve. "I feel like I could go thirty rounds!"

Gil blanches. His eyes immediately dart to Dani, who is watching them with worry. She opens her mouth to speak, lips stretched into an awkward smile of sorts, only to close it again. She doesn't have to say anything; the pity is clear as day on her face.

Gil clears his throat. "What happened?"

"Gunfire!" Malcolm articulates. "I got on the ground with Dani, it started to snow, and now, I feel like I could run a marathon!" He gasps, grabbing Gil's shoulders and leaning in close. In a half-whisper, as if he's had some kind of grand realization, he says, "I could be a top."

Gil pulls away from Malcolm, praying that his face keeps its usual colour. His worry for Malcolm overshadows most of his other thoughts and worries, but in the deep, selfish parts of himself, he wants to take Malcolm with this sudden energy he's gained. Not eating much and having little sleep results in poor stamina, so when the two decide to get intimate, they'll rarely go for very long. Now, however, seeing his boyfriend dripping with desire is enough to make his heart pound and his blood rush to areas he would prefer to keep under control in public. Gil chastises himself internally for feeling even remotely excited while Malcolm is in this state.

Dani lets out a sharp exhale. "Cocaine use can lead to poor judgment and increased sexuality. He probably doesn't realize that what he's saying is wrong."

Malcolm looks offended at the comment, turning to Dani with lowered eyebrows. "That's not nice, Dani. I can have sex with a man if I want to. Because…" He turns back to Gil and throws his arms around him, nuzzling into the crook of his neck. "Sex is amazing. And Gil is amazing!"

He raises his head and stares at Gil, expression changing into something more serious. He grabs both sides of Gil's head this time, forcing their gaze to stay locked on each other. In a voice as gentle as a lamb, Malcolm puts his entire heart into speaking.

"You're amazing."

They're two simple words, but the look in Malcolm's eyes amplifies the meaning. They hold so much affection and passion and pride, absolute love. Gil's restraint is being put to the test, a gruelling effort. It only becomes more difficult when Malcolm hugs him again, only this time, Gil is hyper-aware of the half-hardness pressing against his thigh.

He looks up to Dani and sighs, pushing down his dangerous thoughts and returning his focus to the more important situation. "We'll talk about this tomorrow," he says, ignoring the sweet nothings Malcolm mumbles into his ear. "You're not off the hook, Powell. I'm taking him home to make sure he comes down from his high."

Dani nods. "You've got it, Gil."

He turns his head towards the broken window, destroyed amidst the shooting. "Go help JT look for anything that could help us figure out who started the shooting. Message me with any leads."

"I'm on it." She is quick to head towards the scene, evidently remorseful for what happened to Malcolm, needing a way to atone.

Gil lets out a heavy breath, patting Malcolm on the back. "Okay, Bright. Come on, we're going home."

Malcolm pulls away quicker than lightning, his face lit up with childish joy. "Finally!" He smiles devilishly. "I have flavoured condoms."

"And we'll use them on a different day, once you've sobered up," Gil whispers, grabbing Malcolm's wrist and rushing him through the club. The night air is cool and crisp, a complete contrast to the warm, soiled air in the building. He helps Malcolm sit in the passenger seat before heading to the driver's side and starting his car.

~+~+~+~+~+~

When they arrive at Malcolm's apartment, the younger man practically marches through the door like he's on a mission, pulling his coat off with vigour. Gil, with a small sigh, closes the door as he follows him in.

"All right," Gil says, pulling off his jacket. He watches Malcolm discard his expensive article at the bottom of the staircase and gives a disapproving shake of his head. "The best thing you can do for the seven hours or so, just stay calm and drink lots of water."

Malcolm looks towards his living area and he perks up, inhaling with excitement as he takes off towards the coach. "Or!" He leaps up onto the back of his sofa, taking a moment to balance himself, and thrusts his hands out towards his collection of murder weapons. "We throw axes!"

Gil pauses, eyebrows shooting up as his eyes widen incredulously at Malcolm. "What?"

Malcolm turns to face Gil, pointing at him excitedly. "You and me. Broad bladed axes." He steps down onto the leather cushion of his couch, as if walking on a couch is a completely normal thing to do, and holds up a hand with his fingers splayed. "I have five!" He stops. "No, six… Doesn't matter, we have plenty."

Gil approaches the island and pours himself a glass of scotch. It's going to be a long night. "No," he says sternly.

He hears the sound of Malcolm shutting something and speaking, voice pitched and full of animation. "God, this feeling! My neurons are on fire!"

Gil takes a long sip from his drink, letting out a heavy exhale through his nose. For someone with poor self-care skills, sleeping and eating especially, Malcolm has a lot of energy. It's like the cocaine boosted the effects of his second wind. It reminds Gil of Dani years back when he would watch over her, drugged and falling. At the start, she was off the walls and full of childlike joy. But, as time passed and she became reliant on it, she was paranoid and terrified, either backing away from Gil with tears in her eyes or holding onto him like he was her saving grace. The memories only fuel his concerns for Malcolm after tonight; the thought of him in such a dark place, especially with the trauma he's experienced, makes Gil's chest tighten with anxiety.

When he looks up, Malcolm is heading his way on quick feet. He has that look in his eyes, the one from the club, the one that showed nothing but absolute love. "You know," Malcolm says, "people say that dopamine triggers pleasure. But really, it's about…"

He is suddenly in Gil's space, arms wrapped loosely around his neck and only an inch of space left between them. Gil doesn't want to encourage Malcolm's drug-induced lust, but still instinctively puts his hands on Malcolm's hips, pulling him closer.

"...Desire," Malcolm finally finishes. Gil's heart skips a beat at their proximity. The intent behind the word is obvious, and the sultry tone Malcolm entangles into his voice makes the temptation harder to resist. He's like a siren, singing out to Gil with his entire being. The song muddles his mind, clouding his judgment in fog and starving him, desperate for the taste of Malcolm.

Within seconds, Gil has Malcolm pushed up against the island and their lips are crashing together hard enough to leave bruises. It's passionate and messy and their hands wander across the familiar territory of each others' bodies. Gil runs his hand through Malcolm's hair and grips tightly, releasing a moan from the young man's mouth. It only increases volume when Gil bites down on Malcolm's lower lip, drawing it between his teeth. He grabs at his boyfriend's tie with impatience and practically rips it from his neck, moving to undo the waistcoat and the button-down shirt.

Gil lifts Malcolm onto the surface of the island and stands between his legs. The bare chest before Gil is free to be marked, previous love bites and hickeys having healed over the past few days. He takes Malcolm's skin into his mouth, sucking mercilessly along the collarbone. Malcolm props his hands upon the island behind him and throws his head back with a gasp. The noises he makes send blood rushing down Gil's body and strengthens the desire to hear more of those sexy sounds.

Gil licks his thumbs before dragging them along Malcolm's nipples, feeling the skin perk up underneath his touch. With a strong buck of the hips, the tip of Malcolm's restrained erection pokes Gil in his stomach.

Somehow, against all odds, that physical touch is enough to snap Gil back to himself, regaining his previous hyper-awareness to Malcolm's arousal; most importantly, to the cause of it. The events of the club make their way back to the front of Gil's brain and within moments, the two men are apart. Both are coated in sweat and panting like animals, and Malcolm's face is flushed a brilliant red.

"What's wrong?" he asks gently between breaths, sitting up and putting his hands worriedly on Gil's still-clothed arms.

Gil feels guilt flood his system and chastises himself. He let his wants overshadow his morality, so much so that he nearly had sex with his inebriated boyfriend. It would have been–it is sexual assault. Knowing Malcolm, he probably wouldn't be mad at Gil; the young man understands that he can be annoyingly persistent even when sober. However, that doesn't cut it because Gil would never be able to forgive himself for taking advantage of the best man he's ever come to know.

With laboured breaths, Gil finally says, "We can't do this, Bright."

Malcolm seems completely oblivious to the problem, furrowing his eyebrows with bewilderment. He pulls his hands away and Gil can see the self-consciousness making its way into Malcolm's head. "What happened? Did I do something?"

Gil sighs. He holds out his hand, helping Malcolm down from the counter. He then wraps his arms lovingly around him in a protective hug. "No, kid. You didn't do anything." He pulls away and takes Malcolm's head in his hands, forcing their eyes to lock. "But I can't have sex with you like this. You're not in your right mind."

"B-But…"

"Hey." Gil pushes some stray hair away from Malcolm's face. "If our situations were reversed, you'd say the same thing to me."

Malcolm appears to take a moment to think about that idea, blinking slowly like a machine that's processing information. For a split second, it makes Gil wonder if that was enough to get through to the kid or if his words were falling on deaf ears. Fear begins to creep into the back of his mind as he imagines Malcolm begging to continue, dripping with sex appeal, and Gil is too weak to turn him away. He's seen the pain Malcolm has been through, the betrayal he's been forced to endure. Gil can't become another one of the demons; he's supposed to be an angel.

He's brought back into the moment with a gentle kiss on the cheek. Arms wrap tightly around Gil's torso and Malcolm speaks to him with pure appreciation. "Aww, thank you!"

Gil's heart flutters with love and admiration. He brushes back Malcolm's bangs and plants a kiss on the kid's forehead. He wants to thank Malcolm for being so understanding, for recognizing just how heartbroken Gil would feel if they had made it further than they did. Gil wants to tell Malcolm that he is the most empathetic man Gil has ever met. He makes sadists have mercy, and for that, Gil loves Malcolm with every fibre of his being.

He says nothing, knowing that Malcolm wouldn't remember any of this. Instead, he returns the embrace and holds his boyfriend closer, thanking God for the favourable outcome to the situation.

[cherrysweather]

Omg if u wanna do a black quill one shot 😳... ill request one of a date pre UR1.. BUT IF YOU DONT DO HIM its ok

Of course I’m going to write for Blackquill!! I missed writing for him uwu I tried to write something the least boring possible but I need to thank you for giving me an opportunity to write for pre-UR1 Simon because I found interesting how he matured, he changed from how we imagine him pre-prison to how he is after it and I really enjoyed writing about it So thank you so much again and I hope you’ll like this >-< (I’m so sorry for the long wait, I hope you’re reading this even after all these days Anon, I’m sorry :( --------------------------------------

Laugh with me [Simon Blackquill x Reader]

"He’s coming!" as they heard an acute voice coming towards them, they turned their head and saw an orange ponytail moving as a little girl approached them

"Hey sweet orange" they knelt down to meet Athena’s height "How are you?" they hugged her as soon as she was enough close

"I’m feeling good today!" she moved the hair from their face to place a kiss on their cheek

"I’m happy to hear it" they passed a hand on Athena’s thin back

"Where are you and Simon going today?" she asked curiously as she dragged them to sit to a table

"I found two tickets for a traditional show at the theater near the seafront and then he offered to choose where to dine" they smiled while speaking "Don’t worry, tomorrow I’ll completely leave him to you" they softly patted her hair, laughing at her face

"It’s ok if you spend time with him too! The hearts of you both sing songs of happiness whenever you two are together; even now I can hear that you’re happy!" Athena smiled in such a pure way that the blush on their cheeks could only increase

"Don’t say these things loudly!" they tried to keep Athena’s mouth closed

"Why? Did I say something bad?"

"Just don’t" they looked around to be sure that no one heard Athena, and luckily no one was close enough "…H-His heart too- He’s happy when he’s with me?" they asked after a moment of silence that seemed endless, not looking Athena in the eyes for the embarrassment

"Yes! Every time he speaks about you to my mom or me he seems like he drunk two liters of energy drinks" she kept that smile on her lips as she spoke

"Thanks" they poked her nose and sighed softly, thinking about what that meant, sensing a feeling of satisfaction, happiness, knowing that Simon was happy with them; not that they doubted it, but hearing it so directly, has its effect. They began to tap their fingers on the table, waiting for “His Holiness” to come down from heaven. And, he actually arrived!  

"Did I kept you waiting too long?" when that deep and calm voice came to their ear and a heavy hand rested on their shoulder, they turned towards him and pulled his body toward them from his wrist into a hug

"Oh no no, it just seemed that I was waiting for you to finish an interrogation" they smiled and kissed his cheek

"At least appreciate that I asked Athena to warn you"

"You’re always overworking this poor girl" they pushed him to get up, sticking their nose to his but moving the moment he leaned over to kiss them "Say sorry to Athena first" they looked in his eyes, teasing him but receiving a sigh as an answer.

"See you tomorrow Athena, go to your mother and eat something" he caressed her cheek with his finger and giving her a smile before turning toward the exit. "Where are you going!" they stopped before going after him, kissing Athena’s forehead and waving at her while running to reach Simon. "Stop right here!" She jumped on his back, holding him tight

"Do you want to arrest me?" he grabbed their thighs and took them on his back

"I’ll probably lose against you, so I won’t even try" they hugged his neck and kissed the back of his head

"A good choice indeed" once they were out the space center, he let them down his back, wrapping their shoulders with his arm to hold them close

"How were your lessons today?" they took his hand and looked up at him

"Pretty good, I always manage to learn something new"

"I’ll wait for this samurai to master the emotions and psyche of others patiently" they leaned on him on purpose with all the weight

"Do you want me to become a psychological manipulator?" he held their weight, amused by their childish behavior

"I’m saying it for you too! It could be useful for you as a prosecutor; like when they put you in charge of questioning suspects and you take ages to finish" they tried to convince him of what they were saying

"You have a point on that but, my teacher isn’t a manipulator herself"

"You’ll learn from yourself, you’re intelligent so you can do it" when he didn’t reply for nearly a minute, they turned to his face and laughed softly seeing the contrasting blush on his pale face, hugging his arm but avoiding teasing him.

"You still haven’t told me where we’re going" he said as they stopped to check the shortest way to get to the theater

"I’ll tell you once we’ll be there" they looked up from the phone and smiled at him "You also have to tell me where are we going tonight" they returned to search on the phone

"You’ll see" he answered with their own coin, accepting their challenge when they placed their gaze on his eyes, staring into theirs and nearly into their soul, forcing them to look away

"Stop it"

"You started" he smirked and looked around them, getting closer to them when too many people started to walk near

"There’s no need to protect me" they smiled seeing a shadow in front of them, resting their head on his chest

"Too many people" he wrapped their hips with his arms and tried to see something on the screen of the phone

"Don’t worry, I found it" they tried to reach his lips "You still have to give me a kiss"

"You’re the one who walked away when I tried to give you one"

"Stop being a douchebag" they tried to pull him down by his jacket

"But that’s how I am" He stayed where he was, not giving them victory even when they tried with all their strength

"I’ll climb on you if you don’t bend over" they pouted at him sighing but when they pulled one last time, he “softened” and his forehead slammed against theirs, and when they bent on their knees holding their forehead, it seemed that they were stuck to the ground

"I’m sorry" he reached down to help, trying to contain his laughter

"You could have just told me you didn’t want to instead of head-butting me" they tried to hit his arm with the same strength as his head, not being able to hold their laughter too as she looked at him

"I didn’t want to" he pulled them up, pressing his lips on their head "Do you need some ice?" he passed softly his hand on their head

"I need new neurons, and perhaps a new skull" they squeezed their jacket to avoid beating him, waiting for the pain to pass

"Oh? Did you have any neurons in there?" he pretended to be shocked, putting a finger under their chin when she looked up

"I think I had at least two healthy" they punched his shoulder and looked in his eyes, offended

"They’re still there, don’t worry" he pinched their nose with that amused smirk still on his lips, leaning towards them to try to make amends by resting his lips on theirs "Will you forgive me?"

"I’ll see" they didn’t even give him time to finish the question, pulling him to walk again.

He took that one gesture as an answer that only strengthened the provocative smile on his face.

"Ok, are we going to the park, that bar, or do you want to make a new building appear from the ground?" he asked when they sat on the edge of a fountain

"You called them all except the one where we’re going" they patted the spot beside them, taking the two tickets from their pocket as he sat down "Guess what’s this" they covered the name of the show, leaving uncovered only the Japanese print that was on them

"That’s a print of Meguro since there’s the Fuji in the background, so probably it’s a show set in Meguro? Or?"

"Better, a Rakugo show of which one of the many stories is set in Meguro" they handed him one of the two tickets to show him "I remembered you once said that a friend of yours knew a Rakugo crew and that you would like to go see one, so I searched for the first show that would be held nearby; happy?" they slipped under his arm and looked up at him, seeing an expression full of surprise and happiness

"You don’t forget anything uh? I think I told you that thing at least one year ago" he pulled them to him, kissing their head repeatedly, suddenly moving his lips to theirs "Thank you" he held their hand in his, cuddling it with his finger

"It’s nothiing" they laughed at his reaction, squeezing his hand and getting closer to him "But we have to wait about fifteen minutes before we can enter" they took their small bag, searching something in it

"We can talk or do something in the meanwhile"

"Yeah, about that; did you have lunch?" they pulled out of the bag a box covered with a colorful cloth "I brought you something to eat if you haven’t yet"

"You didn’t have to" "Knowing that someone uses the excuse of working until night to eat nothing all day, I definitely had to" they hit his arm weakly "So eat, I did it with all my love".

He sighed and opened the box, finding in it three onigiri, some vegetables, and other side dishes

"There are both the chopsticks and a fork in the box" they waited for him to taste something and get his opinion "How’s that?"

"Mh, it’s edible, nothing special" he waited to see their sad face before laughing "I’m joking, this is delicious" he hit them with his shoulder "Thanks again" he passed them something with his chopsticks, taking his hand away when they tried to bite his finger too "Beast"

"Rude. And evil".

When the minutes passed, the two of them entered the theater and they gave the two tickets to the staff to certify them before entering the hall "Wait wait! I know how these kinds of stages are called!" They sat down in their seats as they thought about it "They’re called yose, right? Or koza?"

"The yose is the traditional rakugo theater, the koza is the stage" he corrected them "Study better next time" he laughed softly at their face

"At least I try"

"And I couldn’t be happier, I’m glad you try to share my interests" If Athena were here, she would only jump all over the place from how Simon’s heart is full of happiness and relief from all the busy days before this, grateful to be able to spend it with them.

Since they were seeing a Rakugo show, some Japanese Rakugo-ka took turns to tell a different story both in English and in Japanese, that then an interpreter translated, sometimes interrupted by the laughter of the audience.

- “When the Lord saw the dish in front of him he was very surprised As far as he knows fish is supposed to be red and flat like sea breeze, he's never seen anything like sanma before. At first, he can't believe that these long black things are really fish; what's more, they're still covered with smoking cinders, which make a sizzling sound "They're crying" "No Master, they're not. Please try some" - "Delicious! Sanma is the best. Farmers are lucky, they eat better food than I do! From now on I'm going to eat sanma at every meal" - - One day, the lord is invited to the home of his cousin "Thank you for coming to my home, I'd like to serve your favorite dish so, what can I ask my cook to prepare for you?" "I'd like the sanma" "Huh? Sanma? You want Anma?" "No no, you can't eat Anma, I said Sanma; it's long and black, and smokes and sizzles. You can't stop eating it, I'm dying for Sanma!" "Oh okay, I'll go talk to the cook" "Huh? A cheap common fish?" - "Oh okay, I'll rush out to the nearest market and get some" "Wait wait wait! Don't go to our usual place, buying it there will give us a bad name, you better go to Nihombashi" "Ok, I'll go" - - After he buys the fish, he thinks how to prepare it in the best way for the Lord; he knows the best way to cook the Sanma is to grill it and serve it with grated radish and soy sauce but, he thinks he'd better remove the fat by steaming the fish so that the lord doesn't get indigestion and that he'd better remove the bones so they don't scratch the lord's throat. So the freshest Sanma in all of Edo is served to the lord as soup; without fat and bones and in a very fancy bowl with a lid on it. - "What's this? Sanma should be long and black; are you sure this is Sanma?" "Yes yes, it's Sanma" The Rakugo-ka mimed the moment to eat that soup, spitting it out immediately afterwards "Yuck! Where did you get this- this Sanma?" "My cook went to the fish market in Nihombashi that has the best Sanma in all of Edo" "Huh? This isn't the best Sanma, everyone know that the best Sanma comes from Meguro!"” - "This was my first time at a Rakugo show, but I’m already waiting to go to another one"

"I'm happy you liked it" he took their arm and walked away with them.                                                                       He took them toward one of the great streets of the city, keeping them close as they walked

"So? So? Where are we going?" they asked, pulling his shirt like a child

"You’ll see" he didn’t even look down the face they were making for him to change his mind "I'll say just that a friend of mine runs it, so you'll eat well"

"So you're bringing me at a romantic dinner"

"Not in a super fancy and expensive restaurant, so I hope you'll like it anyway"

"If you like it so much you want to take me, I’m sure it will be one of the best I’ve ever tried; today I understood that your tastes are very reliable" they followed him, arriving at some point on a road near the river that was empty "This place is pretty isolated" they looked around them, noticing also that the sky darkened as the sun went down

"That’s one of the things that makes me love this place" he stopped for a second, looking up to the sky and moving away from them for a moment "What time is it?" he looked at them"

"Um, it’s almost eight o’clock; why?"

"Someone has to eat too, you know" he then whistled into the air, making as much noise as possible to be sure of an answer "We can go in the meantime"

"What did you do?" they asked looking back

"Wait some seconds and you’ll see" they pouted at him, tired of always being kept on the edge, understanding what-, or better, who Simon called when she heard a scream, a screech, approaching them but stopped once that two sharp “paws” landed on Simon’s shoulder

"Taka!" they smiled but took a few steps away from him as they know he still doesn’t really like them "You gave him a new bandana! He’s so cute" they greeted him with her hand

"I thought he deserved a change of style" he scratched the back of his head and under his beak, taking then a packet of pieces of dried meat from his jacket’s pocket

"Can I try to feed him?" they said hesitantly

"If you want to try it’s ok, he’s still a chick, so he should stay calm" he patted his head with his finger, passing the packet to them and stopping from walking

"If he bites me, I’ll cry" they said laughing, taking a piece of meat and bringing it close to him, trembling with their hand, breathing a sigh of relief when he took the dried meat and not their skin.

"See? It’s easy" he let him fly free again moving his shoulder suddenly, noting that the sky was now only a single cloud

"You do it every day, easy to say that" fortunately they arrived shortly after it started to rain. They remained behind his back, looking around and waiting for him to lead the way

"Heyo Simey!" a short boy approached them and Simon walked to greet him

"Hey pillock" he patted him on the back as a greeting

"Stop calling me like that" he punched his arm and his eyes fell on the other person with him "Oh, you're that friend of his? Nice to meet you! I’m Bucky!" he took their hand and shook it

"It’s nice to meet you too" they approached as if pulled by him

"Every time Simey comes here to eat, he always talks about you. He’s completely in l- Ouch!" he stopped when Simon’s hand hit his head

"Silence, that’s enough." He sighed and didn’t even look at them

"You can use your words instead of your hands; they’re harsher but lighter" Bucky looked at him badly and passed before him "Take a seat and let him eat so maybe he calms down" he said in a low voice, looking at them

"I can hear you, you know"  he made Bucky run straight into the kitchen as he spoke

"You’re unbearable" they pinched his hand looking at him

"He’s used to it" he laughed softly at their face, moving his eyes to the window after a thunder

"Shouldn’t you call Taka back? It’s dangerous for him to fly around with thunders"

"I was thinking about it" he got up and went out, whistling immediately after a thunder to prevent Taka from not hearing him, coming back inside with a soaked chick in his arms

"Aww wait a second" they took a jacket from their bag, opening it and wrapping Taka in it

"Is he alright?" Bucky returned with two menus and some water, looking at Taka

"He’s just wet, nothing hurt him" Simon answered, patting Taka’s wing

"He’s strong" they adjusted her jacket like a nest to keep Taka warm as soon as the orders, kindly advised by Simon, arrived "Anyway, thank you for bringing me here" they smiled at him, separating the two chopsticks

"If it hadn’t started raining, it would have been a perfect day, but we have to settle" he moved the soba in the broth, adding some soy sauce to it

"But I enjoyed it and I’m still doing it! Hearing you laugh at the theatre was the best part of course" they smiled and imitated him in mixing the soba

"That’s why you chose a Rakugo show instead of any other kind of show?"

"I chose it because you wanted to go see one, and because it was comic, so I could hear you laugh" they blew on the soba to cool it and make it edible before tasting it.

He just smiled as an answer, having some blush in his cheeks, trying to hide it eating. When Taka recovered, he started to hop around their table, searching for food "He can eat this meat right?" they took a piece of meat from their bowl, blowing on it so as not to burn Taka’s mouth

"He prefers it raw, but even if boiled it shouldn’t disgust him" they gave it to him with the chopsticks once it was cool, happy that Taka ate it willingly, like the rest of their leftover

"And with that, he dined too" Simon said as he stretched himself, hitting his belly "Did you enjoy?" he looked for a second outside the window, seeing the rain still falling

"Yes! We should come here more often now that I know how good this food is" they stood up to stretch too "Now we need a good run in the rain to digest" they took Taka and put him back in their jacket, going then to pay with Simon

"I can’t pay for myself right?"

"You paid for both the theatre tickets, so no, you can’t" he patted Taka’s head, thinking about how to go back home without drowning in the rain "This rain isn’t going to stop soon, so we’ll have to get wet" he took off his jacket and covered them when they approached him

"And you?" they looked at him, trying to cover at least his head too

"Don’t worry about me, think about Taka" he patted their head laughing, saying goodbye to Bucky before going out.

After nearly half an hour, they found repair at Simon’s house, running inside at the speed of light "Go take a hot shower or you’ll get a cold"

"Can you please stop worrying about me as if I’m a kid?" they released Taka from their chest, placing their jacket on a chair

"Because you are a kid to me; or at least, a kid definitely dressed lighter than me and who might freeze faster than me" he touched their forehead, sighing and going toward his bedroom

"Go in the shower, I’ll bring you some clothes". He returned then in the bathroom with some of his clothes "These clothes should fit you, tell me if you want something else"

"They're ok, thanks" they smiled, but in the meantime, they pushed him out of the bathroom

"As if there’s a problem with seeing you undress" he rested his back on a wall next to the door "I already seen everything there’s to see; you thin back and every detail of your thighs. Oh and, I already saw also your-" he was interrupted when they suddenly opened the door, red like a tomato "-Embarrassed face as I admired it all" they were so close to punching him, but all they could do was lock themself into the bathroom to ignore him. When they came out, they kept their gaze away from him, still embarrassed by his words

"A tiny lion entered the room" he passed a hand on their still warm hair, kissing them quickly before taking his turn in the shower.

They just sat on the carpet, sighing and trying to get Taka’s attention from where he was. They patted him slowly, still scared, since they knew they weren’t too appreciated by the raptor, but strangely he was accepting their attention; he started it. They were interrupted by the sound of the entrance door opening, and Aura entering "Hello Ms. Aura!"

"Now I’m a miss? What are you doing here? And where’s that weeb?" she threw her stuff on the table, hugging them as if they were her younger sibiling

"I’m here because we were out together and since it started raining I took refuge here; he’s under the shower now"

"Oh great, I hope he made you eat" she went to her room, slamming her hand on the bathroom door in the meantime "Don’t even think about letting them sleep with you tonight, I forbid it; and hurry up in there!" He actually came out minutes after, still drying his hair with a towel "Aura came back?" he sat on the sofa, keeping a hand on his head

"Oh yes, you heard her?" they laughed, showing in the meanwhile Taka to Simon

"W-What have you done to him?" he laughed as soon as he saw him

"He trusted me so I made him beautiful! I dried all of his feathers, I combed them and I changed his bandana with a dried one; you like him?" they laughed too when Taka flew on Simon’s leg

"He’s handsome, like his owner"

"Oh please" they took a pillow from the sofa and threw it to him

"You’re saying I’m not handsome?" he threw it back to them

"Probably" they approached him and rested their chin on his knee, smiling innocently, managing to receive a kiss from him like that, a gentle and slow one, which was however interrupted when he hit their forehead with his finger

"Rude"

"Me?! You’re the one who just hit me!"

"Revenge" he was so calm, but deep inside he was laughing like a devil

"Treat them well you emo weeb!" Aura’s voice thundered from the hallway, scaring both of them that then ended up laughing like two idiots.

  "Choose; Samurai or Ninja?" he looked at them, taking the remote control in hand

"For?"

"Choose." They saw the remote in his hand, so they understood

"Samurai I guess"

"And samurai it is" he grabbed their arm and pulled her on the sofa with him, putting an episode of the Steel Samurai "We can do the entire rewatch of it if you want"

"I already like the theme, so I’m completely ok!" they nestled in his arms and after a while, Taka joined them, as if he too, was interested

"Don’t turn them in a weeb too, please" Aura sighed before that scene, shaking her head

"At least they try to look into what I like, ignorant’ Simon looked into her eyes as if to challenge her, but it took Aura less than a second to turn her heels and walk away, surrendered. 

------------------------------- Just here for a useless thought but, the UR-1 Incident will take place on the 7th of October this year! Probably someone at Nasa will be killed or something OwO In doubt, I’ll mark it on the calendar XD Maybe an irl Simon will appear, who knows ¯\_( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)_/¯

[rose-of-gabriel]

i wrote a fic about the Mandalorian taking care of you while you menstruate bc i can

that’s where we’re at rn

You have a personal bone to pick with whatever laser-brain designed the human female. Let’s make it continuously bleed for a quarter of every month, and since that isn’t enough of a pain, let’s add actual pain on top of that. Genius.

You bite your lip and try to focus on successfully landing the Razor Crest. Mando’s cashing in on three separate bounties, which should give you enough credits to take it easy for a while. Well, as easy as the Mandalorian can take it. You suspect his pace was even more ruthless before he found the kid, but fatherhood has forced him to relent, just a little.

You really don’t mind his lifestyle. Anything is better than that mind-numbing mechanics job back on Nevarro, though the stabbing pain in your gut makes you miss the old shack you called home.  No one around to judge you for collapsing in on yourself and praying for death.

That’s how Mando finds you: in the pilot’s chair, folded in half with your head on your knees. You don’t bother to look up as you grumble, “Ready to go?”

He doesn’t respond right away, probably deciding whether or not he should be concerned. You realize that this is the first time he’s seen you like this. Your implant makes it so you only bleed every three months, and you’ve been traveling together for almost four. The part of you that is harboring a completely futile crush on the Mandalorian wants to melt into the floor. The rest of you can’t be bothered to care, knowing that if it doesn’t concern his kid, his work, or his creed, he doesn’t care, anyway.

When he still doesn’t answer, you slowly lift you head to meet his metal gaze. You try to offer a smile, but the lights of the cockpit make your head pulse and it turns into a grimace.

The baritone of his voice reveals nothing when he asks, “You okay?”

No, you want to growl between your teeth. You don’t, because if there’s one person in the universe you know you shouldn’t complain to, it’s the Mandalorian.

“Yeah, I’m fine.” You close your eyes and take a purposeful breath through your nose. “Are there any heat packs left in the medkit?”

“No. I think we used them up when the kid had that cold.”

Kriffing aces.

“Okay, I’ll add it to the list.” You sag deeper into the chair. “We shouldn’t go so long between supply trips, next time.”

“No one was stopping you when we were on Malthor.” He says with a hint of mockery.

You wave a dismissive hand. “That was all merchants and you know I can’t haggle for shit.”

He blows out a breath, the closest thing you get to making him laugh. It’s a small victory that nearly makes you forget the demon attacking your uterus.

You haul yourself out of the pilot’s seat and the protests from you body must be so loud even the Mandalorian can hear, because he takes a step forward and insists, “What’s wrong?”

You start to say it’s nothing when he takes yet another step, getting closer than you’ve ever dared to. Gods, you hope he doesn’t notice the way your breath catches.

“I’ve spent my whole life watching people.” He says in a tone you’ve never heard before, equal parts menacing and tender. It makes your gut twist in a completely different way. Then he adds dryly, “And you’ve got about as much subtlety as a rancor.”

You deflate.

“Yeah, yeah, piss off.” You mutter under your breath. Then in a huff, you admit, “It’s menstrual pain. You happy? Nothing I haven’t dealt with before so let’s go.”

You’re through the hatch faster than you need to be, the awkwardness burning under your skin. You busy yourself with the kid’s cradle, making sure he’s secure despite there being nothing to actually secure him with. The child tilts his little head at you like he can sense your embarrassment.

“Hey, Bug.” You whisper conspiratorially, “Don’t look at me like that.”

He lets out a string of nonsense that sounds a lot like you’re the one acting weird, although you may just be projecting. Mando drops down from the cockpit and you suddenly remember you need to check every single pocket of your day pack, just to make sure everything is where you left it.

“Is it bad?”

The question surprises you, and you’re not really sure why. It’s not because he cares. You know there’s a heart underneath all that beskar. It’s something in his voice, a gentleness that isn’t like the kind he uses with the kid.

After a moment, your neurons decide to fire again and you manage to say, “No. I mean, mine are pretty heavy, and the pain is sometimes a lot, and the migraines really suck but oh my gods, I can’t believe I am talking to you about this.” Or that you just said that part out loud.

You spin on your heel, all attempts at subtly flying out the window as you activate the kid’s pram. “Ready to go, Bug?” You squeak, cheeks burning.

You reach for the control panel to lower the ramp when Mando takes your hand and pulls you around to face him. You can’t think of anything other than kriffkriffkriffkriffkriff, heart hammering against your ribs so hard he must be able to see it.

There’s a torturous moment of silence before he says, “You stay here with the kid. I’ll go to town and get what we need.”

That brings your panic to a screeching halt. “But… you have to turn in the quarries.”

“I’ll collect the credits then head to the shopping district.”

All your nerves start to dissipate in the wake of a very familiar spite. “Mando, I’m not a liability. I don’t need to stay behind.”

A nagging voice reminds you that there’s no way to sound tough when talking to the kriffing Mandalorian, but something shifts. There’s the slightest dip of his helmet that makes you think you’ve surprised him, that he’s looking at you through new eyes.

“I know you can handle yourself.” He says carefully, like he’s worried about getting this wrong. “This isn’t an emergency, though. Just… just let me go. Try to feel… better.”

There’s something in his voice that helps you know it isn’t a judgement, that he’s not offering because he thinks you’re some stupid flower that needs protected. He’s just a friend who sees your pain and wants to help, in whatever small way he can.

You do smile, this time, though quickly squash it in favor of a very serious-business-face. “Okay, fine. Let me help you unload the quarries, at least.”

Once that’s done, you sit on the loading ramp with Bug and watch the Mandalorian leave for as long as you can before the pulsing behind your eyes becomes too much. Leaving the ramp lowered, you shut the bay doors and find your data pad, searching for a kid-friendly holo that Bug will like. He’s going through a phase where anything to do with water excites him. You lay out your bedroll and set the kid up with a Mon Cala cartoon, his ears perking up in approval.

After he’s situated, you skulk off to the fresher. Luckily, you have a decent stash, so you don’t have to ask the Mando-fucking-lorian to buy you menstrual products. The Crest’s medkit is pretty sparse, though, and most of what you do have is either for field injuries or baby stuff. You toss back some child’s pain killers and go to curl up with the kid, keeping your eyes shut tight against the barrage of colorful animations.

By the time Mando comes back, you’re both only half awake. Without a word, he scoops the child from your arms and settles him in the bassinet that Kuiil made. You don’t try to move, just listen as the Mandalorian flits about the ship and puts away supplies. After a while, he returns, sitting with his back against the wall, facing you.

“How’d it go?” you mumble, peeling your eyes open to see that he’s removed his armor and sits in just his helmet and base layers. You want to appreciate the form-fitting clothes, but everything hurts too much.

“Sit up for a second.” He tells you, and that’s when you notice the huge shopping bag beside him. He coaxes you up, then fishes into the bag. “Here.” He says, handing you a heat pack.

“Oh, bless you.” You nearly weep, cracking it in half to activate the heated gel. You press the pad against your stomach and immediately sag with relief.

“Take these.” The Mandalorian says, producing two white pills and a thermos. “They’ll help with the pain, and your headache.”

“Oh…” you bring the thermos to your nose and realize it’s some kind of tea. “Thank you.”

You revel in the hot compress and tea, totally satiated, but the Mandalorian goes on. “I picked these up, too.” You actually gasp when he pulls out a box of golden tuiles. “I thought they might be…”

“My favorite.” You all-but shriek, setting your tea aside and making the same grabby hands you’ve seen the kid do a hundred times. You stare at the pack of cookies as if they’re precious treasure. “How the hell did you know?”

Even the voice modulator can’t hide his amusement. “A few weeks ago, when we were in that market place on Naboo? A woman was selling them and you got this feral look in your eye.”

“Yeah, that’s because these are the best thing ever.” You insist, tearing the box open. The sweet scent is like a drug, and without thinking, you reach in and hand him a cookie. “You have to try one.”

Equally thoughtless, Mando takes it, and before the obvious can come crashing down, you spin around and shove a cookie into your mouth, burying your head between your knees. You try to focus on the taste of the cookie and not the fact you just stupidly offered the Mandalorian food when you know full-well that he can’t eat in front of you. Nothing to do now but just bear down and wait out the awkwardness.

Your ears are practically ringing as the seconds tick by, bracing for the humiliation as he reminds you about one of his culture’s most obvious rules. You wait, but instead of a discontented sigh, you hear a crunch, chewing, and then, “Okay, yeah. I see your point.”

Your brain short circuits at the sound of his unmodulated voice, but there’s no time to savor it. He’s already getting up and heading toward the cockpit, speaking to you from behind a wall of static. “I’m going to set course for Arvala.”

You lift your head, too tired to process what just happened or what it means, if it means anything. “Hey, Mando.” He stops but doesn’t turn around. You smile anyway, because this definitely meant something. “Thank you, for all this. It’s… thank you.”

He turns his head just slightly and gives you a nod before disappearing into the cockpit. You take another swig of tea before curling up on your bedroll. Physically, you’re a disaster, but even that can’t keep the smile off your face.

[themurphyzone]

PatB: Nova Ch 2

Insert funny one-liner here. Cause I can’t think of anything. 

Ch 2: Space Cadet

New Selenian Date 3015.3.12

Terran satellite conversations are useless drivel! Nothing but pomp and circumstance about trivial subjects that don’t help us plan our global domination! All this curiosity about planets and star systems beyond your own, yet you actively sabotage your own progress in space exploration! Hypocritical morons. When Snowball and I rule Terra, we shall usher in an age of science and rationality, because you obviously cannot be trusted to run your own planet without blowing it up several times over! Why, you have less intelligence in your collective brains than I have in my pinky!

Alright. Just inhale…exhale. Inhale...exhale.

I needed that tirade. Progress on the Conquistador has slowed and is approaching an impasse of the highest caliber. The outside paneling requires special attention and shielding because we do not wish to burn upon entering Terra’s atmosphere. However, the thermal protective system we’ll be developing will likely be rudimentary at best, fatal at worst due to lack of top of the line equipment. The Selenians managed to conserve enough fuel in their ships to leave the colony and presumably return to their original planet, with the exception of one ill-fated vessel which experienced a malfunction when they first arrived on New Selene.

I have no choice but to visit the crash site of that particular ship with Snowball. If fortune is on our side, we’ll have a ragged version of the paneling we need, but…I will be in close contact with the electrical firing of Snowball’s neurons. An unfortunate side effect of my genetic enhancement from a mos’s natural inclination to electricity. The distance from Penumbra doesn’t help matters either.

Ah…I’ll cut this transmission off here. Snowball’s calling in, for once.

Signing off for now, the Brain.

o-o-o-o-o

“He called my name,” the mouse whispered, awestruck by the deep voice that crackled through the chipped Walkman radio. He rolled his skinny tail between his paws, joyful tears swimming in his vision and making everything blurry-whirly. “He said my name!”

He had many names alright. From Gouda to Zort to No, We Don’t Know Why That Subject Says Narf. From what he remembered of his parents and Sis, they called him Chchchrree mixed with sniffy noises. It was hard to say for everyone else though, even him. It was the sniffing part, really. It tripped everyone up.

But none of his names fit him quite like Pinky.

Oh, he was being rude, wasn’t he? He may be a sliced gene lab mouse, but he was a sliced gene lab mouse with manners!

The newly named Pinky fiddled with the slider on the Walkman. There were a lot of numbers, and he didn’t know which one let his voice through, so he eeny-meeny-miney-moed between all of them until his finger landed on 92.

92 was a good number. Nice, funny, and a pretty figure.

“Haha, narf! Hello, the Brain!” Pinky laughed into the Walkman. “I know you’re probably busy with the Conquesowhatsit, so you can just listen to this whenever you’re free! Anyway, I’m Pinky and I’ve been listening to your messages for months! And you said my name just now! It made me so happy I cried!”

Nothing but crackling static answered. A click came from the hallway, the aircon kicking in and blowing a cool wind through the lab. Machinery hummed, screens flickered, squeaks from other mice echoed.  

Pinky waited. He would wait however long he needed to. The voice would reply, he was sure of it.

“Brain, is it…is it lonely up there?” Pinky asked. He was very bad at the waiting game. He lost to himself every time. “You sound sad. And grumpy. Grumpy-sad, even. What makes you happy? The stars? I’m happy looking at the twinkly stars. They must be even prettier from space.”

Pinky waved at the gorgeous night sky. Countless stars and a silver moon to watch over them all. Pinky loved having a cage with such a view. The Brain might have a big telly-scope he could see Terra with! Terra, a lovely name for a lovely world! And to think Pinky had been calling it Earth like a silly-billy goat gruff.

Though the Brain might not be able to see him…he was practically the size of a mouse after all. Unless Pinky climbed to the highest point of the Great Mall of China! Everyone knew the Great Mall of China could be seen from space! And he could eat yummy dumplings there too!

Pinky twiddled his thumbs. He shouldn’t keep the Brain away from his super important work much longer. “Tell Snowball I said hi, okay? And thank you for the name. Same time again tomorrow night, right? Good night, the Brain. Sleep tight and don’t let the spacebugs bite. Cause then it gets itchy. Poit.”  

There was no answer. There wasn’t usually. Maybe the Brain was shy. It was okay though. He was probably saying good night too, in his own grumpy shy way.

Pinky turned off the Walkman and yawned, stretching his arms above his head. Then he slipped back into his cage, the bars spaced wide enough for him to slink through. He was still working on opening the cage door. TV always made escaping cages look so easy.

His straw bed was bathed in a patch of silver moonbeams tonight. That was good. Light always helped him sleep easier. Pinky flopped into the straw and pulled Mr. Button close, like his parents had done for him and Sis when they were babies. Mr. Button was hard, round, and green, but he was still a good cuddle buddy.

He had a big day of wheel running, maze running, and running to Pharfignewton’s stable tomorrow. Best to get some shuteye now and be bright-eyed and floppy-tailed tomorrow. He fell asleep with Mr. Button cradled loosely in his paws, dreaming of a land filled with delicious cheese.

o-o-o-o-o

Pinky ran on his wheel for his pre-breakfast exercise, finished off the remaining food pellets in his bowl, and even squeezed in a little pampering time before he was scooped up by the tail and dropped into a maze.

It was routine, and how he loved all sorts of routines! Bonking into walls nose-first was always fun, especially when he saw dizzy circling stars until he fell over like a limp noodle. Of course, he never could finish a maze, which made many of the humans puzzled and confuzzled while they scratched their heads and snapped pictures with their smartphones.

Mazes were hard. If he bounced high enough and clung to the wall like a Spidermouse, he could see the yummy cheese at the very end, but he wasn’t very good at getting there. He even tried the summoning spell he’d seen in one of the Harry Potter movies so the cheese would come to him instead, but his comes-and-goes telephonetic magic skills didn’t help him either.

The day passed like normal. Get lost in maze, lunch break, try another maze until he got more lost than the people stuck on an island in that one very confusing show, until he was finally brought back to his cage before the lab closed for the day.

Today, the lab had closed in the mid-afternoon, the sun still shining brightly in a pretty blue sky. Pinky could spend several glorious hours with Pharfignewton before the Brain’s nightly message over the Walkman.

Pinky squeezed through the cage bars, taking a flying leap off the counter and landing belly-down on the squishy seat of a spinning chair. He giggled as the chair slid back and spun a little, then dusted himself off and bowed to an invisible crowd. He’d been improving his landings lately. One of these days he’d definitely perfect his swan dive!

He jumped down to the floor and ran into the kitchen, wrinkling his nose at the bitter scent of leftover coffee in the pot. He’d always been a tea sort of mouse himself. Grabbing hold of the cherry-print towel that hung on the handle of the refrigerator, he counted to three (he probably put too many Mississippi’s between one and two again) and hauled himself up. All those upper body strength videos were coming in handy.

Pinky balanced himself on a thin sliver of handle and the fridge door, then shoved his feet against the handle and stretched himself as far as he could.

“Narf! C’mon, Pinky!” he wheezed, feeling the strain of his tummy and leg muscles. “It’s not bagel warmer science!”

He took a quick breather and gave one final shove. The door opened with a pop and Pinky lost his balance, landing somewhat painfully on the cold bottom of the fridge.

“Just like Iceland in here! Or was that the green one?” Pinky said, picking himself up from the floor and pushing the fridge door open all the way. He didn’t want to be locked in again. Besides, he’d promised Pharfignewton he’d come by today. He’d feel really awful if he broke his promise. “Now if I were a horse, what would I like to eat?”

Pharfignewton couldn’t eat cheese. Something about her tummy being intolerant. It was a little rude of her tummy to be honest, though she’d definitely eat cheese if she could.

Pinky peeked into each drawer, searched through every condiment bottle, but none really caught his eye as something he could bring along.

The leftover club sandwich wasn’t vegetarian. Condiment bottles wouldn’t fit through the mail slot.

Pinky found a box half-filled with sugar lumps, but Pharfignewton was very insistent on watching her figure in preparation for the Kentucky Derby in two months.

And then he spotted a celery snack pack with peanut butter dip on the topmost shelf.

“Egad, that’s perfect!” Pinky exclaimed, shimmying up to the snack pack. He pushed a red Jell-o cup aside and snagged his prize, hugging it to his chest. The only way to make it even tastier was to find raisins so they could make ants on a log, which didn’t look like real ants on real logs at all.

With the snack pack in hand, he hurried to meet Pharfignewton.

o-o-o-o-o

Pharfignewton galloped through the field, her gray mane flowing behind her like a beautiful river. No matter how many times he’d seen her practice, it never failed to amaze him. Her hooves flew like the breeze, her sky blue eyes shining in determination as she pushed herself a little further every day.

Pinky pulled himself up the fence’s wooden boards, kneeling on the flat surfaces and hauling the snack pack up with him. Once he made it to the top of a wide fencepost, he opened the pack and scooped one end of a celery stick into the peanut butter, then waved the coated end in the air.

“AND THERE SHE GOES! IS SHE A BIRD? IS SHE A PLANE? NO, SIRREE BOB! SHE’S PHARFIGNEWTON, THE BEST AND FASTEST RACEHORSE IN THE WORLD!” Pinky shouted, waving the celery stick like a flag.

Pharfignewton whinnied loudly, pouring on the speed as she galloped through a space between two trees and slowed to a brisk trot until she reached Pinky. She swept out a hoof and bowed to an invisible camera, her tail flicking happily.

“Hi, Figgy Pudding! You look amazing out there! Guess what? The Brain gave me a name! I’m Pinky now! Actually, I’m Pinky. He never said Pinkynow, did he?” Pinky grinned, holding the celery stick up to her muzzle. Pharfignewton neighed in delight, and it didn’t take long before all the celery sticks and peanut butter were gone. Practicing always made her work up an appetite.

Pinky licked up the remaining peanut butter, swiping his tongue along his mouth for the lingering peanut-y taste. Then he climbed onto Pharfignewton’s muzzle, her eyes sparkling as she tossed him into the air. Pinky threw out his arms, laughing and sliding down her long neck. He came to a stop at the base of her mane, then flipped himself over and gave her a ginormous hug.

Pharfignewton craned her neck, a blocky smile stretching her muzzle before suddenly rearing up on her hind legs and whinnying triumphantly.

“Zort!” Pinky cried, grabbing fistfuls of her mane to stop himself from falling off. Pharfignewton took off like a firecracker, and Pinky’s body lifted off her neck completely. “Hi-ho, Pharfignewton! Yippie-ki-yay!”

The ground and sky blurred together in a swirl of mashed colors, and the nearby stables were nothing more than thin brown lines in the corner of Pinky’s eye.

“The pack, Fig!” Pinky yelled. “We’ve gotta keep the environment clean!”

Pharfignewton raced by the fencepost, snatching up the plastic lining of the snack pack in her teeth and dropping it into the garbage bin by the stables. “Whoo! Nice and tight turn there!” Pinky said, leaning forward and planting his feet against Pharfignewton’s back to keep his balance. “You’re gonna win the Derby for sure!”

Pharfignewton neighed, leaping over a fallen branch with room to spare.

“Right, and then onto the Triple Crown! Live your dream, Pharfignewton! Live your dream!” Pinky shouted above the roar of the wind.

o-o-o-o-o

Pharfignewton’s owner, a friendly looking fellow with a big bushy beard, called for her as the sun went down. Though Pharfignewton was tired out from all her running, she eagerly trotted over to her owner and accepted a pat on the nose and a carrot. Pinky buried himself in her mane and pretended to be a tiny horse with pretty hair while the owner refilled her feed bucket and penned her in the stall for the night.

Once he was gone, Pinky sat on a wooden post next to Pharfignewton’s head, kicking his feet in the air while she ate her dinner.

“Camptown ladies sing this song! Doo-dah! Doo-dah!” Pinky sang, twirling a long piece of hay in the air as his baton. He pointed the hay at Pharfignewton, who paused in her meal and neighed out the next lyric. “Oh, that was gorgeous! You’re gonna be a real crowd-pleaser at the Derby!”

At the mention of the Derby, Pharfignewton stopped eating completely and rested her muzzle in the space next to Pinky. She nickered, ears pinning against her head. Pinky rubbed his nose against hers, smiling so she wouldn’t worry as much.

“I’ll be alright, Fig,” Pinky whispered. “The Triple Crown’s been your dream since fillyhood. You should go for it. Don’t worry about silly ol’ me.”

Pharfignewton tossed her head back and whinnied, her hoof scraping against the dirt floor.

“I’ll see you off when you leave,” Pinky said. “And watch you on TV. I’ll cheer so loudly you’ll hear me all the way in Kentucky! That’s a promise! A Pinky promise!”

He placed both pinky fingers on Pharfignewton’s muzzle so she could have one as well. He knew she was still worried though. And it was nice to know she cared, but really, he’d be alright in the lab. He had his wheel, food pellets, and the dusty VCR that ACME hadn’t gotten around to replacing yet.

“Poit. The Brain’s message is gonna be coming in soon,” Pinky said. “I’d best get back to the lab. Really wish you could listen him too, but the Walkman won’t fit through the mail slot. I already tried.”

Pharfignewton let him cling to one nostril as she gently lowered him to the stable floor. Pinky gave her muzzle one last broad stroke before setting off, waving goodbye until the stable was out of sight.

The moon rose, the first twinkling stars of the night coming out to play.

“I think you’d like her, the Brain,” Pinky said to the sky. “She’s amazing.”

But he spent too long admiring the stars and missed the left turn on Albuquerque Street. By the time he got back the lab and turned on the Walkman, the message was already ending.

-and traveling to the crash site tomorrow. I hope this venture will yield something useful. Out there, it will be silent. Not even my proximity to Snowball will help. He’s ambitious, I’ll grant him that. Our desire to rule Terra…it’s what keeps us going. Perhaps a little too much, at times. It occasionally gets in the way of…certain things.

There was no sign off. Sometimes there wasn’t, if the Brain felt strongly about something.

Everyone seemed to have a faraway dream that made up their entire being. And while the land of delicious cheese was pretty far from the lab, just touring through it and buying all the refrigerator magnets he could carry didn’t seem to make up his entire being. Not in the way racing was Pharfignewton’s life. Or how the Brain always spoke of a desire to rule Terra.

“If you have a faraway dream, I guess you have to be far away,” Pinky said to Mr. Button, who only wobbled in reply. “It’s okay. I’m happy they have dreams.”

He had his wheel, food pellets, and the dusty VCR after all.

AN: I never made the promise about silly Pinky things. Shhh….

I wanted to keep Brain naming Pinky cause it’s cute (also it’s practical for writing but mostly cute).

To win the Triple Crown achievement, a racehorse needs to win the Kentucky Derby, the Belmont, and the Preakness. Pharfignewton’s got a lofty goal, but Pinky believes in her!

ACME is really bad about updating their tech.

[asgardianthot]

Flesh And Bones - part 1

Sam Wilson x Bucky Barnes

Soulmate AU

In a world where people bond with their soulmates through physical pain, living in the same compound makes the search much easier (or it should, if they weren’t so damn stubborn)

TW: self-inflicted injuries

words: 1742

A/N: this is my first time posting a series on the tumblrs but I’ve had the idea for months so here goes nothing

Series Masterlist

Pain is such human extravaganza.

For your body to react to certain dangers or stimulations that trigger specific nervous patterns, that’s something most living creatures are built with. We are but machines; when you lay your hand over fire and it hurts, your nervous system is alerting the rest of your body of harm and yelling at it to get away from said harm, similar to how old hair dryers would stop functioning when they overheated to prevent explosions.

That, we have a general idea of. Pain is natural and not a construct.

But suffering. Aching from love, or the lack of it… nobody does it better than humans. Super-humans included. Enhanced, hyper-trained, whatever. The pain parade of romance is something so deeply rooted into the dumbest parts of our brains, that that must be the reason behind soulmates.

The point is, it is only logical for such a cruel universe to bond love and pain so tightly.

It’s simple, really. Sometime in the speck of dust of time in which we live, a person will get injured. They’ll bump their toe on a kitchen counter, fall on their butts, cut their finger while chopping vegetables, or maybe get into a chaotic car accident. No matter the damage, when the universe decides that hurt idiot is your hurt idiot, you’ll feel their pain on your own skin. It also didn’t matter if you knew the person or not, only chances were your soulmate was a complete stranger.

At first it comes like a tingle, a small pinch or even the ghost sensation of a scratch. But if your soulmate is nearer than they should without you realizing who they are, the sensation becomes full and the closer they are the more vivid their pain feels on your own skin. It is extremely uncertain, however, if it has to do with spatial proximity, or emotional.

Sam Wilson would eventually sit on the park, after his morning jog, or afternoon jog, and contemplate people. He enjoyed the easiness, the memory of a time before the army, when his life was simple. No PTSD, no Avenging. To be fair, the Avenger life was the cure to the PTSD somehow, for Sam Wilson was a man of action and the more quiet his life was, the more his mind wandered. He loved the agitation, the missions, the feeling of helping people, yet every once in a while, or once a day even, he would simply sit and watch the futility of civilian’s walks around the park.

A woman sat next to him and didn’t offer any sign of kindness. She seemed busy -occupied- in the way that she moved and looked around, which is why he didn’t look at her any longer so she wouldn’t feel uncomfortable. However, he then began getting the feeling that she was keeping an eye on him, and when he glanced at her nervous hands, he noticed the poor woman holding a needle to her skin, poking her own hand a few times.

A desperate soul.

On one side of a binary coin, some people don’t believe in soulmates. They aren’t the easiest to spot, and when a couple like that is seen, there is no proof for a simple skeptical individual that they actually felt each other’s pain. There were studies proving the neuronal effects, and were those hard to execute, but not everyone fell for them. Some argued that it was psychological placebo, that the person forced themselves to feel their lover’s feelings, some accused the studies to be biased or false. Some were old and hadn’t found one so why would they believe soulmates were real? They’re not necessary. You don’t just love the person you’ll want to spend the rest of your life with, and them alone, there’s all kinds of love and affection. Then, well�� some were simply bitter, covering up their fear of never finding one for themselves.

On the polar opposite, there were the desperate ones. They would inflict harm on themselves in public spaces, expecting a reaction from the passersby.

More than once had Sam seen a man stab their own leg or cut through their palm yelling ‘can anybody feel this?’ as if they feared this was their only shot, forcing the Falcon to run and make them stop hurting themselves along with other civilians. Some couldn’t wait. And Sam never understood why someone wouldn’t be able to enjoy life if they didn’t know their one and only; It made dating much more relaxed and fun and honest. Perhaps that person would eventually become your soulmate, and even though the probabilities of that happening were slim to none, it didn’t need to ruin every romantic relationship in your life.

Therefore with pain in his chest, he addressed the young woman whose eyes were directly analyzing Sam’s hand.

“Hey, lady?” he asked her, earning a big pair of hopeful eyes to find his; yet he had to give her a sad frown to let her know he wasn’t who she was looking for, thus gaining a mimicking disappointed look, “It’s not worth all this trouble.”

Her expression quickly turned into one of distance, like she was trying to protect herself from people who didn’t understand her. She sat back and allowed a smirk to take over her face as she stared into nothingness.

“You’re one of those people who think it’s all a hoax? A construct?” when obtaining no reply, she kept pressuring the Falcon, “Placebo effect? Self-conditioning?”

Sam didn’t give in. He simply took a big breath and sat up from the bench. When he turned to face her, her eyes weren’t as distant.

“No.” He said calmly, “I think yours will come when it’s time. Until then,” he raised his eyebrows a bit, “you’re just hurting yourself for no reason.”

Sam walked away before he could see the young woman’s lower lip tremble.

-

“I didn’t eat your cereal.” Bucky protested, plopped on the couch that faced a flat screen.

Sam, however, wasn’t buying it. He held his ground, one hand on his hip and the other agitating the skimpy remains inside the carton box, making it rattle.

“It’s empty.” He insisted, in a way that screamed paranoia over being accused of overreacting or being crazy.

Instead of acting in an opposite behavior, he gave Bucky all the more reason to treat him as if he were going insane.

“Well, it wasn’t me.” The soldier replied easily, not flipping through the channels anymore but surrendering to a local news one; after a sigh, he looked at the accusatory, “Maybe Steve did it.”

Sam pursed his lips before turning to Steve with a dead look on his face.

“Steve, did you eat my cereal?” he asked condescendingly, already knowing the answer to be no.

As a matter of fact, the blonde’s shirt had small dark spots where he sweat his morning jog on, his hair was still perfect for a regular person but a bit disheveled for Captain America’s inhuman standards, and he was focused on drinking from a water bottle.

He tilted his head to Sam, who nodded, more agreeing with himself than with Rogers.

“You’re the only one who stays on the couch all morning.” He braked back at Barnes.

He didn’t respond this time, perhaps because he was, once again, being accused of being lazy and not using his time nor his gifts wisely. Perhaps because he was just tired of saying he didn’t eat the cereals in question when he had undoubtedly and decisively eaten the cereals in question.

Paying attention to the random local news he’d landed on, he got the gist of what the reporter was saying. They were presenting a quirky story of a bitter man suing his soulmate. He claimed the only reason he got into a car accident was because he felt a sudden sharp pain in his foot and got distracted, and therefore, was asking for his soulmate to pay off the insurance money. Of course they had to find the soulmate who was allegedly responsible for the crash.

“That’s ridiculous.” Bucky mocked.

Sam sat next to him, already having dropped the subject of the missing cereals. He listened to the reporter interviewing the odd man and let an amused but very quickly evaporated smile.

“People have been pulling stunts like these for ages, you can’t be surprised.”

Barnes glanced at him for a second, then returning to the TV. He still thought it was the stupidest reason to sue he’d ever heard of.

“It’s insane.” He said anyways.

“I think it’s sad.” Sam derailed the commentary on an opposite direction, “Can’t be fun starting your lifelong love story through a lawsuit.”

Steve joined the conversation from behind the couch. “I’m pretty sure it’s just a way of getting their attention. You know, find them whatever it takes. It’s actually kind of romantic.”

Bucky scoffed. He couldn’t stop Steve from being such a hopeless romantic and blindly believe in fairy tales where there was none, but he could still be annoyed by the fact.

“A little convenient, isn’t it?” he raised an eyebrow in judgement, yet not turning around to face the blonde.

“What?” Sam shot defiantly, “You don’t believe in this stuff?”

They both knew he was referring to the soulmates paraphernalia. With his glum attitude and dark observations, Barnes did seem like the kind of people to discard the idea of a soulmate. Love that never changes, souls that bond… it did not sound like James Buchanan Barnes’ cup of tea.

“Not the whole part.” He admitted, “I think there’s a lot of bullshit to it.”

The smirk grew on Wilson’s face, “So you’re one of those wacko conspirationists?”

“What if I am?” Bucky shot back, just to mess with him.

He wasn’t though, or not when it came to soulmates, at least. NASA and the government, on the other hand? The man had seen too much inside Hydra to not believe any crazy theory to be possible. He dropped the subject and became more serious, shrugging a little.

“All I’m saying is there’s lots of rules and conditions, I mean, who makes the calls?” Bucky questioned, almost angry, “Who chooses everyone’s partners? And what if you hate your soulmate?”

“That’s the point.” Steve intervened with his bright optimism, “You won’t. They’re your other half.”

Bucky pursed his lips and picked up the remote to switch channels again.

“Sounds real dumb.”

[lilacmoon83]

Lightning in a Bottle

Also on Fanfiction.net and A03

Chapter 23: Whatever it Takes, Pt 1

David entered the kitchen that morning, after he finished getting ready for work, only to see his wife at the stove.

"Wow...omelets on a weekday?" he asked, as he put his arms around her waist and kissed her neck.

"Well...you have a busy day ahead being a sleuthing accountant. You need your energy...especially after last night," she purred.

"Yeah...it was pretty amazing," he agreed, as she put the eggs on five plates and then turned around in his arms, so they could kiss properly. They slowly swayed together and then pressed their foreheads together once their lips parted.

"Besides...you don't know how much it means to me that I have my husband and my son back and how much I love taking care of my family," she said, as he kissed her again.

"I know...and I promise we're not going anywhere ever again, my love," he promised, as Emma and the kids came into the kitchen.

"It's way too early for romance, you two," she grumbled, as she went for the coffee.

"You just hate mornings," Margaret mentioned, as she delivered the plates to everyone at the table.

"Ohh omelets...you're forgiven," Emma said, as she started eating with the kids, while David and Margaret sat down with them.

"So...how was date night?" she asked.

"Wonderful...but it was sort of a working date night," David replied.

"What does that mean?" Emma asked.

"Well...when I was digging at my new job, I learned that Unified Dynamic Systems is one of the clients at JP Williamson. UDS is funding something known as the Singularity Project, which is the research of this woman," David replied, as he showed her an image on his tablet.

"A passenger?" Emma asked.

"Yes...one that was studying something called mirror neurons. It's a fringe study that believes there are ways for human brains to link up collectively," Margaret explained.

"Uh...that sounds familiar," Emma said.

"We thought so too...so we cornered her after her symposium and questioned her about the missing passengers. But I don't think she knows anything about that," David replied.

"And you believe her?" Emma asked skeptically. He shrugged.

"She agreed to try to find out more information about her funding source, especially since it looks like they may be using her research to experiment on unwilling victims," David replied.

"I believed her too...trust me, she would be in bad shape if I thought she had anything to do with the plane's disappearance," Margaret assured. Emma snorted in amusement.

"Yeah...she'd be in a body cast right about now," she teased.

"Well…I'm protective of the people I love," Margaret said, as she kissed her husband, before gathering their plates.

"What about you? I heard you made a big arrest. It's all over the news," David mentioned.

"Uh yeah...we got that guy that killed the brother of the owner of Darkstar Pharmacy," Emma replied.

"Good...that was so sad and a little too close to home," Margaret mentioned quietly. It was not lost on any of them that Ruth had been killed in a similar type situation.

"Yeah...something else happened too. It was a Calling," she mentioned. Margaret turned off the water and sat back down with them.

"You didn't tell us that part," she said.

"It just happened," she pointed out.

"Anyway...when I was around the store owner, I kept hearing this heartbeat. Long story short...I found out that Tom Clark had a heart transplant almost six years ago…" Emma said, as she looked them in the eyes.

"It was Lily's," she said, causing Margaret to gasp and David looked at his son.

"Hey buddy...where's that drawing you were working on?" David asked. Henry dug through his backpack and produced the illustration of a man with a heart on his chest.

"That...looks like Tom Clark," Emma replied.

"And you helped catch his brother's killer," Margaret said in amazement.

"That's not all I helped him with. He was going to take justice into his own hands...but I convinced him not to, identify the killer, and let the justice system take over," Emma replied, as Margaret squeezed her hand.

"Then that's more confirmation that these Callings are doing something good," she said.

"I don't know MM…" Emma replied.

"I mean...even if they are good…" she said.

"I mean...what is this?" she added in frustration.

"I don't know...but we will figure this out. All of it," David assured them both. With that, they quickly cleaned up and started the day.

~*~

Emma arrived at the station and sat down at her desk, only to look up and see Killian standing there with a bakery sack in his hand.

"Picked up an extra bear claw," he mentioned.

"Uh...thanks," she replied, as she accepted the bag and he leaned against her desk.

"So...how's Henry?" he asked.

"He seems to be fine for the moment. We're keeping a close eye on him," she replied.

"But you don't think this is over?" he asked.

"Do you?" she asked, with a raised eyebrow.

"Honestly Emma...I have no idea. I mean...it's pretty out there," he mentioned.

"Yeah...that's what I thought too at first. But then it happens to you and it gets real, no matter how out there it seems," she said.

"I mean...last night, our victim's brother in this latest case just happened to be the recipient of Lily's heart? That's some out there stuff, but it happened," she reasoned. He sighed.

"Yeah...that was pretty wild," he agreed.

"Which means, whether I like it or not, these things that are happening to passengers are real and something," she said. He nodded.

"Fair enough...so what now?" he asked. She shook her head.

"I'm not sure...my brother is playing his own version of detective at his new job, so I guess we wait to see what he turns up and pray he's not discovered," he replied.

"Ah…I knew there had to be more to that. Your brother is way overqualified for a low level accounting clerk," he said.

"Yeah and from what I've heard his boss probably has an IQ that's half my brother's, so it shouldn't be too hard for David to find whatever he's looking for," she replied, as he sat down at his desk and they worked on the recent paperwork from the previous night's case.

~*~

After dropping Henry off with her father-in-law, Margaret arrived at her classroom that morning.

"Ms. Nolan?" a voice called, as a man peered into her classroom.

"Yes, can I help you?" she asked.

"I'm Sidney Glass...from the New York Times," he replied. She sighed.

"A reporter," she muttered.

"Yes...and I'm sure that doesn't make you feel comfortable at all," he said.

"You mean because a dozen other reporters at your paper have run hit pieces on me and my family for the last week?" she asked. He nodded.

"I understand that...but that is not my intention. No one has really told the story from your side," he replied.

"And why should I trust you?" Margaret replied, as she crossed her arms over her chest.

"You have no reason to...I get that. But this would be an opportunity to tell yours and your husband's story. I'd even let you read it before I publish," he offered.

"David and I don't care what people think of us...we never have," she said.

"Fair enough...but in case you change your mind, here is my card," Sidney said, as he set it on her desk and quietly left. She scoffed, as she looked at the card and then stuffed it in her purse, forgetting about it.

~*~

Upon arriving at work that morning, David sailed through the stack of work left for him on his desk with ease. This job was not challenging at all, but then that wasn't really the reason he was there. He took the stack and walked into his boss' office and he wasn't sure what Doc was doing on his computer, but he doubted it was work.

"Oh hey...828," he greeted, as David put the stack on his desk.

"Done already?" he asked and David shrugged.

"What can I say? Numbers are my thing," David replied, as another man stuck his head inside the door.

"Hey...are we still on for the game tonight?" he asked.

"Of course...hey Billy, this is David. You know, the guy from that plane," Doc said, as David shook hands with the tall African American man.

"Nice to meet you...man, what a story," he said.

"Yeah…I get that a lot," David replied.

"This is Billy from IT," Doc said.

"Nice to meet you," David replied.

"Hey numbers guy...do you play poker?" Doc asked.

"Yeah...we could use one more tonight," Billy agreed. While he loathed the thought of not going home to his family the moment the day was over, he knew how valuable it could be to persuade an IT guy to unknowingly let him in the backdoor and straight to the files on the Singularity Project.

"Sounds great," David agreed.

"Great," Doc said, as he patted him on the shoulder.

"Until then...maybe you can help me out with these, but don't tell anyone," Doc said, as he gave him another stack and his own badge since these had a higher clearance. David smirked.

"Don't worry...I'll get these done and you can have all the credit," he replied, as he returned to his desk. He didn't know what else he could find, if anything, but he knew that accessing the backdoor through the IT guy might yield even more results.

~*~

Mr. Gold entered Vance's office, only to interrupt him with another man, whom Gold recognized as one of his senior agents.

"Mr. Gold...please join us," Vance said.

"This is Special Agent Arthur King. He was just delivering some very interesting Intel," Vance said. Mr. Gold ignored the agent, but nodded curtly to Vance.

"You mean the Intel where David Nolan has just been hired on at an accounting firm for a job that he is ridiculously overqualified for?" Gold asked.

"How do you know that?" Agent King asked suspiciously.

"I have my ways, Agent King...but I do not think Mr. Nolan has ill intentions," Gold replied.

"More hero talk?" Vance questioned.

"He seems to be taking that role...yes and he may be the keystone to breaking all of this wide open," Gold replied.

"Or he could be committing corporate espionage," Arthur countered.

"David Nolan is not our enemy. In fact...I believe our enemy is within," Gold said.

"Are you accusing a government agency of being behind the disappearance of this plane?" King questioned with an edge in his voice. Gold smirked.

"Oh no, Agent King...but I am pointing out that there are those within that may not have the passenger's best interests at heart," he added.

"These people may be a threat to National Security," Arthur pointed out.

"They don't know what happened to them, Agent King. They are in the dark as much as we are. Locking them up will yield no answers," Gold warned.

"This guy is a crackpot," Arthur hissed to his boss.

"Mr. Gold's insight is valuable...but we will monitor Mr. Nolan's activities. Bug his phone," Vance ordered. Arthur seemed appeased by that and quickly left.

"He's a hothead...and not in a good way," Gold mentioned.

"He's a good agent," Vance countered.

"If Nolan does commit espionage...I can't ignore it," Vance warned.

"Perhaps not...but arresting him will get you nothing. In fact, it may cost lives if you do," Gold warned in return. Vance was silent at that, contemplating his words.

~*~

"It's okay, baby...this sounds like an opportunity you can't pass up," Margaret said, as she put the groceries away while talking to him on speaker phone.

"I know...I just hate getting home late. But if I can get a way into this account through the backdoor, I might be able to get a location or something," David said.

"I hate it too...but I know you're doing this for Henry. I'll feed the kids and wait to eat with you," she said.

"Thanks...but you don't have to do that," he replied.

"I know...but I want to," she said.

"Then I can't wait. I'll see you soon and I love you," he replied. She smiled.

"I love you too," she gushed, as they hung up and she saw their son come into the house with her father-in-law.

"Hey sweetie...did you have a good day with Grandpa?" she asked.

"Yeah...we had lots of fun," Henry replied, as she hugged him and she and Robert shared a smile.

"But I was wondering…" Henry said.

"Wondering what?" she asked.

"When can I go back to school?" he asked.

"Oh...well, we want to make sure you're out of the woods from that most recent scare, honey," she replied.

"I know...but I feel fine now and Dad is trying to find out where those missing passengers are, right?" Henry asked. She smiled.

"He is...and we can talk about school more later, I promise," she replied, as he went upstairs.

"I know David is doing what he needs to...but corporate espionage is no joke if he gets caught," Robert said in a worried tone.

"I know...I'm worried too, but David thinks this might be the only way to save Henry and those missing passengers," Margaret replied. He nodded.

"And there will be no stopping him," Robert said. She smiled softly.

"You know David...always the hero," she said fondly.

"That's our David," he agreed.

"Do you want to stay for dinner and eat with the kids?" she asked. He smiled.

"You know I'd love that," he replied.

~*~

David entered the conference room, which had been turned into an after hours poker game. He was not looking forward to this at all, but he put a smile on and was introduced to the other players that he had not met yet.

"So 828...were the aliens at least hot?" one guy asked and the others busted up laughing. David forced a chuckle and shook his head.

"No...but then there's only one woman for me and she's right here on Earth," he replied.

"Dude...your wife isn't here. You don't actually have to say that stuff," Doc said.

"I say it because it's true," David replied.

"Don't mind Doc...he can't get a woman to save his life," Billy joked, as he dealt the cards.

"Very funny," Doc said.

"So David...he tells me you're a numbers guy?" Billy asked.

"A Master's in mathematics. I did a bit of coding in college, but ultimately decided to teach instead," David replied.

"So you know some coding?" Billy asked.

"It's been a long time...I probably need a refresher," David replied.

"I could help with that...if you're interested. Doc says that you're bored," Billy said.

"Actually yeah...that would be great," David replied.

"After you finish tomorrow's work load," Doc instructed, as they picked up their cards.

"So...that should be about nine in the morning," David said, as they all laughed. Getting in with the IT guy had been easier than he thought…

~*~

As Margaret waited for David to get home, the kids watched a movie and she found herself walking down memory lane in the form of one of her many photo albums. She flipped the page and smiled at the photo of them on their wedding day. She remembered that day so well, for it had been one of the happiest days of her life.

~*~

Flashback

"Wow...you look like a fairytale Princess for sure," her friend and one of her bridesmaid's, Ruby, said.

"Well…I'm marrying my Prince Charming so I should," Margaret replied, as Abigail adjusted her veil.

"Are you ready?" Emma asked, as she stepped forward. Her future sister-in-law and best friend was her maid of honor, of course. Margaret smiled.

"I've wanted to marry David since we were eight. I can't wait…" she replied. Emma smiled.

"Neither can he. He's been telling everyone he was going to marry you since then too, so let's finally make it official already," Emma said, as Robert poked his head in.

"Ready?" he asked. Emma nodded, as he came into the room.

"You look beautiful, Margaret and I already considered you my daughter," he said, making her smile.

"I know that I was a terrible father to my kids and you were what helped them both get through some very rough times. I can never repay you for that and when you asked me to walk you down the aisle, I was blown away," he admitted.

"You made mistakes and struggled with your own demons, but you got better and we forgive you. Even at your worst, you were more of a father to me than my own ever was," she said, as he offered his arm and she hooked her hand on his elbow.

By then, the music had intensified. Her bridesmaid's and Emma were already at the altar and everyone stood, as they exited the small garden house and outside into the beautiful garden where they had chosen to have their wedding. It was near the wooded area and the bridge they had frequented for years. They had played in this garden and park for years, so getting married here seemed perfect.

David was in awe, as she floated toward him like an angel, carrying a bouquet of snowdrops, much like the ones he had picked for her when they were children. Even then, the idea of marrying her was firm in his young mind and now that the moment was finally here, he knew that his life was complete with her by his side. The ceremony was a mere formality, for they had bonded their lives together long ago…

~*~

"That was an amazing day," he mentioned and she looked up, finding him leaning over her.

"You're home...I was so absorbed by the memory of this day that I didn't hear you come in," she mentioned, as he kissed her tenderly.

"It was one of the best days of my life," he said, as he squeezed into the chair with her.

"Mine too," she agreed, as they shared another kiss.

"Did you find anything?" she asked.

"Not yet...but the IT guy promised to show me some coding. If I can manage to get in the backdoor to the account of the Singularity Project, I'm hoping I can find something like a location or more names," he replied. She smiled and kissed him again.

"I know you will...you're our hero, after all," she said, as she rested her head on his shoulder and they gazed upon their kids fondly.

[atlas-of-a-human-soul]

Friends can break your heart too pt. 2

Warnings: angst, swearing (enjoy!)

Word count: ~ 3.6k+

Part 1

Where was my fault in all this? All I did is love him with all my heart, but it went to waste. A part of me expected him to run after me the very instant I turned the first corner, slowing down my steps to give him a chance to catch up if he needed it.

Once I realized he wasn't coming, I felt swelling rage push tears even faster to fill my eyes. My vision blurred and chest heaved with the undeniable pressure building up so quickly I'm terrified it would burst. It's funny how people call it a broken heart, but I hurt all over. My brain is in shambles and my body aches like I've been hit by a train and the darkness growing inside is becoming too much to bear.

I remember calling an Uber, praying I'll keep my breakdown in, just a while longer...just until I'm behind closed doors and people with phones and annoying habits of filming everything they see can't get to me.

The last thing I need right now is someone posting a video of me that would go viral. I don't want to give him the satisfaction. I don't want him to see me cry.

Finally alone and inside my home, I find myself unable to shed a tear making it much worse. If you can't release the pain inside, the pain destroys you. It's one of my worst qualities, having few rare moments of release and bottling up everything else until I explode and take everything out in my vicinity.

Deciding not to dwell on it, I grab a bucket of ice cream from the fridge, DAIRY one and sit on my couch in silence and darkness, just getting that lactose in and smiling like a maniac. I've been sick and tired of their newfound dairy free diet and doing it as well to serve as a support system. I guess somewhere deep inside my tired, still firing neurons, eating a tub of dairy and sugar seems like vengeance of sorts.

This is how far I've fallen.

My phone keeps ringing, messages from James and Ethan coming through as I try my best to ignore them and stuff my face.

„Why are you not with them?! I'm losing my fucking shit here! Who is that girl frolicking with Gray and why aren't you answering?!“ James is freaking out, probably watching the awards on TV, worrying, and I'm not sure if it's justified or not.

I'm okay, aren't I? No one deals with these things normally, right?

„Y/N, I'm so sorry. I wish you stayed with me because I'm so bored. Call me back and let me know if you're okay? A text at least?“ Ethan called too and I know I bailed on him. I know he's basically the third wheel since Marina didn't come with him and Grayson's probably wrapped around that woman the entire time.

My dress is constricting my airways, shoes already kicked off my feet and I'm sure my make up is still spotless. I look like I walked out of a Disney movie and Grayson barely noticed me at all. I know I'm not usually the most good looking person out there. I'm aware that most people tend to completely overlook me, not notice I'm even around. I'm the girl no one sees, I don't light up the room when I walk in and people don't stand up to talk to me or go out of their way to make me feel wanted.

No one ever did that for me, but Ethan and Grayson did.

Maybe that's why I fell for him so hard? I craved the attention he gave me? I needed to feel wanted and like I mattered? Because he made me feel like that.

He did.

I never felt invisible around either of them.

I mattered.

Until I didn't.

„Step away from the ice cream!“ Ethan shouts and I snap my head up and to the right where I heard his voice come from, my heart pounding frantically and my mouth opening to let out a small shriek in fear.

„Why are you in my house?!“ I shout back, sitting properly and looking to my phone for the time.

„The awards are over.“ Ethan says in a 'duh' tone and I furrow my brows, rubbing my right temple when I see my ice cream all but melted. I must have dozed off in the inferno of my 'Reasons why I'm not good enough' special held in Grayson's honor.

„Oh.“ I mutter, hearing his footsteps approaching fast. He takes the ice cream from my hands, leaving it on the table in front of me while I stare blankly at my manicured nails and a golden butterfly ring on my right middle finger Ethan bought for my last birthday.

„Wanna talk about it, Princess?“ Ethan asks softly, siting beside me, his right arm pressed against my left one. It's a small couch and my dress is taking up the most of it.

„'Bout what?“ I look to him and swallow thickly, hoping my facade holds up.

„You being in love with my brother and him being undeserving of that.“ Ethan states and I cough violently, choking on my own spit.

„W-what?!“ My voice is high-pitched and my mouth is open like a fish gasping for air. I've believed my feelings were mine alone, hidden from the world and if they weren't...If Ethan knew of all people, did Grayson know?

Does he know?

„Oh, c'mon! It's not like you're being slick with all the starin' you do. I mean, I literally measured the time once I realized you do that and the longest has been ten minutes and twenty three seconds. You look at him like he walks on water!“ Ethan exclaims and I find my mind change speed and the panic overwhelming me like there's ice swimming inside my veins.

„I – uh, you're wrong.“ I try to rectify my past mistakes now, but it's in vain.

Ethan knows.

He knows.

„Am I? You're never speechless unless he's complimenting you. You have a permanent smile around him and I swear you turn into actual sunshine in his proximity. It's like you want to give him all the warmth and love and support this world has to offer. You also gravitate toward him like he's your moon. When he moves, you move. If you can be close to him, you are. Don't even get me started on the way you giggle at his stupid dad jokes or your encouragement of his nutcracker and plant obsession. I know you. You love him and...I'm sorry that you do.“ Ethan ends his rant by putting a hand over mine, making the speed chase inside my head stop and it's as if I'm crashing through the windshield with that gesture. Ethan putting a hand on mine like that meant something else. He's not a touchy feely guy, but he's here and he's holding my hand and it can only mean one thing.

He knows Gray doesn't feel the same way I do.

„So, he – uh, really doesn't love me then. Does he?“ My voice cracks, but I'm still too stubborn to cry. I'm strong, I don't cry for men.

„I can't say anything for sure because we never spoke about you in that way, but he's with Sara now and I don't know why he never mentioned her to you. I was under the impression he did.“ Ethan runs his thumb across my knuckles and I remember how Grayson did that before.

He'd always take my hand in his, no matter where we are and just hold it for hours. He'd run his thumb over each of my knuckles and intertwine our fingers, bringing my hand to his lips to kiss and looking back at him doing that on daily bases doesn't make me feel so insane for thinking he might have loved me too.

„He never said a thing about her. Not even hinted they met. And I really...I really thought he'd be here tonight, you know? Like, he'd come to at least apologize and bring me my favorite milkshake as a peace offering as we once promised to do whenever we fought. But he didn't and I hate that I'm a wreck about it all.“ I feel myself slipping down the emotional swirl-hole again, wondering how long will it take me to claw my way back again.

He didn't even bring the fucking milkshake.

Back when we first had a fight after becoming friends, Grayson bought me my favorite milkshake every day for a week and stood in front of my door until dark, leaving the shake whenever he left. And I'd drink it and leave the cup outside for him to find. I watched him smirk every time he found it empty through the peephole, realizing right then and there I wasn't really angry with him anymore, I just wanted to see that self-satisfied smile on his face whenever he saw I drank the milkshake. So, we made a pact. Whenever we fought in any way, the one who messed up will bring a milkshake the other one favors and you have to accept it and talk.

Guess he didn't find this ordeal milkshake worthy.

„I'm sorry to do this to you, but you have to face this. Grayson is – well, he's basically fucking Sara right now instead of being here and comforting you. He's not into you like that. Not as far as I know and I think he'd tell me, Y/N. I'm not trying to be cruel, I'm just trying to help you move on. Realize he's not all that and find a guy who treats you like a princess you are. Cause you fucking look like one even without wearing that dress.“ Ethan's words surprise me; shock me even. His breath seemed to stutter in his lungs before he let it go, the tension draining from his body. His breathing returned to normal and his lips parted, opening his mouth as if he could face the problem.

„Yeah. I did. I did love you for some time...it's how I know you're in love with Grayson. I watched you while you watched him and once I knew I had no way of winning you over, I did the only thing I could; I moved on. It was hard and messy and I still get in that head-space, but I never acted upon any of it. This is why I'm advising you to the same. Just, let him go.“ Ethan takes a deep breath, patiently awaiting for me to say anything.

I saw something flicker in his eyes that I never wanted to die. It's selfish, but right now, I crave his affection; the same he kept hidden from me for so long. I can't, but I want to. I want to kiss him and let whatever is left of my soul burn in hell. I find myself leaning forward, Ethan's eyes moving from my eyes to my lips and remaining there, just lingering.

„Such a bad idea.“ He says quietly and I can't help but agree with him. It's probably the worst idea I've ever had, but Grayson's fucking some other girl and I'm just trying to get through the night. I'm just trying to piece myself together.

But then I remember why I can't do this.

If Grayson ever did this to me, I'd be a hollow shell of a girl, unable to find someone that can give me the love I know I deserve. I can't ruin Ethan like that. I can't drag him in a mess that he just barely escaped from. He has Marina now and I'll be damned if I ruin it.

„I really want to kiss you right now. I do.“ I lick my lips and continue.

„But Marina...she's good for you and I'm not sure what I feel or what tomorrow will bring. It's not fair to you. I should know, not guess...especially when it’s you. You, one of my favorite people in this whole universe and any alternative ones that exist.“ I place my forehead on his lips, leaning on them for their warmth and keeping him quiet for a moment longer all the while ignoring how his hands on my waist feel inviting.

I'm just looking for a physical comfort, a rebound.

I can't make him one.

I won't.

„This is exactly what I'm saying. You're too good for him. For either of us.“ Ethan whispers against my forehead, pulling me into his chest and holding me.

And I hate myself for thinking about how Grayson never just holds me against him, but crushes me with his bear hugs until I'm fighting for air. He melts into me and always stands up just to make sure he can twirl us before collapsing on the floor, still holding me tightly enough to feel the beat of his heart against his rib cage.

It’s strange, frightening even, how you can go from someone being a complete stranger, to then being completely infatuated by them and wondering how it ever was that you were able to live without them, because you sure as hell couldn’t imagine being without them now. I know I'm still young, and most people would consider me to be foolish and naive, but it’s true when I say that I love him more than I could ever love myself. He’s my best friend and, as cheesy as it sounds, he’s my anchor. My one stability in this world filled with chaos. Grayson's always been my anchor and knowing I have to leave that is a big part of why tears slip down my cheeks as Ethan moves me to my bed, covers my body with a blanket, unaware I'm still awake.

I hear the light switch go off and feel an arm wrap around me, face burying in my hair and breath giving me goosebumps. I hear Ethan's phone go off, muffled voice coming from the speaker, but neither of us move to get it.

Whatever it is, it can wait till the morning.

„Hey, bro! I'm going to grab a milkshake and stay at Y/N's tonight. Sara and I had a fight about...me being too taken with Y/N to perform if you get what I mean. Ugh, why did I just tell you this?! Either way, don't worry about me. I'll be home around noon maybe. You better fucking delete this voicemail or I swear I'll post that photo of your pineapple tattoo! Don't test me, bitchass!“

That was a mistake.

The next thing I know, I'm being awaken to a hushed fight between Ethan and Grayson, still in my dress and a little dazed.

„You didn't tell me!“ „I have nothing to tell!“ „You're unbelievable!“  They keep exchanging words, but I know I'm not up for Grayson's shit right now.

„What is happening?“ I say through gritted teeth, both of them turning to face me.

„Just congratulating you on your relationship. Didn't expect to find out because I found you in bed together. Definitely didn't see it coming.“ Grayson's eyes pierce through me, looking to hurt me more, demanding explanations that didn't exist.

„We just fell asleep, you idiot. Now get out. Both of you. I need some time alone and away from you.“ I gesture vaguely toward them, pointing at Grayson after. „Mainly you, but since you're a package deal. Leave me alone!“

„I'm not leaving.“ Grayson steps forward, shoving a milkshake in my face and I'm forced to fight a smile from showing on my face. I can't just let it go. I can't just ignore our pact.

So, I turn to Ethan.

„E. please?“ He just nods knowingly, understanding exactly what I mean.

I need closure.

I sit on my bed, folding my hands in my lap and not taking the milkshake.

„You really not going to take this? It's banana! Your favorite!“ Grayson exclaims, plopping on the bed, dipping the mattress and leaning me to his side a little.

„Not in the mood. Say what you need to say and go.“ I say firmly, looking ahead and he sighs, moving so he's on his knees and in front of me, in my line of sight.

„I forgot to tell you and yes, I'm an ass for ditching you. You ARE more important, but she was already there and I couldn't leave her either. Thought you'd be okay with staying and being Ethan's date. I just...I have no idea why I forgot to let you know about it all.“ There's a pause in his speech, one he uses to look me over again and I keep my eyes on his, refusing to look away. He won't win. Not now.

„You look like a dream. So unreal and unearthly and I'm sorry it wasn't seen.“

„I spent the past two months working overtime. Every day. I used up all my savings. I...I did so much just to get into this dress and to be there with you and I just...it meant nothing to you when it meant everything to me. You were so careless tonight, Gray. I didn't even recognize you.“ My words pack a powerful punch, I can tell by the way that twinkle in his eye goes out and anguish takes over. Shame takes over his mind and guilt takes over his heart.

„All that so I could tell you I'm so fucking in love with you.“ I finally say those words, just release them into the world like they didn't weigh me down for so long.

His eyes snap back to me, wide and his eyebrows raise. His breathing almost halting in the moment.

„I am as much in love with you today as I ever was, perhaps even more so, but I'm tired...Tired of watching you choose the wrong girl every time while I'm here all the while, just waiting for you to take one look and realize that I'm the one for you. Because I am. But you lost me too. You've lost all we could have been because you destroyed that innocent part of me that yearned for you, all of you. You've ruined me, so deal with the wreckage you left in your wake. You're the perfect example why hurricanes are named after people. You're a hurricane, Grayson and I need to get away from this storm before it swallows me whole.“ I'm aware my words sound forced and pained, fully aware he's trying to get a word in as well but my monologue stops him because there is so much I want to tell him and so little time as I've made my decision.

I need to let him go. Both of them. At least for a while.

„Don't I get a say in it?“ He questions and I chuckle dryly.

„You want a say in this? Okay, fine! Do you love me, Grayson?“ My words are rushed and those stubborn tears of mine are preparing to burst forth like a river from a dam.

„Of course I love you, Y/N.“ He places his hands on mine, quickly interlocking our fingers so I can't pull away and I purse my lips.

„I don't mean do you love me. I mean are you in love with me.“

Silence. He doesn’t even blink, seemingly stunned by my inquiry.

„Or even like me? Because if you do, only then do you have any say in this.“ I hate how weak my voice is, how wobbly and each break in it mirrors a break inside. I feel as if my lungs are slowly filling with water, as if there's just less space in them for the air.

Why was it so hard with him? Why does it always have to be so hard? It shouldn't be like this.

Not if it's right.

I stand, startling him enough to let go of my hands and move quickly to avoid him wrapping his arms around me. He moves after me, reaching out to grab my arm, but I slap his hands away.

„Wait, please!“ Grayson croaks out, something inside him turning but not fast enough. He shouldn't have to think about it. He's supposed to know. Love isn't thinking you want someone to hold, but wanting that all the time.

„For what, huh? How many ways are there for you to break my heart tonight? Just...give me enough respect and leave. Let me keep what pride I have left.“ I'm shaking, not only on the outside, but inside as well.

Before I met Grayson my heart was soft, with him it became strong and vibrant, now it is simply broken.

And he listened. He left. He left even though I wanted him to stay and say the words I needed him to say. That he loves me, that he cares. Anything, everything...just not leave when I need him.

I pack my things and wipe away angry tears I am so tired of already. Writing a note for the boys if they come back, texting James, I finally leave my apartment and head back home in a need of a proper rest.

They say people who are meant to be always find their way back to each other. They say friends don't make you hurt. They say life is full of surprises and now I know they, whoever they are, are very wrong.

People who are meant to be together don't always end up together and friends can break your heart too which is actually the biggest surprise of all. Heart break is a funny thing. We all know it's going to happen, yet we're never prepared for it. We underestimate it's power. Why are we never ready for it? Because we're in denial. We believe it won't happen. We believe if we give him our hearts he will not crush it. Hearts shouldn't be crushed. They should be cherished and protected. I wish he would have cherished and protected my heart.

Tags: @xalayx @heeydolan @accalialionheart @fallinginlove-16  @rosegoldquintis @nefelibata-diamond @blackdesires-blog @me-a-hopeless-romantic @wannabeactress @mckeeee-1 @godlydolans @daddygraysonsbitch @killmonger-dolan @emy-is-cooler-than-you @5sausefandom  @thatoneperson5000 @the-evolution-of-stupidity @mercy-love18-love @graydolan12 @flowercrowns3438 @trumpettay @skurtdolans @nowheredolan @shadowsndaisies @heartbelongstodolans @gvldenskie

[zacharybosch]

Playing God - chapter 5

in which something else is served for dinner

chapter 1: tumblr / ao3

chapter 2: tumblr / ao3

chapter 3: tumblr / ao3

chapter 4: tumblr / ao3

read Playing God chapter 5 below or on AO3

“You, uh… You got any more of that steak?”

Will had not been able to stop thinking about the meal he’d shared with Hannibal, brooding over it late into the evening for the past several days. All reasonable people were in bed at such a late hour, but of course Hannibal picked up the phone when Will called. Hannibal was not reasonable people.

“I’m so sorry Will, but I believe we ate the last of it.” Will could hear the smile in Hannibal’s voice, the smug, satisfied curl of it. “But if you wanted to come round, I’m sure I could find something else for you to eat.”

“Isn’t it a little late?”

“Not for you.”

Hannibal’s ‘something else to eat’ turned out to be himself. Will should’ve seen it coming; in fact, he had seen it coming, the numerous other times throughout his life when people had tried to pull a similar stunt. But Hannibal seemed to have an uncanny ability to blind Will in a way no-one else had ever quite been able to.

It sounded so simple and easy when Hannibal said it. Just a quick bite, an innocent little taste. For a few seconds Will even allowed himself to believe it, before common sense came crashing back into his brain.

“I can’t. They’ll know.”

“I won’t tell if you won’t,” Hannibal said, as if this were all just some amusing game.

“It’s not just that. I’ll be different. Warmer, brighter, stronger. I’ll look alive. They take measurements with every feeding. Next time I come in, they’ll see something’s different. They’ll know.”

Jack had, in fact, already dropped some very unsubtle hints that Will should bite Hannibal if he thought it would help ensnare him. But Jack didn’t know the full extent of Will’s rules around feeding, and why they were there in the first place. Like everything else surrounding Will, it was a need-to-know basis, and Will’s Keepers had decided that Jack didn’t need to know. They told Jack that there was to be no feeding under any circumstances, and assumed that would be enough, not counting on Jack masterminding a secret entrapment plan and deciding that the “no feeding” rule probably wasn’t that important.

But Will knew how important it was. It wasn’t the blood itself that was the problem; he drank pretty much every day and didn’t crave more than what he was given. What he craved was the heat of it pumping fresh from the source, a warm body pressed against his, and the choice to take one sip and be done or drain a person dry. That was what the no feeding rule was about: it wasn’t about feeding at all. It was about Will’s self-control, and ensuring he wouldn’t be in a situation where it would undoubtedly fail.

Hannibal was so willing, and he didn’t even realise what it was that he was really offering himself up for. Or perhaps he did, and that was the thrill of it, the thought that Will could drink him entirely.

“I could lose control,” Will said. “I could kill you.”

“I know.”

“It doesn’t frighten you?”

“No.”

“It should. It frightens me.”

“I’ve not yet heard a ‘no’, Will. Tell me no and I’ll not ask again.”

Will moved his mouth and found that the word wouldn’t come out. He was so ready to sink his teeth in, could feel the strain in his jaw as he fought to keep his fangs from extending. If they came out, it was all over.

Jack knew the dangers. Will had tried his best to explain why every single part of his plan was a bad idea, and Jack had listened carefully and then pushed forward with it anyway, convinced it was the only way to get results. He wanted a quick play and a neat end to the very un-neat situation he’d put Will in.

Hannibal wanted to draw Will more closely to him, and to experience the thrill of having death itself eating out of the palm of his hand. So to speak.

And what did Will want? Will just wanted to bite.

Perhaps everyone could have what they wanted.

“Go sit on the sofa,” Will said, looking anywhere but at Hannibal’s gleeful face. “You need to be able to hide the bite mark, so before you even think about asking, your neck is completely out of the question. Take off your jacket.”

Hannibal obeyed without question, and Will sat down heavily next to him. He was really going to go through with it. He hadn’t had willing blood for… he didn’t want to think about how long it had been. “I’ll do it on your arm, inside the elbow. Just don’t roll your sleeves up too far for the next few weeks, okay?”

“Understood,” Hannibal said. He began to unfasten the cuff of his sleeve, but Will stopped him before he could reveal more than an inch of wrist.

“How attached are you to this shirt?”

“I would have little trouble obtaining a replacement.”

“Okay. Good. There needs to be as little skin-to-skin contact as possible, so I’m going to bite you through the shirt.”

“Is that really necessary, or is it due to your own personal hang-ups?”

Will levelled Hannibal with a withering look. “Stop talking about things you know nothing about. It’s for your own safety, and mine.”

With no further ceremony, Will took up Hannibal’s arm and bit down into the yielding flesh. Hannibal hissed and jerked his arm involuntarily, but Will just tightened his grip and sucked. He’d become so used to his clinical subsistence appointments, the tube pressed directly down his throat and the anaemic, joyless trickle of blood, that he’d forgotten how good it felt to have hot, rich, free-flowing blood flooding his mouth, salty and metallic and messy.

The heat swept through Will’s body like fire over gasoline. He could feel his bones strengthening, his skin thickening, sparks racing across neurons and nerve-endings. The fabric of Hannibal’s shirt sleeve was becoming soaked, and it was in the way of the only thing that mattered in that moment, so Will tore it open. The first hungry press of his lips against Hannibal’s slick, blood-dark skin felt like biting into the heart of God himself.

Will was vaguely aware of something at the very edge of his consciousness, an alarm or sudden movement or something else that didn’t matter to him at all. He began to move bodily over Hannibal, caging him in with arms and legs, biting deeper, sucking harder…

And then suddenly Will was on his back on the floor, head swimming and pinprick stars clouding his vision.

***

Will found Hannibal in the downstairs bathroom. He had replaced his ruined shirt with a clean sweater, and was carefully applying neat strips of tape to the edges of a bandage. The sink was splashed with pink.

“I should’ve taken you seriously,” Hannibal said, not looking up from his bandage.

“Yes, you should. I’m not going to apologise. I tried to warn you.”

“But I’m glad I disregarded your warnings. You were breathtaking.”

“That was nothing.”

“I can only imagine what kind of savagery you must be capable of. Such possibilities I never dared dream.”

“Maybe you won’t have to imagine. If I told you I was going to kill you, I don’t think you’d try and stop me.”

Hannibal looked positively starry-eyed, staring at Will in the mirror. “Never.”

“It’s easy to give yourself up for death. No consequences.” Will crowded into Hannibal’s personal space, pressed his chest into Hannibal’s shoulder and continued low into his ear, “You’d die for me, but would you let others die in your place?”

Hannibal said nothing, just watched Will’s reflection in the mirror as he pointedly let his gaze drop to the fine skin of Hannibal’s neck.

“What if I told you I was going to kill someone else, would you stand aside and let it happen? If I was to kill a friend, a colleague?”

“Yours, or mine?”

“Is the distinction important?” Will said, barely more than a whisper breathed into the shell of Hannibal’s ear.

“Perhaps.”

Will said nothing for a long moment. He’d known murderers, serial killers, too many violent people to mention; the common thread that ran through them all was the desire to be acknowledged and congratulated for their power and cunning. Dismissal was unbearable. Will had already decided that presenting the meat as evidence wasn’t viable, for a variety of flimsy reasons that he didn’t want to look at too closely, so in the absence of any other evidence, getting Hannibal to confess was his only option.

He stepped away abruptly and said, “You don’t even know what it is you’re saying. You have no idea.”

And there it was, the irritation flickering over his face, there and gone again. Hannibal wouldn’t be so stupid as to come out with it right now and say that actually, yes, he knows exactly what he’s talking about because he’s killed however many hundreds of people in a variety of fun and clever ways. But the desire to do so had undoubtedly crossed his mind, and that was good enough for now.

After that, it was almost too easy. The slight bruise to Hannibal’s ego left him wanting to prove something, and Will took full advantage. Blood-drunk as he was, even after only a small amount, Will let the vestiges of his human persona slip away as the wave of his vampire nature rose up to consume him.

It was a simple thing to stalk back over to Hannibal, to turn his body so his back pressed against the sink, to hold him hard and kiss him harder and murmur against his lips that there were so many things he could tell Hannibal, so many delights and horrors spanning his long life, but he didn’t give his stories out for free and wouldn’t Hannibal give him something in return?

Hannibal could’ve said anything, up to and including a full, detailed confession, and Will wouldn’t have heard it. The mere act of asserting himself, of caging someone in and knowing that in that moment he held the entirety of their life in his hands, gave Will such a heady rush that all he could think about was the next move he needed to make in order to get Hannibal more pliant, more willing, more ready to offer himself up.

But he didn’t have to think about it very hard. If it were anyone else, Will would’ve called it a pathetic, desperate display; but on Hannibal, the act of sinking to his knees was so sweetly submissive, so uncomplicated in desire and intention, that Will couldn’t help but place his hands on Hannibal’s face, cradling his cheeks, stroking his lips.

I don’t even need to turn him, his teeth are sharp enough already, Will thought to himself, and then stopped. Had the thought of turning Hannibal already occurred to him? And why was he even entertaining the idea? But then Hannibal’s hands were on him, gripping him through the fabric of his trousers and tugging at his waistband, and Will couldn’t remember what he was thinking about, couldn’t remember why he was here, couldn’t remember the last time someone had done this for him.

Will put a hand on the back of Hannibal’s neck. Hannibal’s mouth was impossibly hot, and Will could feel it burning him even through the layers of fabric that still separated them. When Hannibal did eventually peel Will’s clothes away and applied his mouth directly, it felt just like it did when Will had put his mouth on Hannibal; that same sudden fiery rush, like being engulfed in a great wall of flame. And Will knew that the feeling would never let up: no matter how long Hannibal stayed down there on his knees, taking Will’s cock into his mouth, the sensation would never lessen. It was always going to be the absolute most, the very edge of what Will could handle, like his mind and body were constantly shattering into a thousand tiny pieces, over and over.

Will had been revered as a god a small handful of brief and brutal times throughout his life, but he had never truly felt like a god until Hannibal was kneeling before him. It wasn’t about greed or control or power; fearful scrambling and sycophantic devotion had never done much to excite Will or curry his favour. It was Hannibal’s simple, lucid decision to bend before him, to anticipate what Will wanted and to deliver it perfectly, to honour him as one god bowing to another.

It was a feeling that was shared between them. Will’s shattered, gasping pleasure stoked the fire in Hannibal, and spurred him on to open his mouth further, to take more of Will inside himself; he’d finally found someone to sit beside him at the top of the food chain, and now he was going to eat him.

Hannibal let his teeth drag against Will’s cock, harder than any human would’ve enjoyed, but Will’s eyes rolled to the back of his head and he began to move, fucking into Hannibal’s mouth, meeting every downward swallow with an upward thrust. He was breathing again, heavy and ragged, and Hannibal thrilled to think that Will was breathing at all, but specifically breathing like that, because of him.

“Fuck, Hannibal, fuck, I’m gonna--” Will pulled his cock from Hannibal’s mouth and jerked it roughly with his own hand. Hannibal remained where he was, mouth open and tongue dripping. He pressed his tongue against the shaft of Will’s cock and his rapidly moving fingers, then dragged it along the length in a hot, wet stripe. Will screwed his eyes shut and came, spilling himself like a baptism all over Hannibal’s lips and tongue and teeth.

They stayed there for a while, Hannibal panting on the floor with Will stood over him, grasping the sink for balance. Eventually, Will lowered himself until he was level with Hannibal, and slowly, purposefully, swiped two fingers through the come that was still splattered over Hannibal’s mouth.

“Will--” Hannibal began, but Will shoved his fingers into Hannibal’s mouth, and whatever he was about to say was forgotten.

[forlornmelody]

Double the Trouble Chapter 14 -- A New Name

Rating: Explicit (previous chapters have smut)

Ship: FemShep x Femshep Clone, Femshep x Kaidan, Femshep x Femshep Clone x Kaidan, OT3

AO3 Link: Here

Summary:  It’s Shepard and Kaidan’s anniversary, and they invite Jane over for a special dinner. 

Note: Two years and a prequel later, here’s the final chapter. Hope you all enjoyed my crack fic as much as I did writing it. 

Anniversaries with Kaidan are always a tricky thing. Should they celebrate the anniversary of the night they committed mutiny and banged on the way to Illos? Or would it be more fitting to dress up and eat a fancy dinner one year after their first date on the Citadel? One thing’s for sure--neither of them want to remember the date they ran into each other on Horizon.

Somehow, it’s decided that their official anniversary happens every 365 terran days after the day the Normandy returned to Earth. Neither of them is super eager to go out. Besides, how are they to explain the third person on their reservation? So, they plan a candlelit dinner inside Kaidan’s apartment. Shepard picks up a white tablecloth and candle sticks, and Kaidan plans their menu. They schedule a time with Jane and wrap a very special gift inside a black box with a red satin ribbon. Before Jane arrives, they start a playlist on the radio--arguing over whether the music should be club music or jazz. Their argument devolves into “Hey, I saved the galaxy three times” and “I stood up for you when everyone thought you were a traitor” and “No, Anderson didn’t” and lastly “Anderson doesn’t count.” Somehow, Shepard wins the argument--Kaidan isn’t remotely surprised. “Next time we’re listening to jazz.”

“Hey, I brought some treats for Jeff. Hope you don’t mind.” Jane closes the door behind her, dropping a small bag next to the hamster cage. “Whoa. You weren’t kidding.”

“Too much?” Kaidan sweeps Jane up into a kiss as Shepard limps her way over. Shepard’s mouth is on hers as soon as Kaidan’s is out of the way.

“No. Though I’m still surprised you invited me to this. Isn’t this your night?”

“You mean a lot to us, Jane. And we couldn’t wait.” Shepard sits down at the table, already set with plateware, glasses, flatware, wine, and steaming hot food. Kaidan pulls out a chair for Jane.

“Wait for what?”

Kaidan and Shepard share a knowing glance, and the former reaches over to the coffee table, pulling out a box and handing it to Jane. “Open it.”

Shepard leans forward, fingers and biotics itching to open it for her--to make the process go faster, but she holds back.

Jane blinks at what she finds inside. She holds up a driver’s license to the candle light “ID? I thought everything was digital?”

“It’s more for sentimental value...and those low-tech places without readers.” Kaidan serves them both steak--unburned steak, for the record-- candied asparagus, and garlic mashed potatoes.

“What Kaidan means to say is that wanted to give you--”

“My own name,” Jane says it softly, reading the name on the ID card. “Allison Gunn. Who is that?”

“Keep digging.” Shepard grins widely, not touching her food, as delicious as it smells. She doesn’t want to miss a single moment.

Underneath a birth certificate, obviously forged, and a Social Insurance Number, printed on a letter--also forged, Jane finds a mint-condition Badass Weekly. On it, Jane finds a familiar face. “What the hell is this?” She smirks over at Shepard.

“A name isn’t anything without a reputation, right?”

Jane thumbs through the magazine quickly, nearly ripping the edges as she races to the correct page. She skims the words while Shepard starts to wonder if this was the best gift idea. “But why go to all this trouble? I already have both.”

Shit. This is why Shepard never gives gifts. She always ends up sending the wrong message. Is it too late to take it back?

“What Shepard means to say--is that we wanted to give you a name that was your own.”

“I only used it once.” Shepard says quickly, sitting up. “On Beckenstein.”

“What the hell did you do?”

Leaning forward, Shepard eyes her Clone with the most confident grin she can manage. “A heist. And shot up a crime lord and all his shit.”

“Damn. You never do things the easy way, do you, Shepard?” Jane runs her finger down the image of “Alison”, obviously photoshopped. Shepard would never wear her hair that long. Especially for when this magazine was published. “This was when you were with Cerberus?”

Shepard bristles at the mention of that name. “Yeah. I was helping a friend.” Kasumi still wrote her emails--heavily encrypted ones. One of these days she should write her back. “Same friend who helped make the ID for you.”

“For me? Or you?”

“For you.” Kaidan taps the picture on her ID card. It has Jane’s undershave, and her sun tattoo peeking out over her shoulder. And then Kaidan grins. “Actually. That’s Shepard’s gift for you.” He pulls out a second box, deeper than the last. Jane glances at Shepard, to find her equally dumbfounded.

“Don’t look at me.” What could have Kaidan found for Jane? Is it something related to their coffee dates? Shepard watches closely as Jane lifts the lid.

Jane gasps as she pulls out a well-worn journal, made from skin of some sea creature--likely an alien one. Tears spring from Jane’s eyes, and Shepard glances at Kaidan for explanation. He smiles. “How’d you find this??”

“Took some digging. But we still have connections to Thessia, especially now that coms are back up.” Kaidan frowns. “We...we couldn’t save everything. And a lot of things her parents wanted to keep. But they sent this. For...” he scrunches his nose as he searches his memory. “...Ana…”

“Fields.” Jane’s voice is thick with emotion as she traces the sun design on the front. With a jolt, Shepard realizes it’s the same one that rests on Jane’s left shoulder. Distantly, her clone looks up at Kaidan, a tear slipping down her cheek. “Did they say anything?”

Kaidan shifts in his seat, clearing his throat. “Well, they said she’d want you to have them.”

Jane tears the journal out of the box, digging for what lies underneath. She finds brushes and pencils, erasers, and a straight edge. A sob escapes her throat before she can stop it. “Thank you. Thank you both.”

Shepard reaches over, squeezing her hand once it’s free. “I wish I could have met her.”

Jane’s voice is thick. “Me too.” 

So lost in running her thumb across Jane’s hand until her sobs subside, Shepard doesn’t notice Kaidan leaving the table. She doesn’t think much of it. Jane’s telling her some story about the hijinks her and Dreya got up to, and they’re both stirring their potatoes instead of eating them. Glancing over at Kaidan’s empty seat, Jane brightens, and Shepard sees a spark in her eye that makes her suspicious. Her clone never had a good poker face. “Jane? Is there something I should know?”

“Mm?” Jane says innocently, suddenly shoving potatoes into her mouth.

N school taught her to trust her instincts, and right now Shepard’s instincts are telling her that Jane is compensating. But for what? She scans the room, finding nothing particularly out of place. The hamster’s been fed. Nothing is on fire in the kitchen--for once. Kaidan’s chair has been empty for a while, though. “How long has Kaidan been gone?” She assumed he went to the bathroom, but even that diva didn’t take that long.

Jane shrugs.

“Shouldn’t we check on him?”

“He survived the Normandy crashing on an uncharted world, being run over by the Mako, and a Collector attack--I’m sure he’s fine.”

“Hey, Shepard,” Kaidan says softly from behind her. Shepard turns around to see him shyly watching her like with his hands behind his back--well, if she’s honest--like the first time he saw her naked. How far they had both come--and yet how little had changed.

“Hey, Kaidan.” Oh yeah. Something’s definitely up, but Kaidan is adorable like this so Shepard plays along. “What’s up?”

“I got something for you.”

A fork flips off Jane’s plate as she leans in closer to watch. Jumping at the noise, Shepard gathers herself and looks back at the man she loves. “Oh? What is it?”

“You... uh. You might want to turn your chair around.” Kaidan swallows hard, and a neuron fires in Shepard’s brain...only to miss its target. Something’s off-- but what. Shepard turns around anyway--and Kaidan sinks to one knee. Her heart plummets into her stomach.

“Jane Shepard, will you marry me?”

Shepard’s brain short-circuits. Her eyes catch on the sparkle of the gemstone as Kaidan pops open the box. Distantly she remembers ranting about the stupidity of diamonds when they passed a jewelry store on the Citadel. “Garnet?” She mutters.

Kaidan’s eyes widen and his mouth falls open. “Uh--sorry. I thought that was what you liked. Shit. Maybe I….” Her lover tailspins in a spiral, and Shepard’s jaw drops open as she finally realizes what’s happening. Link established.

“You’re asking me to marry you,” she says out loud. The words sound foreign coming out of her mouth. Marriage...always seemed to be something for other people. Better people. Not that Kaidan is a bad person--he’s amazing, better than her in so many ways. Kaidan would get married one day. But not to her.

“Yeah. Sorry. I thought maybe--” Kaidan puts on a brave face, but he could never fool her.

“Kaidan.” Shepard hooks her finger under his chin, turning his face toward hers.

“Shepard,” he whispers, his eyes wavering. An image flashes in Shepard’s mind of him looking at her that way--dressed in a tuxedo on an altar overlooking English Bay. Or maybe his family’s orchard--away from the Reaper’s destruction. The image scares her, and yet it thrills her to think the man she loves might look at her like that for the rest of her life.

Shepard should probably say something, but she doesn’t trust herself to speak. Not with the torrent of emotions raging through her brain. Instead she pulls him into a kiss--not unlike the one they shared when he hobbled off the Normandy after being MIA for months on end. Kaidan trembles at her touch, holding her gently as if she might slip away like cottonwood in the breeze. Squeezing his hands, Shepard kisses him harder, trying to say with her kiss what feels impossible to say with words. I love you, I love you, I love y--

Jane, or should she say--Alison, clears her throat. “Is that a yes or--?”

Kaidan’s smile slips again, and Shepard steals a quick kiss to reassure him. “Of course!” She is not good at this. But she wants to be better.

“Good. Cause I got to know if I need to get a nice tux.”

“Oh, so we’re inviting you?” Shepard swats Kaidan as he falls apart into laughter.

“Of course, she’s invited!” Somehow their playful argument dissolves into wrestling on the floor, and when Shepard has pinned Kaidan to the rug, she looks over to see her Clone brushing her fingers across her new ID. Alison Gunn, indeed.

[frazzledontoast-blog]

Fasting for brain health?

Giving up eating? No? Not even for a short while?

If you had clapped eyes on me a year ago you would have seen an emotionally frazzled, chronically exhausted, comfort eating, hormonal wreck masquerading as Wonder Woman. Cape on, I seamlessly juggled my career, home, husband, dogs, chickens, and kids (in no particular order) whilst finding time to prepare great meals and get to the gym.  Just check out my social media, it must be true. Reality was, as soon as I came home and hung up my cape, I felt more like a car crash happening in slow motion. 

To cut a long story short, I ended up committing to a 30 day nutritional re-boot programme, part of which involved starving myself a day a week, sorry, fasting. I’m sure like anyone else who has dabbled with intermittent fasting, I assumed it was a sneaky way to cut calories. And yes, there is some truth in that - over time people who intermittently fast reduce calorie intake by 20-30% and don’t tend to ‘over feed’ on non-fasting days (in addition to feeling unbearably smug the next day).

But as it turns out, after a few weeks on this new regime, I started to feel a certain clarity, the fog in my head lifted, I felt a little sparkly, I might even go as far as to say I was feeling like myself again. My perspective returned, I stopped being a domestic martyr and wrestled back some me time, the dogs weren’t walking on egg shells and my family started to breathe again.

So what do we really know about the effects of intermittent fasting on the mind and body? Can I attribute part of my rehab to IF? Actually, what is intermittent fasting exactly?

IF is defined as the rhythmic disruption to the flow of calories into your metabolism - we need to remember that a calorie is a measure of the energy, not the nutritional, content of our food. And its a really popular lifestyle choice in 2018, there are 35 IF Facebook groups alone!  Some people practice alternate day fasting (eating less than 500 calories every other day), some people advocate periodic fasting (at least five consecutive days of consuming water or a fasting mimicking diet) but time restricted feeding (eating confined to an eight hour window or less every day) is gaining ground as an eminently less scary way to get all the health benefits and still be able to function in modern life.

Without doubt, our ancestors had a sporadic access to food throughout their lives that depended on their foraging skills and hunting prowess.  As a result, over hundreds of thousands of years, our physiology evolved such that our mental and physical performance remained unaffected by fasting. It would seem that hunger is indeed just a feeling, not an emergency!

However, before we go any further, you may be in need of an old school, Biology lesson.  When you eat a meal, the carbs, fats and proteins are broken down into simpler units by your digestive system and fibre is digested by the bacteria in your gut.  These simpler units - the amino acids, glucose, fructose and fatty acids - pass in to your bloodstream and this nutrient rich blood heads off to your liver. Some of the glucose is stored as glycogen and some remains in the blood to be used by muscle and brain cells for energy. Fructose is converted to fat, packaged up and released back into the bloodstream. 

Your pancreas senses a high blood sugar concentration (all that glucose) and releases insulin which activates your cells to use up the glucose. Insulin also activates fat cells (adipose tissue) to store the fat. Between meals, glucose and insulin levels drop and fat cells release fatty acids into your blood to be used as an energy source by your cells, in particular, muscle cells. However, these fatty acids cannot cross the blood-brain barrier and so are of no use to your brain cells or neurons. Your liver comes to the rescue, converting fatty acids to ketone bodies which can be used by neurons in the brain as an energy source. 

Approximately 12 hours after eating glucose and glycogen stores are depleted and the body starts to rely on fatty acids and ketones for energy.  Your body is now in a fasted state.

And this is when the magic starts to happen. There is reliable evidence from both rodent and human studies that IF practised over the medium to long term can prevent, and even reverse, all aspects of metabolic syndrome - that includes abdominal adioposity, hypertension, cardiovascular disease, diabetes and stroke.  That in itself would be good reason to take a serious look at IF, but it is the incredible benefits for brain health that are even more exciting - and this is why I am a convert.

In the fasted state, once the glucose and glycogen has been used up, your cells become stressed which has been proven to cause them to make changes that result in them becoming more resilient, DNA repair is enhanced and they focus on getting their housekeeping done (this is called autophagy). This is the important part because autophagy is the process by which the 30 trillion cells in our body round up toxins, pathogens, junk protein and damaged organelles - essentially they get round to doing their recycling, clearing out the junk and they end up becoming far more efficient.

Specifically though, your brain is benefitting most. Putting your neurons under stress by disrupting their nutrient supply also leads to significantly elevated levels of BDNF (Brain Derived Neurotrophic Factor) which is responsible for the growth and survival of adult neurons and the regeneration of damaged ones. And to cap it all, BDNF prevents age related alterations in serotonin and dopamine levels as well. 

Giving up eating will literally improve your ability to focus on tasks, learn faster and remember more.  You will be happier, sleep better and be in a great mood - that would be the unshakeable smugness you radiate when you break your fast.

IF is more effective at slowing down ageing and disease than the use of supplemental vitamins, minerals and antioxidants (such as vitamins C and E). In fact, the supplementation of vitamins C and E during fasting actually overrides all the benefits of IF - it would seem that cells don’t respond by increasing their natural defences if you help them out and they don’t improve their insulin sensitivity.  They need to experience mild stresses to perform at optimal.  

Now the reversing ageing bit makes everyone’s ears prick up! 

One of the most important organelles in your cell are your mitochondria which are essentially your powerhouses. They provide you with energy but one of the byproducts are free radicals. These are highly reactive, destructive little molecules that attack anything and everything, including our DNA and the mitochondria themselves, and the accumulated damage is a primary factor in ageing. And, as you might have already surmised, our neurons have an awful lot of mitochondria because they need to generate a lot of energy which makes them particularly susceptible - we know for a fact that mitochondrial dysfunction is involved in both Parkinson’s and Alzheimer’s. 

Our cells naturally produce antioxidants (and they are provided courtesy of a balanced diet) which mop up and neutralise excess free radicals, and the key here is excess. Life is never black and white, and this applies to free radicals. In low to moderate concentrations, free radicals are a useful weapon against invading microbes and play a vital role in cellular communications. However, a natural consequence of ageing is that the free radical damage builds due to producing fewer antioxidants and the decline of our housekeeping systems, amongst other reasons. Evidence suggests that ramping up autophagy through IF targets damaged mitochondria and their new replacements are more efficient, less prone to produce free radicals, and ageing is slowed.

Finally though, this post wouldn’t be complete without briefly visiting the news last year that IF has been shown to completely reverse diabetes in mice and similarly promising results have been seen in small scale human trials. 

Diabetes is an insulin problem, not a glucose one.  Insulin is a hormone that signals to cells to take up glucose from the blood stream by binding to receptors on the surface of the cells, essentially opening the gates. In type 1 diabetes, the immune system mistakenly targets and destroys insulin producing beta-cells in the pancreas. In type 2 diabetes, cells lose their sensitivity to insulin, their insulin receptors stop working, and the pancreas stops producing insulin. Either way, cells are unable to take up glucose and metabolise it to provide energy.  

During fasting periods in the mice trials, the pancreas shrunk, autophagy kicked in and damaged beta-cells that were not producing insulin were removed. Remarkably though, after several cycles of fasting and feeding, the beta-cells regenerated, insulin sensitivity improved leading to a significant decrease in blood sugar and nearly normal insulin production resumed. IF had initiated healthy regrowth of the pancreas  - it was back in working order. Simply astonishing that there might be a drug free solution for diabetics, given the huge problem it is becoming in the UK.

Clearly the science holds up, the question is, is IF for you? 

Firstly, it is not just about meal skipping. The easiest way to start is probably time restricted feeding - eating from midday to 8pm and then fasting for 16 hours everyday. You need to consider how you are going to break your fast as planning a balanced nutritious meal is imperative. You won’t reap the benefits if you continue to fill yourself up on high calorie, nutritionally bankrupt, processed food. And make sure you drink plenty of water to keep yourself hydrated. 

I fast for 24-36 hours once a week. Usually that involves having supper on Thursday evening and then fasting through Friday until I break my fast on a Saturday morning with a fully balanced, probiotic shake. During the fasting day I support my body with a botanical based tonic, herbal teas and lots of water. It’s not that scary, honest!

Secondly, be sensible. You shouldn’t be considering fasting if you are pregnant or if you think it might lead you down a path to disordered eating. And don’t set yourself up to fail! It is much harder to make any sort of lifestyle change if you don’t have the support of your family, so get them on board before you start. There is lots of good advice out there, you are sure to find something that works for you.

[lorena12me]

About dragons and many other things.

I like dragons, so I had to do this XD. (if you see any error do not hesitate to correct me)

Ace felt beads of sweat trickle down his face and get lost in his neck as he felt the huge, powerful creature rise up and stalk him from behind. Even though he knew his duty, he could not help trembling with nervousness and fear at such a creature.

Seeing a dragon up close is something he had longed for and feared for as long as he could remember.

Some years ago, the only map that guides the legendary lost city of Raftel, was stolen by a dragon when it was transported from the village of Fuchsia (a village dedicated to  monasteries and royal archives) to Water Seven, the kingdom's capital.

Of course, the thief was the dragon that currently stalked the adventurer.

Everyone, absolutely everyone, knew that a dragon would take anything valuable he could find, to unite them to his hordes (old way of referring to his treasures) and no one could take anything away while they were alive, but killing them was an achievement almost impossible.

They were avaricious and resentful beings who would not hesitate to go to the end of the world to pursue a thief, recover what was theirs and take revenge.

Being impossible to negotiate with the dragon to recover the map, Ace was hired. Crafty as the best of thieves, he was offered a juicy reward to return the map to the hands of the nobles. Ace knew they did not really think he would make it, but he proved to be a lot smarter than the bunch of idiots in the capital.

He was not going to steal the map.

He was going to duplicate it.

That's why here he was, making live bait while Deuce (his faithful companion) hid his presence with spells and used a magical whip (very expensive) to take the parchment and take it to the edge of the treasure room, copying it with magic.

Everything would be fine if neither of them crossed the line between the treasure room and the exit.

"Do you dare to try to steal my treasure, human, yoi?" The dragon roared, his voice dark, opening his mouth where dozens of sharp teeth were preparing to thrust him.

In a situation like that, a normal person would try to gather all the neurons that survived the scare, order them, reassure them and plan something to get out alive. But since Ace had not even done the counting of survivors, all he managed to get out of his mouth was a mess of stuttered words.

"S-shit, you're b-beautiful"

Seeing that huge jaw in front of him, Ace thought he should have looked for something better to say, something like "do not eat me, please!" Or "Forgive me life!", But no, Ace was not normal in many senses.

After all, his brain-mouth filter had never worked well.

The dragon stopped, just before swallowing it. He approached him and smelled him.

"Heh ... so you do not think I'm a thief monster, yoi?"

His voice sounded really curious now, threatening, but curious.

"You're a thief" Ace replied "but you're not a monster, well, that's what I believe ..."

The human shifted uncomfortably. He only needed a couple of minutes more and Deuce would get him out of there with the transportation spell they had prepared exactly for this.

"You are honest" laughed the dragon "stupid and honest"

"H-hey, some say it's my only virtue" Ace put his hands in front of his body as a kind of apology "have I never been very smart?"

"I see that" the dragon now sounded fun "but you still do not answer my question, why are you here?"

"Oh, that" Ace laughed nervously "If I tell you, will not you eat me?"

The dragon's laughter gave Ace chills.

"I'll take that decision later, yoi"

"If I tell you, you probably want to eat me ... even more than you probably want now"

"Did you plan to steal me?"

"not quite"

"Try to kill me?"

"Really? Ha, you could crush me like a fly. My stupidity has a limit, thank you very much "

The huge fire-spitting lizard turned on  him around and curled around him, without leaving him free to run.

"You're rare " he says "I've never met such a rare human"

"Well" Ace scratches the back of his head "is it likely that you ate them before you knew them well?

The laughter that the dragon emitted, bounced off the walls of the cave. A few minutes passed before the fearsome beast could recover from the fit of laughter and despite the nerves Ace also laughed a little. Not every day you tell a good joke to a dragon.

"I like you, just as I like everything weird or particular," says the dragon, then goes a little way, going to the map and taking it in its clutches. Deuce is paralyzed under the gaze of the dragon, but does not receive any damage "It was a good attempt to try to deceive me" says the dragon holding the parchment between the tips of his claws "take, I'll give it to you, if you wish" throws the map towards Ace who takes it out of sheer inertia, before Deuce's horrified face makes him realize his mistake. Everyone knows that to receive a gift from a dragon is to accept belonging to his horde. How are he going to say this to his brothers?