#instead of making one poor confused sweaty teenager do all of it with kind of conspicuous hand gestures

[krawdad]

I'm amazed that Disney spent all this time and money developing this conversation chain system, then mapping that to hand gestures and teaching this sign language to cast members, ultimately to get stormtroopers to be able to verbally interact with disneyland guests. When like. You could just put a mic in the helmet. You could have a voice actor off in a room somewhere watching from a monitor like some kind of turtle talk with meatspace stormtrooper. Then also they just sort of dumped it all after covid anyway.

[starculler]

Whumptober 2021: Day 4

Word Count: 2048 || Read on AO3

Tags/Warnings: Batman, Jason Todd, Bruce Wayne, Open/Ambiguous End, Injury, Referenced Violence/Violent Acts, Family Feels, Implied/Possible Death

me, chanting: father-son feelings, father-son feelings, father-son fee--

Jason looked between the window and the locked door, determined to ignore the flickering, orange glow peeking in through the gap between it and the floor. He clenched his jaw, grinding his teeth as he spared a look at Bruce, half-slumped and wheezing softly against an alarmingly warm wall midway between the two. They’d trudged up the stairs earlier, Bruce limping and leaning most of his weight on Jason, in an attempt to hide out and recover after their mission had gone tits up in the most spectacular ways. A real prize winner, he thought to himself, derisive and sarcastic.

He sucked in a shuddering breath and tipped his head back to stare up at the ceiling, sorely missing the familiar weight of his helmet — abandoned after some now-toothless idiot had smashed it to pieces. The fault, he knew, lay at his feet if Bruce died. It almost made him laugh. Maybe he would have, if he’d ever really wanted Bruce dead, back before he’d wormed his way back into the family’s mostly-good graces.

“Fuck,” he growled, dropping his head down to drag a gloved hand roughly, painfully, through his hair. “Ten story fall, or trial by fire?” he asked Bruce, knowing the Bat could barely hear him, let alone parse out what, exactly, he’d said. A few hits to the head with a blunt object would do that to a guy, no matter their bull-headed, mile-wide stubborn streak.

Never one to let an injury get in his way or find a way to prove Jason wrong, Bruce managed to muster up a rumbling grumble in response that sounded, to him, a lot like “try harder.” He huffed, shooting the barely conscious man a mild glare. Not that Bruce deserved it much, at least not this time. This time the fault lay primarily at Jason’s feet — a mixture of bad intel, overconfidence, and his inability to pass up any chance to rile the Batman up. Bruce’s only real error in their situation had been trusting Jason enough to not be an overly paranoid asshole just this once, leaving them locked in a room with no working comms, no backup, not a single one of their gadgets still intact — the ones those assholes hadn’t taken at least — and two incredibly awful options for escape.

Or, he mused, death. But Jason wasn’t too keen on giving that experience another go.

He groaned, the acrid smell of smoke wafting in from under the door growing slowly stronger with every passing minute, and started to pace a straight line from window to door and back again. Every so often he stopped — to breathe, to reach for his pistols wishing he could shoot his way out of their situation, to check on Bruce, to think — before picking the trail back up, seemingly intent on wearing a hole through the linoleum flooring.

Every so often his thoughts strayed to things that might help him in a day or two, after he and Bruce were safe, but did nothing for him now. Who started the fire? Had they been found? Was his luck just that shitty, that the first place he’d chosen to hide out in just so happened to light up? It was a struggle to wrangle them back to something useful or productive, but he managed. Mostly.

There had to be another angle he couldn’t see, anything at all he might have missed. But there was nothing. No matter how hard or how often he looked into every nook or cranny or upended piece of old, rotting furniture, there was nothing.

“Fuck!” he yelled, slamming his fist in some shoddy desk he’d shoved over at some point earlier and earned himself nothing more than a dull throb of pain. It didn’t even help cool him off which just further fanned the flames — hah! — of his anger, the core of it a molten, leaden thing, suffocating and sparking in the pit of his chest.

He stomped back to the window, peered out through the cracked, still-cool glass, and sighed, doing his inadequate best to expel as much anger and frustration as he could with his breath.

It’ll be fine, he told himself, unsure if he really believed it.

__ __ __ __ __ __ __

Every inch of Bruce’s body hurt, some of it so badly he coudn’t feel it at all.

He sucked in a wheezing, rattling breath and shifted just enough to see Jason at the window, forehead pressed against the glass. He gritted his teeth, frustrated but not bothering to waste what little energy he could spare on wishing their circumstances were any different. Instead, he poured it into standing, using every ounce of that bullheadedness he was so known for to force himself, however shakily, to his feet.

Every step forward was agony and the room, more gray than color by then, swayed nauseatingly as he made his slow way across the stretch of room that lay between him and his son.

His son.

Those words pulled at a small, shuttered part of Bruce’s heart. Jason had been the second child he’d taken in, almost a teenager by then, but he’d been the first Bruce had been able to refer to, loud and proud, as his son. He remembered Alfred and Jason both teasing him for how brightly he’d grin as he said it, the words sweet as honey on his tongue: “My son.”

He’d watched his son die, once.

He staggered, exhaustion dragging at his every limb those final few steps until he stood, quietly heaving for breath, just behind Jason who didn’t notice him until he reached up to grab his shoulder with one heavy, gauntleted hand.

Bruce would not stand by and watch his son die again.

__ __ __ __ __ __ __

Jason startled when a hand clamped down on his shoulder, weak fingers curling into his battered jacket. He whirled around, tense and ready for a fight, only to find Bruce there, panting softly and swaying in place. The sight of him — pale, sweaty, breathless, and hunched — made his his stomach twist uncomfortably. He opened his mouth, unsure if he wanted to scream at or scold Bruce for being an injured idiot, or help the poor man sit his ass down and breathe only to have the decision ripped out of his hands.

“Jay,” Bruce rasped, breathy and strained and so unnaturally quiet that Jason ached.

He swallowed, a bitter mix of saliva and regret, and reached out to grab Bruce’s forearms, hoping to steady him at least a little. Bruce sagged, just slightly, when his weight wasn’t his own to bear anymore. Jason couldn’t help but squeeze his arms, a slight pressure meant to offer what silent reassurance and comfort he knew, deep down into the core of him, he’d never be able to say aloud.

“You shouldn’t be standing, old man,” he said instead of the myriad of things he wanted to, but never would. Bruce offered him a tight, wobbly smile — the kind Jason hadn’t really seen on his face since before the Joker and the warehouse and his first, explosive death.

“Jay,” Bruce said again, his every word slow and measured in a way that could have been intentional, or a result of how much pain he was in. “Do you trust me?”

“What?”

“Do you trust me?” Jason blinked, feeling a little too much like his brain had short-circuited.

“Wh— I.” He grimaced. Swallowed. Felt a sudden surge of prickling static buzzing under his skin, close to but not quite like the rush of adrenaline that came before a fight. “Yeah,” he finally managed to say, strangled and pitchy. “Yeah, Bruce. I trust you. Always have,” he added, low enough that he hoped Bruce hadn’t even heard it.

Bruce nodded, head jerking up and down like it hurt to move his neck that way. Jason’s brow furrowed and he opened his mouth, meant to ask what the hell was going on, only to snap his jaw shut when Bruce’s hands pressed against his chest. He wondered, brief and panicked, if Bruce was having trouble staying upright and tried to adjust his grip on Bruce’s arms accordingly.

“How long of a fall?” Bruce asked, sudden but sounding almost bored even as the words were a struggle to get out. Jason’s lip curled, a small spark of anger dousing some of his concern as Bruce’s line of continued questions gave him whiplash.

“Ten stories at least, but—”

“I saw … water?”

“Yeah,” Jason growled, annoyed at being cut off and not understanding where Bruce was trying to lead him. Because he was leading. Jason had known the man too long not to recognize that tone of voice, even pained and wheezy as it currently was. “Ocean, right off the cliff,” he said, half-falling into the familiarity of reporting to the Bat. “Bad building design to have it so close to the edge, but I figure that might be why it’s abandoned.” He shrugged. “It’d be a good way out if you angled it right, but…”

But you’re too injured and I’d never make it carrying you, he thought but didn’t say. Bruce seemed to understand regardless.

Slowly, painfully, Bruce reached up and pulled back his cowl. Jason hissed at the damage: most of it bruises, a few cuts, one eye nearly swollen shut, and the very clear impression of the pair of hands that had tried to strangle him wrapped around his neck. With that same hand, Bruce reached out to briefly touch Jason’s cheek, good eye crinkling as his lips twitched up into another, probably painful, smile.

“Proud of you,” Bruce murmured, the words a little slurred. Jason reared back, flinching like Bruce had struck him instead of telling him … that.

“What’re you—” he started only for Bruce to pat the side of his face. Twice. Two gentle, trembling taps that made Jason feel all of thirteen and no taller than Bruce’s chest instead of a man standing eye-to-eye with, if not a little taller than, the person who’d been his father, once. Was his father, still, even if Jason refused to acknowledge it even to himself.

“Proud of you,” Bruce repeated. Paused. Then: “Love you, Jay.”

Tears pricked, sudden and awful, at his eyes. A million words and feeling stuck in his throat, all jumbled together and conspiring to make it impossible for him to speak. Anger and confusion and bitterness at first, all familiar and easy to put a name to. But then: a gooey sort of tingling warmth that spread up from his stomach, so much harder to name and overwhelming on top of that.

“What the fuck are you doing?” Jason snarled, letting himself fall back on the familiar anger he’d relied on for years, and finding it easier than trying to shape the only other words he could have possibly used in the face of that — Confession? Admission? Declaration? None of it felt quite right, and he didn’t have the time to sort his thoughts out just then. Nor did he want to. “What’re you playing at, Bruce? ‘Cause I’m not fuckin’ laughing here.”

“Hold your breath.”

“What?”

It happened so fast.

One moment Jason stood in front of Bruce with his back to the window and the next he was in the air, watching Bruce — His Father — shrink, smaller and smaller until he was just a smudge of black against the bright, burning light of a building being slowly consumed. He didn’t scream. Didn’t think. His body moved automatically, years of training kicking in without so much as a conscious thought from him.

He still hit the water wrong.

It surged up around him, frigid, violent waves swallowing him hungrily as he fought down the urge to scream and worked instead on finding his way to the surface. He didn’t think about anything but moving through the current, gritting his teeth against the sharp, mind-numbing pain in his lower body, and did his best not to drown. Not to die. Not now that he had a goal to strive for in the neat little checklist he arranged in his head as he sank: a shore to find, a cliff-face to climb, and an idiot of a father to punch in the face.

And Jason was nothing if not a goal-oriented bastard with a stubborn streak to rival the Bat’s.

[bnhababyyyy]

Bro’s before that kinda bro

Todoroki x reader

Part: 1/?

Summary: You have a crush on your friend but he just doesn’t get your feelings. It’s up to you to figure out how to woo him.

You loved Todoroki.

And he loved you just as much……

As a friend possibly could.

He obliviously missed all the signs you had been giving him, poor boy couldn’t even tell when you were flirting with him. Any other sane person would be able to tell what you had been doing all this time. Every attempt, shot down innocently because he truly didn’t know what you were hinting at.

You thought one of these days you were going to break and just straight up confess to him because of how unnoticed your efforts went. It took every piece of your being to not outright confess your feelings for him and make out with him on the spot.

It was especially bad when one night your cravings for some sweet snacks got the best of you making you reluctantly go to the kitchen. You were surprised to see Todoroki sitting on the couch scrolling through his phone with a cup of tea on the table. He didn’t seem to notice you coming down the stairs, making you decide to scare him a little.

You covered your mouth to hold back any giggles as you tip toed over to his unguarded position. You stood behind him for a beat of a moment before abruptly grabbing both of his shoulders. He whipped around and grabbed one of your arms before you could even pull back.

He looked up and dropped his shoulders just an inch with a small glare being shot your way. “I didn’t know I should be on my guard at night too,” he yawned.

You ran your hand through your hair as you let out an awkward laugh “Well, think about it, I’m preparing you for any sneak attacks!”

He went back to his phone rolling his eyes.

You began walking to the kitchen before you got the chance to forget those snacks. “But hey what are you doing up this late? It’s like almost 12.” you asked as you raided the pantry for a cookie or anything of the sort.

He turned his head over to where you were, “I… couldn’t sleep,” he said in a lower tone shifting uncomfortably, “What about you?”

You had known Todoroki long enough to know that two things were weird about what he said, first his tone was off and second he never stays up this late. You peeked your head over the pantry door with a cookie in your mouth, “What do you mean you couldn’t sleep? Did something happen?” You asked ignoring his question.

He averted your gaze to his lap, “No it’s nothing, don't worry about it.”

You gave him a concerned look before sighing and squeezing yourself between him and the couch’s armrest.“Scoot! Something’s obviously bothering you and I wanna help you out.” You said wiggling a bit on your side .

He shuffled over giving you a small smile that literally took your breath away. You tried your best to calm your now heightened heart beat. You cleared your throat, “Take as long as you need though. I’ll listen ok?”

He nodded looking back down at his hands in his lap, “I had an odd dream. Something that freaked me out.” You cocked your head silently asking him to continue.

He glanced at you before looking away again, “It was about Endeavor. More like a memory I guess… He was arguing with my mom and she said that I,” he took in a breath, “that I was going to be just like him. That I am like him and how she didn’t want to look at me because of how I just keep growing more and more similar to him.”

You sat there shocked at what he said, before you could comfort him and give your apologies he continued.

“And then I looked in the mirror and I looked exactly like him, or I was him. The reflection in the mirror mocked me saying I couldn’t escape him and I’d be wanting to be better but would end up hurting others and destroying everyone else’s relationships with myself just like he did. That I’d end up being hated, never achieving my dreams that I’d die alone and he would always be there to haunt me. I woke up after that and I just…”

You nodded understandingly feeling extremely shocked at how his PTSD from childhood had manifested into such a scary nightmare as a teenager. You felt incredibly heartbroken at what kind of dream he had. His father damaged him so badly as a kid Todoroki was still dealing with the trauma.

He looked so broken in front of you. You wanted to reassure him that he had just had a bad dream. That he resembled nothing of his father.

But the words just didn’t form and you sat there not knowing what to say. It was completely silent. You both dwelled in the freshly expressed emotions quietly. Neither of you moved, you both continued to look at the ground. You glanced up at Todoroki, opened your mouth to speak, and decided not to. Instead you hesitantly put our hand on top of his. He jerked his hand a little and moved his head to look at you.

“Todoroki, thank you for telling me what happened,” you looked up at him, rubbing small circles on his hand. “I know it was hard for you to do that. You’re nothing like your father though I… I never saw him in you. You’ve proven to be so much better than him. If no one else is proud of you for that then I am. I’m proud of how much you are yourself and you strive to be better.” You gave a heartfelt smile at his shocked expression.

He looked away and you swore that if you squinted he had a slight slight slight slight blush and a HINT!!!! Of a smile. You died on spot he was just so lovely.

���Thank you.” He mumbled giving your hand a tight squeeze. Wow did he know what he was doing to you? You internally wheezed and felt your heart beat so loud you couldn’t tell if Todoroki was talking still.

��I wish we were more than friends. Why are you doing this to me.’ You thought to yourself. Well at least you thought you thought that thought to yourself. He looked up at you confused.

“What do you mean (y/l/n)?” He asked with furrowed brows.

Your eyes widened and your mouth dropped to the floor. No way did you just say that out loud. The absolute love of your life, your amor, your crush, just heard you confess that you basically like him. You felt your face heat up and you retracted your hand from his as you suddenly felt abnormally sweaty.

You silently freaked out too shocked to even move. “Uhm I-I didn’t mean to say that out loud I’m so sorry I don’t know what I’m talking about!” You rambled.

He cocked his head to the side. “Did you want to be best friends? I don’t know why you’d be sorry about that. We can be best friends if you want that.”

You sat there even more shocked. He. was. so. dense. You sighed rubbing your temple. You didn’t know whether you should feel disappointed or saved. You shook your head taking it in as a good thing he was so dense.

“Uhm yeah. I’d like that a lot actually,” You smiled.

He nodded his head returning the smile. “Good. I’d like that too.”

“Well I’m glad we got that out the way!” You got up brushing yourself of any crumbs. “Uhm talk to me if anything else starts to bother you again alright?” He nodded back. You stood there staring at him.

“Did you need me to walk you back?”

“Oh No! No it’s fine really! I can go back myself! Uhm alright good night see you in class!”

“Goodnight to you too.”

You hurried back to the girls dorms and into your room before you could blurt out any more confessions. You laid in bed completely shocked about everything. He was so oblivious to your feelings. But you didn’t want to ruin your friendship. I mean yeah being best friends is great. For people who want to STAY FRIENDS. Not for people like you who have been crawling out the friend zone hole forever.

You tossed and turned in bed. Sighing you decided to text your bakusquad chat about what had just happened.

Your hand wavered over the call button for him. You didn’t want to bother him, but at the same time what Mina said is true. If he truly didn’t want to answer he wouldn’t. So no harm in trying right?

You gathered all the courage you possibly could and pressed on his contact. You waited as you heard the facetime ringtone go on over and over. Until it stopped and his face popped up on the screen. You audibly gasped in surprise to see that he even picked up the phone.

“Hey. I didn’t know you’d answer.” You said, still thoroughly surprised.

He smiled that smile that makes your heart topple over itself. “No I wouldn’t ignore your calls. What’s wrong?”

You we’re so mesmerized by the angle of his face that the camera showed off. He held it in his hand at a bit of a low angle really detailing his jaw line. He was probably sitting at a desk or something because he kept putting his phone down into his lap to do something.

“No no nothings wrong, I'm good!”

“Then why’d you call?”

“Oh right! I needed help with the test tomorrow. Did you know what would be on it?”

He finally shifted the phone onto his desk so that it was sitting up on something. You could fully see his face and torso. His room was dimly lit and he had a book and papers on his desk. So he was studying too.

“Yes I’m working on it now, did you want me to send you the answers?” He asked while flipping through what seemed like a math book.

You nodded, “Please! I didn’t know we had a test until 2 minutes ago! I’m looking at the study guide now but I cannot think of the answers.” You knew you’d be pulling an all nighter, so him sending you answers would help a ton. You decided that you’d have to pay him back somehow tomorrow.

After he sent the answers you two occasionally talked here and there but often sat in silence. It felt nice not needing to talk to him to fill the silence. Another thing that made you fall for him even more, you felt way more comfortable being around him than a normal friend would feel. You tiredly moved your eyes towards the clock to see the number 3:25 AM across the alarm.

“Oh god it’s 3 already. Are you pulling a-“ you yawned. “An all nighter too Todo?” You asked, stretching your arms out.

.

..

…

……………...

No response

You quirked your brow and switched your screen from the photos he sent to the facetime call. You internally squealed at the sight in front of you. He was passed out on his desk, his face laid sideways with his arm under it as a headrest. You couldn’t really see his face but you thought he still looked cute.

“Goodnight,” You whispered as you ended the call. You then rolled up your sleeves taking a shot from an energy drink Mina had given to you in case of ‘Dire emergencies’. You decided to seriously get to work and finish your studying for at least a passing grade.

….........................

You passed out 15 minutes later.

Master list — Next

[bluezey]

Inside Onward - Bold Fail

Second chapter of the Onward/Inside Out mashup.  It’s a little longer, but that’s because I wanted to end it on a cliffhanger rather than a bummer.  Speaking of bummers, I’m really starting to feel bad for Ian’s Fear right about now.

The morning just got started and the shelves of short term memory were filling up with colorful glowing orbs, each playing a short vision of the memory Ian experienced.  Yellow, blue, red, green and purple.  Arguably, a little more purple than the other colors. Fear was finishing jotting down some notes in his notebook before he looked up, checking on the other emotions.

Joy was nearby the console, sitting on the couch with his arms and legs stretched out, watching the screen as Ian was in line at Burger Shire.  Sadness, Disgust and Anger were by the console discussing what Ian should order for breakfast.  Anger wore his red flannel shirt unbuttoned and his sleeves rolled up to his elbows. Disgust was the only emotion that tucked in his flannel shirt, and he had a comb and compact mirror in the chest pocket of his shirt.  Sadness’s clothes had creases and wrinkles from the many times he lie around moping, and one extra button undone at the top of his flannel shirt.

“We can’t order a HuzzahMlet,” Disgust argued to Anger.  “It’s too messy, and Ian would have to eat it with a knife and fork.  He needs something quick to eat, like one of those breakfast sandwiches.”

Anger mumbled, “Fine. But whatever we get better have dragon bacon on it.”

Joy jumped up from his seat with glee as he added, “Ooh, get hash bites!  Those are so good.  And coffee!”

“Not too hot, though,” Fear warned as he approached the console, feeling needed.  “We don’t want Ian to burn his lips.  And he likes it-“

“Black with three or four packets of sugar,” the other emotions echoed Fear, knowing Ian just as much as he does.

Fear squeezed in at the center of the group, looking up at the screen as Ian took his receipt from the coworker behind the register.  Fear took the controls, Ian turned and sat down on a bench across from the counter. Smartphone Island lit up as Ian began to reach into his pocket for his smart phone, when Ian’s ear caught someone speaking to him from the next seat over, causing the island to go quiet.

“Hey.  Go griffins.”

Ian looked up.  “What?”

“You go to Willowdale College?” the friendly stranger asked, motioning to Ian’s sweatshirt.

Ian looked down and gave a slight laugh.  “Oh, no. This was my dad’s.”

Fear blinked, he didn’t touch the console.  He took a double take when he caught Joy at the controls.  “Joy!  We can’t talk to strangers!”

“Fear, Ian’s sixteen, not six,” she commented, believing Fear’s over protectiveness was genuinely a joke.  The other emotions didn’t think so, with Anger quietly shaking his head and Disgust rubbing his temples.

The friendly stranger noticed the name stitched onto Ian’s sweatshirt.  “Lightfoot?  Wilden Lightfoot?”

“Uh, yeah,” Ian replied.

The friendly stranger’s face lit up.  “I went to college with him.”

“No way.”  Ian smiled.  The emotions caught sight of Dad Island whirring to life.

Joy looked at Fear with an encouraging smile.  “See? It all worked out.”

“Yeah.”  The college friend’s face turned to sorrow.  “Boy, I was so sorry to hear that he passed away.”

Ian’s face fell into a grief filled frown as well.  “Yeah… thanks,” he said softly.

Fear looked to Sadness, then back at Joy.  “Nice going,” he couldn’t help but comment.

“Yeah, your dad,” the college friend continued, “he was a great guy, so confident.  When he entered a room, everyone noticed.”  He chuckled before adding, “You know, he wore the ugliest pair of purple socks every single day.”

Ian laughed to himself from learning such a thing.  “What? Why?”

“We asked him the same thing,” the college friend explained.  “But your dad, he was just bold.  I wish I had that kind of confidence in me.”

“Yeah.” Ian grew a little excited from learning something new about his dad.  “Wow, I’ve never heard anything about this before.  Do you know any-?”

The college friend interrupted.  “Oh, looks like it’s time to take this kid to school.”

Ian turned, catching sight of a young boy holding up a carry out bag.  The emotions excitement instantly fell, realizing their conversation about Ian’s dad was over.  Fear looked over his shoulder as Dad Island dimmed and grew silent again.

“It was nice meeting you,” the college friend said, holding out his hand.

Ian took it and gave it a gentle, friendly handshake.  “Yeah, you too.”  As the college friend left with his son, Ian looked down at the Lightfoot name on his sweatshirt.  “Bold,” he thought under his breath, feeling inspired.

Fear turned back, nodding to himself in agreement.  “Bold…”

----

Disgust pointed to a green bench in front of the school.  “That one.  Check it before he sits down, I don’t want Ian sitting in unicorn poop again.”

“That only happened twice,” Joy tried to wave off.

“Guys,” Fear announced as he took out his notepad and pen, “I got a great idea to change Ian’s sixteenth birthday around.  Let’s make a list of things we can do to make Ian the new Ian.”

“You got that idea from mom,” Anger argued.

“Doesn’t matter,” Fear commented.  “School starts in ten minutes, so let’s get thinking.”

Ian took a sip of his coffee before pulling out a small notebook from his back pocket.  He flipped it open to an empty page and wrote down in black ink ‘The New Me’

“How about we have Ian speak up more,” Sadness softly suggested.

“Excellent idea, Sadness,” Fear commented, writing the note down under his own list titled ‘The New Iandore.’

Joy pressed a button, Ian wrote down on his list ‘Speak up more.’

“Ian can’t be sixteen and not have his driving permit,” Anger said bluntly.  “That’s not fair.”

“Learn to drive,” Fear said, writing it down, his hand shaking a bit.  Ian wrote down ‘Learn to drive’ on his list as well.

“He needs friends,” Disgust pointed out.  “We need people for his party.”

Ian wrote down ‘Invite people to party,’ and so did Fear.

“Oh!  Oh!  I got one!” Joy jumped up and down, bursting with excitement over a brilliant idea.  Instead of explaining it, Joy flicked a few switches and levers on the console.  Fear watched the screen cautiously, wondering what Joy just did.

Ian added to the list in bold words ‘Be like dad.’

The other emotions gently praised Joy for the idea.  A small smile gradually spread on Fear’s face before he added it onto his list as well.

The school bell rang through the air outside.  Ian put his notebook away, placed his backpack over his shoulders and tossed his breakfast trash and leftovers into the garbage by the bench.

“Okay gang, that’s first bell,” Fear told the other emotions as he took the lead.  “Let’s get in there before the tardy bell rings and show the world the new Iandore Lightfoot!”

Ian looked up at the two story school building, the concrete structure looking dominating and intimidating as it casted it’s darkened shadow over the teenage elf standing at the foot of the stairs leading inside.

Fear tried desperately to swallow that ball of anxieties tensing up in his throat.

----

Ian made his way down the hall to the doorway of his classroom, but stopped as he looked inside. There was the usual sight of the teacher prepping her notes and kids doing random things at their desks besides school work.  At the front was Ian’s empty seat, and behind him was that usual troll, resting his thick sweaty feet on the back of his chair.

“Him again?”  Disgust gagged.  “Ugh, I’m gonna be sick.”

“This is good,” Joy said, trying to spin things into a positive.  “We can use this experience to have Ian speak up for himself.”

“I got this,” Anger declared, cracking his knuckles.

“No no no no!” Fear immediately placed a hand between Anger and the console.  Anger glared up at Fear.

“Fear’s right, we don’t need to be mean.  Let’s try just asking him.”  Joy pressed a button on the console.

Ian approached his desk and cleared his throat quietly.  “Hey, do you mind not putting your feet up on my chair today?”

“Sorry dude, the troll replied, lazily keeping his attention on his smart phone.  “Got to keep my feet elevated.  Helps get blood flow to the brain.”

Joy shrugged and pressed two more buttons.  Fear looked back up at the screen, anxiety beginning to creep up his spine and tightly curl his purple nerve into his blue hair.

“Yeah, but it’s hard for me to get into my seat with your feet up like that,” Ian tried again.

“Well, if I can’t think, I’m gonna do poor in school,” the troll replied, more argumentative.  He glanced up from his phone and eyed Ian. “You don’t want me to do bad at school, do you?”

That shift in tone and stare was enough for Fear to step in.  “It’s not working.  It’s not working!”  He pushed Joy aside as he slammed his hand down on the console.

“Uh, well… okay,” Ian mumbled off as he tried to squeeze in, giving a defeated sigh.

Disgust covered his mouth as he ran off to throw up.  Anger and Sadness eyed Fear, while Joy looked at him shocked and confused.  All Fear could do is stand there, tucking his hands under his arms.

----

It was afternoon, and Ian was in the back of a small group of students at a driving school near the high school.

“Okay, let’s not screw this up guys,” Disgust told the other emotions.

“Ian’s logged in plenty of hours with mom and her car,” Joy said optimistically, “he’s got this.” Joy glanced over at Fear, his arms beginning to tremble as he stared blankly up at the screen.  “Right, Fear?”

“Huh?” Fear snapped out of it and fumbled with his sweatshirt.  “Oh, right, right.”

“Driving test,” the driving instructor announced in her gravely gremlin tone.  “Any volunteers?”

Anger slammed his fist down on a button.  Ian’s hand shot up defiantly.

Before long, Ian was behind the wheel of one of the vehicles on loan from the driving school.  He took a deep breath, trying to keep his composure, and it was working so far.  Until he looked up at the highway before turning onto the onramp.

Sadness glanced over as he saw Fear walking up next to Anger.  While Anger was at the controls, helping Ian stay focused, Fear kept his eyes on the screen, placing one hand on the edge of the console.

At the top of the onramp, Ian glanced over his shoulder.  The cars sped by at a speed much too fast for Fear to comprehend, causing him to shiver.

“Just merge into traffic,” the driving teacher instructed.

“Yeah, in a minute,” Ian nearly sputtered, trying to focus on the road.

Anger growled, trying to find a gap in the traffic for Ian to merge into.  He was defiant to get this done, but was struggling as Ian seemed to veer out faster than Anger could let him veer in.  “What’s wrong with this kid?” Anger spat, not knowing Fear now has both hands on the console, gripping the edge tightly.

“Just merge into traffic!” the instructor now shouted.

Fear’s instincts kicked in. “ABORT!!” he ordered as he grabbed the controls, causing Anger to back away.

“I’m not ready!” Ian shouted.

“Pull over,” the instructor told Ian.

“Oh come on!” Anger snapped, storming off.

“Fear, what was that?” Disgust snapped at him.

Joy stepped between them. “That- that- that- that, was, uhmm… yeah, we’ll try again next time,” he said, running out of excuses.

Fear couldn’t hear them as he saw the driving instructor write something down on her notepad. Seeing the failure get written down in Ian’s files just made Fear hang his head.

----

The final bell rang, the students filtered out to the front of the school.  While many began to leave either by ride, by bus, or by walking, some stayed behind.  A few students were some members of the science club, chatting away at the entrance of the school.  Ian just tried to casually stand on the sidewalk nearby, alone.

“Okay gang, third time’s the charm,” Joy cheered, trying to boost everyone’s downbeat spirits.  “We can still turn this day around if we get some guests for Ian’s party.  Disgust?”

“I got this.  Follow my lead.”  Disgust took the lead at the controls, with Joy assisting.  Outside, Ian was thinking out loud what to say, jotting down key words for his prepared invitation on his hand.  Figuring out what Disgust was planning, Fear stood up from his seat on the couch, took out his notebook and made some notes of his own.

“No Joy, no one says dudes anymore,” Disgust corrected.  “Try gang.”

“Got it.” Joy flipped a switch or two on the console, a yellow memory orb rolled out into short term memory with a vision of the notes on Ian’s hand.  “Okay, let’s do this!”

“And you,” Disgust snapped her attention to Fear, “stay back.”

“Disgust!” Joy exclaimed in shock.

“Whatever.”  Disgust took over at the console.

Ian walked up to the students, trying to remain calm and friendly.  “Hey, what’s up gang?” he greeted them, getting their attention.

“Oh, uh, Ian, right?” one asked.

Ian was a little surprised by that.  “Oh, I didn’t know you knew my… anyway…”  Ian looked down at his hand.  He froze when he realized it was glossy from sweating nervously, causing the notes on his hand to smear into an incoherent mess of ink.

“Wait, what happened?” Joy asked aloud.

Disgust glared at Fear, he stepped back.  “I-it wasn’t me!” Fear replied, scared of the outcome without himself at the controls.

“It’s that stupid social anxiety thing again!” Disgust snapped, racing to the short term memory shelves.

“I thought the mind workers fixed that glitch!” Anger shouted in frustration.

“You can’t fix anxiety,” Sadness commented as Disgust loaded the yellow memory orb into the recall playback. The memory of Ian’s notes on his hands appeared onscreen, but the image was blurred to the point that it was illegible.

“Ugh, focus, Ian, focus,” Disgust thought aloud as she tried adjusting the memory orb.

“Anger, don’t smack it!” Joy shouted as she and Sadness ran over to help Disgust.

The console was unmanned, or unemotioned.  This was Fear’s chance!  He took out his notepad as he took his spot at the controls.

Ian immediately wrapped his sweaty hands to his side, not only to hide them, but to remain calm. It wasn’t working, however, as words seemed to fail him at the moment.  “Uh, if you like parties… I was going to do a party- I mean, if you’re not doing anything tonight, and it’s okay if you are, and if you like cake, like I like cake, I have a cake… over, at my house?”

“Are you inviting us to a party?” the classmate asked.

“That’s the one,” Ian replied.

“Fear, get away from that console!!” Disgust shouted.  Fear shrieked as he pulled his arms away and wrapped them around his sides.  The emotions raced up to the console, Disgust watching in horror, then rage, when a few purple memories rolled into short term. “Ugh, Fear, you ruined everything!”

“Sure, we don’t have any plans,” the classmate told Ian with a polite smile.

The emotions watched as the other classmates nodded and agreed to the awkward invitation.  Fear gave a sigh of relief, his hands falling to his sides.  Joy couldn’t help but give a told you so smirk to Disgust.  “See, Fear’s got this.  And he got people to Ian’s party.  What could happen?”

The oncoming sound of loud rock music and roaring engine coming in fast was enough to make Joy freeze up.  Realizing that familiar sound, Fear went back into panic mode.  “No no no no no no no…”

“No no no no no,” Ian whispered, watching Barley’s van careen across the road.

“Ha ha!  Is that the birthday boy I see?”  The van came to a screeching halt by the sidewalk, right by Ian and the classmates.  Barley leaped out of the driver’s side, clad in that usual ridiculous Viking cosplay outfit he’s known to wear on some of his role playing game nights.  “Behold, your chariot awaits!” he bellowed.

“Just ignore him,” Disgust told the other emotions.  “Maybe he’ll go away.”

“That doesn’t work,” Sadness said.

“It better work this time,” Disgust snapped back.

“Sir Iandore of Lightfoot,” Barley called out, followed by blaring the van’s horn.

Anger roared furiously. “Ugh!  Just take the hint!” Disgust snarled.

“It’s okay!  I can handle this!”  Joy took control.

“Barley, hey,” Ian finally replied.  “We were just about to take the bus.”

“The bus?  Nae!” Barley triumphantly continued.  “I will give you and your companions transport upon Guinevere.”

“Uh, who’s Guinevere?” a student asked.

“My mighty steed.” Barley proudly placed his hand on his van.  The small vibration was enough for the front bumper to fall right off.  “Oh, that’s embarrassing,” he laughed off.

“No kidding,” Disgust replied sourly.

Joy glanced over at Fear, who was now squeezing his sides so tight he was creating creases in his sweatshirt.  He whimpered softly, worry causing him to begin buckling under the pressure.  “Now now, Joy tried to smooth things over. “It’s just Barley.  We can handle this.”

“You got something on your face,” a classmate pointed out, with a smile that was trying to hold back a chuckle or two.

Ian placed a hand on his face, trying to wipe off what it could be.  He pulled it back, only to realize it was the ink from his hand, and now it’s smeared all over his face.

Fear couldn’t take it anymore!  He pushed Joy out and he stepped in.

“You know, I just remembered, my birthday is, uh, cancelled,” Ian said quickly.  “Complete misunderstanding.  Gotta go. Bye.”  Ian quickened his pace towards the van, trying to get out of there as soon as possible.

Fear’s quickened breaths finally slowed.  He gradually looked to his left then his right, catching the gaze and glares of the other emotions.  He swallowed harshly before stepping back from the console.

“That’s it!” Anger began to march right up to Fear.

“No no no no no no!” Joy grabbed Anger and Disgust by their arms and ran off shouting out.  “Let’s have a meeting!  Emergency meeting!  Right now! Sadness, Fear, watch Ian please!” The three disappeared from sight as they ran into a short hallway into the break room.

Fear couldn’t help it as he ran that direction, slowing his steps until he stopped by the entrance to the hallway.  The break room had no door, so the three emotions were keeping their voices to a dull whisper.  But soon Fear could make out an angry and a disgusted voice commenting things like “he’s falling apart… he can’t take it anymore, I can’t take it anymore… he’s worthless… Ian’s better off without him…”  Sighing in defeat, Fear placed his back against the wall and slid down to a sitting position on the floor.

After Ian was seated in the van, Sadness looked over at Fear.  With Ian fine for a while, Sadness approached the purple emotion sprawled out on the floor.  “Hey… are you okay?”

“Yes… no…” Fear closed his eyes and rubbed them with his hands.  “I don’t know…”

“It’s okay to be sad,” Sadness told him.

“For you it is,” Fear almost snapped back, before recoiling back into a worried depression.  “Sorry, it’s just… a very bad day…”

Sadness nodded, he sat down next to Fear.  A moment or two of silence passed, Sadness sitting with his hands held at his sides, and Fear looking away from Sadness, keeping to his own pity.  Eventually, Sadness lowered his hands, placing one on Fear’s hand.  A soft sniffle caused Fear’s slender nose to scrunch up a tad, before a tear dropped from his eye.

“I’m not doing a good job lately,” Fear finally admitted to Sadness.  “Or… maybe I am… maybe I’m doing too good a job… I mean… I-I’m trying to do my part too, I’m trying to help Ian…”  Sadness nodded.  “I don’t know what’s gotten over me… things have gotten way too stressful for Ian, and now Joy told me you guys were talking about me behind my back…”

“Joy told you?” Sadness asked.

Fear immediately looked over at Sadness with shocked eyes.  “What did you say?”

Sadness confirmed, “You said Joy told you?”

“I said that?”  Fear took a double take as he heard the other emotions approaching.  He shifted so he was kneeling in front of Sadness.  “Don’t tell the others about this.”

“I-“

“Please please please.” Fear placed his hands together, begging.

Sadness nodded.  “Okay.”

“Thank you.”  Fear stood up, giving Sadness a hand up as well. “Let’s get back to the console before they see us.”

“See us doing what?”

“Shh!”

----

Ian dragged his feet across his bedroom floor, dropping his dad’s sweatshirt onto a hope chest next to his desk.  He flopped himself down at his desk, he took the small notebook out of his pocket. One by one, Ian crossed out the things on his list.  Speak up more.  Crossed out. Learn to drive.  Crossed out.  Invite people to party.  Crossed out. Be like dad…

Ian hesitated, but admitted defeat.  Crossed out.

Fear crossed out ‘be like dad’ on his list as well before sadly putting his notebook away.

The air in Headquarters was thick with silence and tension.  Joy, Sadness and Disgust watched the screen, while Fear hung his head, and Anger eyed Fear with a scowl.

“That’s it,” Anger finally spoke up.

“Anger,” Joy told him, “you promised we wouldn’t talk about this.”

“Well I am talking about it!” Anger spat.  He forcefully pointed a finger at Fear’s direction.  “This guy is nothing but trouble!”

“Finally,” Disgust rolled his eyes.

“He’s not trouble,” Joy said, trying to crack a joke.  “He’s a Fear.”

“He’s a menace!” Anger barked.  “We’re trying to do our jobs, and he keeps taking over!”

“Exactly!” Disgust snapped. “Ian can’t be Ian when he’s scared all the time!”

Fear backed away as they emotions stepped forward.  They were all in their argument, but appeared to be gaining up on him.  Anger and Disgust kept yelling, Joy kept trying to diffuse the fighting, Sadness could only get one word in once in a while before getting cut off.  It was building and building, piling on Fear, becoming too much.  He placed his hands under his arms and squeezed tightly, his nerve curled up until it was hidden in his blue hair.  He closed his eyes shut, trying not to listen, trying not to be there. But it just kept growing.

“STOOOOOOOP!!”

Fear finally opened his eyes to see the emotions staring at him in shock.  Did he… was he the one who said that?

A ping sounded.  Fear turned to see Dad Island lit up and active. The emotions turned to the screen. They watched as Ian pulled a small audio cassette out of his desk drawer labeled “Dad”

“Ian’s doing the thing again,” Sadness said.  The emotions approached the console, stood and watched.  They knew this ritual all too well.

Ian placed the cassette in the tape player and pressed play.  He rested his head onto his arms folded on his desk.  He listened.  Two voices on the tape.  One was muffled, but the familiar voice of his mom.  The other was clear as day, a voice that became familiar with each replay:

“… I think I got it… Hello? Hello?... Is that right?... Well, I’m trying to… ha ha ha, I know… Well, let’s find out… Okay, bye…”

The tape stopped. After a brief melancholy pause, Ian pressed rewind.

Joy smiled, looking like he was going to burst.  “I love this part.  This is my favorite part.”  The other emotions gave a little chuckle as they continued to watch.

Ian pressed play.  He lifted his head, looking up at the cork board on the wall in front of him, tacked on were a couple of old, random pictures of his dad that he found in storage around the house over the years. He looked at one with soft eyes, and a softer smile.  “Hi, dad.”

The tape replied.  “Hello?  Hello?”

“It’s me, Ian.”

“Is that right?”

“Yeah, right.  Did you have a good day?”

“Well, I’m trying to.”

“Yeah, me too.  Though I could clearly use some help.  Sure do wish I could spend a day with you sometime. There’s so much we could do.  It’ll be a lot of fun.”

“Well, let’s find out.”

“Yeah, I’d love to. We could-“

“Okay, bye.”  Click.

Ian’s face fell.  “Yeah… bye.”

The emotions smiled their usual melancholy smiles, with Sadness wiping away his usual tears.  They watched as Ian sat alone in his room, feeling alone.  But the emotions were reminded from Ian’s ritual their purpose.  Ian is never alone.  He has them, they are Ian.  Ian may not have a dad, and the emotions wished as hard as he did that he did. But the emotions will always be there to make Ian’s life as complete as possible.

Except, Fear was feeling something a little different today.  He glanced back at Dad Island, at the small display of pictures, replicas of the same pictures Ian had tacked to his cork board.  Dad was confident, dad was bold.  And Fear… he’s a Fear.  Fear gave an exhale as he shrugged his shoulders, feeling as lonely as Ian was in that very bedroom.

----

An hour passed.  Ian was in the living room, sewing up the popped seam on dad’s old sweatshirt.  Disgust was at the controls, Joy on one side of the console, Fear on the other, with Anger and Sadness sitting nearby on a couch.  Disgust was doing just fine, and Fear knew that.  But with each stitch, and that sewing needle, it looked so sharp, and Ian could prick his finger at any moment.

“I think-“ Fear began, but stopped when Disgust glared at him.  Fear hugged himself for a minute, before stepping forward towards the console. “But what if-“ Disgust held his hand out to stop him, and Anger growled.  Fear went back to placing his hands under his arms.

As Family Island lit up, Joy once again tried to cut the tension with a nice distraction.  “Oh look, it’s mom.”

Laurel sat down on the couch next to Ian.  “You must have learned from a sewing master,” she joked.

“Yeah, a very humble sewing master,” Ian replied, finishing the last stitch on the seam.  He put the needle and thread away.  Ian brushed a finger across the name Lightfoot, the emotions saw Dad Island light up.  “What was dad like, when he was my age?” Ian asked Laurel.  “Was he always super confident?”

“Oh, no,” Laurel replied. “It took him a while to figure out who he was.”

Ian looked down at nothing in particular.  “I wish I met him.”

“Me too.  But you know what?”  Laurel placed a comforting hand on Ian’s shoulder to get him to look back up. “When your dad got sick, he fought as hard as he could to see you more than anything.”

Ian just looked away, no response.  The emotions watched as his island of personality went dormant.  They looked at each other, just as speechless as Ian was, not knowing what to say, what to do.  Even Fear was at a loss.

“You know,” Laurel finally replied.  “I have something for you.  I was going to wait until after your cake, but I think you’ve waited long enough.”

Ian looked up curiously. “What is it?”

Laurel smiled, revealing her excitement after all these years.  “It’s a gift… from your dad.”

The emotions were in as big of a daze of wonder as Ian was.  Even Fear couldn’t believe his ears.  The purple emotion finally pushed that one word question out of his quivering lips. “… dad?”

[quixotic-writer]

Coming Clean

Song inspo: Coming Clean — Green Day

Summary: There is no time in your life more confusing than your teenage years. You start questioning everything, especially yourself. Sal had everything figured out, Q pretended as though he did too. When Q finally comes face to face with those feelings, Sal offers to help sort them out.

———————————————————————

The teacher sounded like white noise at this point in the lesson, Q clearly didn’t care about a single word that was coming out of the teacher’s mouth. He doodled little characters in his notebook to pass the time as he thought about more important things like what he’s going to be doing after school.

Sal, who sat next to him, was on the same wavelength but somehow a little more attentive to the class. He understood everything that was going on but just couldn’t be bothered with it. He didn’t quite know where his mind was right now or where his train of thought was traveling to, it felt like a mental moment of peace.

“Hey Sal.” Q whispers over to him snapping him out of his trance like state. “You wanna hang after school and go to my place?” Sal lights up at the question.

“Hell yes!” Was his short response before quickly looking back to the front of the classroom to see all their fellow classmates staring at them as well as the teacher.

“Mr. Vulcano and Mr. Quinn, I sure hope you aren’t talking in my class AGAIN?” They both straighten out their posture and side glance each other knowing they got caught talking in class yet again.

“Brian was just asking to use an eraser is all Mr. McNeilly.” Sal quickly grabs the eraser from his desk and hands it to Q. Smooth recovery but it was kind of obvious their short talk wasn’t about an eraser.

“Thanks Sal. Sorry Mr. McNeilly.” Q tries to look remorseful. All Mr. McNeilly does is raise his eyebrow and continue with his lesson. The boys sigh in relief and slump back into their chairs.

As the time passed since the mini exchange, Q couldn’t help but count down the minutes until school was finally out. He was always excited to hang out with Sal and vice versa, but Q had reached a time in his life where he was beginning to sort out and figure out all his emotions. He had this love and adoration for his best friend, but it grew to feel like an infatuation and he thought it was a normal thing until being told otherwise.

“So like, you’re telling me no one feels that kind of emotional attachment??” Minor panic was setting in his bones, he didn’t want to expose the skeleton he had hiding in the corner of his closet.

“...No, Q. Maybe for a girl I find hot, but not a friend.” Murr said shooting Q a suspicious look. He felt his face go hot and his hands begin to sweat as he fiddles around with the ring band on his middle finger.

“Maybe i’m confusing my feelings and just being dramatic. Speaking of romance, how’s that girl you’ve been talking to that attends the neighboring school?” He tries to quickly divert the conversation over to a subject he knew Murr would take it and run with it and it would be like the topic was never brought up.

“Q being dramatic? Unheard of.” Joe says sarcastically as he takes a huge bite out of his sandwich, smiling to himself. Murr continues rambling on and Q sinks in on himself and his gears start working over time. Is it true that these are romantic feelings he has for Sal? He never really took the time to sort out these emotions, he mostly repressed them and said “eh, i’ll figure it out later.” But later became now very quick.

Why did figuring yourself out have to be so hard especially when it deals with someone you’re best friends with? He knew he liked girls, he knew that much for sure. But when it came to guys, that’s when things got a little blurry for him. Sal seemed to be the one that threw a curve ball on him and was the one to turn everything upside down.

Sal had an “I don’t give a fuck” attitude about his romantic taste. He never messed too much with labels and didn’t really see the point in them. While he knew he lusted for ladies, he wasn’t opposed to the idea of being with a guy at all. He had played a detailed scenario where he was with a guy, and it didn’t bother him at all, he was indifferent and comfortable with the thought. He believed there could be a special person who could just woo him, so for that he kept himself open to any options that were laid out in front of him. One of those options: his best friend Q, but he’d never say anything assuming Q didn’t bat for the same team he did per se.

The school bell rings and it made Sal jump out of his skin a little since he had lost track of the time. He looks over to Q and they both smile to the other knowing their game was now afoot as they gather all their things. When they start making their swift exit, they were halfway out the door when Mr. McNeilly decides to get in his final words: “Enough talking in class you two. One more time and I will for sure separate your seats.”

“Yes Mr. McNeilly.” The two say in unison and leave before being further lectured on their poor classroom behavior.

“I swear that class gets more and more painful with each passing lesson. It’s so boring it’s almost as if they want us to fail.” Q complains to Sal as they both hop into his car and take off to presumably Q’s place either chill in his room and put some records on, or get lost in the forest for a bit. Either way, they both were just happy to spend time with the other.

As they rode along the road, Sal stared outside taking in the familiar view of the small town they know. Q had his eyes on the road, but he didn’t feel all there, it felt as though he had been set on auto-pilot.

“So I hear you have been chatting it up with a girl yourself, eh, Q?” Sal has a giddy grin on his face that shows he was eager to find out the latest gossip on his friend’s romantic life. In reality there was no gossip to be heard, there was no girl. It was all a made up scenario Q made to evade any suspicion on his confused orientation status.

“Yeah... her name is uh... Samantha! Her name is Samantha. Yes. Met her at the mall food court. Brown hair, green eyes, a gorgeous combination of features if you ask me. She has this radiating smile and a laugh that takes me out.” Sal smiles and nods, little did he know Q was, in reality, describing the person sitting next to him. But he would never tell him that. “So any girl you have your eyes set on lover boy?” Sal’s heart palpitated for a second knowing that now he was in the hot seat.

“Not really a girl per se. I do think a guy is pretty cute though.” He casually blurts out. Q feels his palms sweat and he begins gripping the steering wheel just a little bit harder.

“Guy?” Q half chokes on the air he was breathing and his voice cracks as he tries to get out a single word.

“Is there... a problem with that?” Sal raises his defenses, he imagined Q would have been fine with it and not have cared.

“No no... sorry it just caught me off guard a little. You do you, i’m glad you’re happy and comfortable with yourself. Tell me about him.” Sal began to sweat, he wasn’t expecting a follow up question.

“Well... he’s nerdy or geeky or whatever... um. pretty chill y’know. Yeah.” Sal knew that was the stupidest blurb he ever went on and was mentally face palming himself over and over and over again. But he knew he couldn’t say too much without being too obvious, he wasn’t about to unintentionally confess who his crush is to his crush.

The car was silent for the last tail end of the drive to Q’s place. When they get there, they both take themselves upstairs to his room where they follow the same routine they always have. Sal throws himself onto Q’s bed while the other sat on the floor shuffling through his box of records to find something to play in the background while they talk the day away. The grainy sounds of an old Elvis record begins to fill the room as the two sit in silence.

“So how did you know?” Q looks over to Sal who raised his head to meet eyes with Q.

“That’s so vague Q, more specific please.” He slumps his head back onto the bed and stares at the ceiling knowing this was gonna be a weird and awkward conversation.

“How do you know that you like guys?”

“Same way that I know I like girls, same way you know that you like girls. I just feel it, go with the flow of my heart. I find a dude attractive and maybe I wanna kiss him, boom.” Q had heard over and over the same statement of ‘you just know,’ and honestly it wasn’t helping his case at all. It had grown frustrating trying to find help and advice when it was the same dead end every time. “But y’know the game changer is a kiss. That’s what sealed the deal for me.”

“You’ve kissed a guy before?” Q feels jealousy taking over with a slight twinge of confusion, he had never heard of Sal ever kissing some other guy.

“Yeah it was a dare at a party, that’s how I figured things out. What’s with all the weird questions today?” Sal sits up and seats himself at the edge of the bed. He looks all over at Q’s face and the deer in the headlights look he had made it all click together in his head. “We don’t have to talk about it if you’re uncomfortable Bri.” Q’s eyes never left the box of records he was looking through. Sal was his closest friend and he knew he could tell him this much, but it still terrified him because he felt like he was just supposed to know and have it all together. He hated being vulnerable and open, he felt as though it made him an open target for attacks. So instead, he kept all his serious problems to himself and was left alone to solve them.

“I just feel so lost. I feel like it’s almost.. wrong, to have the thoughts and feelings that I am.” He buries his face into his now sweaty palms. He’s trying so hard to be open about what’s going on for once, but it all feels so mortifying. Sal stares at Q and knows there’s one quick fix to the problem.

“Brian, it’s okay to be confused. You don’t have to have EVERYTHING figured out, especially something like this.” Sal tries to console his stressed out friend with soothing words. It wasn’t often where Sal had called Q by his actual name rather than his nickname, he knew he was serious and only trying to help. “Listen, if it helps to make this easier, just kiss me.” Q’s head shoots up immediately and his whole face turns red. Sal smirks knowing that was the exact reaction he was gonna get.

“Seriously?” Q was absolutely floored at the sudden offer.

“Well, Bri, I wouldn’t offer if I was serious. Now pucker up butter cup.” Sal makes kissy noises to Q in attempts to lighten the mood, somehow it made his face become even redder than before. Q gets up and sits next to Sal on the bed, he never once dared to make eye contact. His heart was racing so fast inside his chest it felt like it could escape out of his body and run at any moment. “Are you sure you’re up for this Q?”

“If I don’t do this, i’ll be left lost for a while. If you’re offering, i’ll take it.” Q finally looks into Sal’s eyes and his mind flat lined for just a second. This was it, the moment he craved deep in his soul no matter how hard he suppressed it. The two begin to lean in closer together, eyes closing, the radiating heat of their faces warming their senses.

And then it happened.

Their lips connected and for once in this painstaking soul searching journey, Q felt tranquil. He reaches his hand up to hold Sal’s face as he proceeded to deepen the kiss, hungry for more after starving himself of affection he knew he wanted. Q hums at the sensation and Sal hums back in response. When they finally pulled apart, Q finally figured himself out. Sal couldn’t help but smile since he could see the fireworks shooting off behind his best friend’s eyes.

“Sal. I think i’ve finally figured it all out.” Q was breathless to say the least.

“I’m glad I could help out.”

“And now I think I should tell you the truth. My truth.” Q’s leg is frantically bouncing at the same rate as his heart, he twiddles his fingers, and his eyes are fixed on anything but the upper half of the boy sitting next to him.

“And what is that?” Sal knew what was coming, and he had the biggest shit eating grin on his face. Finally the truth was about to unravel before him.

“I’ve liked you for a while, but I just couldn’t seem to map out the feeling properly until now. I think I spent all this time denying myself thinking it’ll make me less of a man.” It all came flooding out and Q had never felt lighter than in that moment, finally releasing all that had been weighing him down.

“I knew that ‘Samantha’ character sounded all to familiar in the car. I’ll let you in on a little secret myself: I’ve liked you for some time too.” The two lock eyes and share a smile between them. “Liking a guy doesn’t make you any less of a man Q. I think suppressing your true self is what takes that away. It takes a real man to be open and honest and today, I think you found what makes you a real man.” Q felt overwhelmed with emotions and couldn’t help the floodgates from spilling. Tears fell down his cheeks and dropped onto the ground. They didn’t say much more than that, Sal had taken Q into his arms and they shared a moment’s embrace.

“I was so scared. Thank you Sal.”

“Hey, no more tears, okay?” Sal pulls away and takes his fingers to wipe away the tears that were cascading on his friend’s cheeks, he pulls his face close and gently placed a kiss on his forehead. “What if I asked you to go to a movie this weekend? Just us. What say you?” Q smiled wide.

“I think that sounds great.” He answered with confidence not fearing his emotions anymore.

“Then it’s a date.” The two beamed with overflowing joy and happiness. Secrets revealed and out in the open between the two young boys. They never thought that this moment would have ever happened, a mere stroke of luck and proper timing. But the stars had aligned just for them to shine

[vnderoos]

fight club ❁ isaac lahey

(gif is not mine, credit to the owner) warnings / language, an unprecedented ass-grabbing, punching, mentions of blood, mentions of underaged drinking, and some fluffy stuff to make you smile word count / 4.6k

masterlist in bio ↴

ANOTHER SWEATY BODY stumbled back against Y/N as she fought her way through what felt like a mosh pit of drunk teenagers. "Excuse me," she grunted as the person carelessly knocked her into the wall, the motion resulting in some of the amber liquid inside of her plastic cup sloshing over the rim and onto her hand. She glanced disgustedly at the beer trickling down her wrist and she wiped it off on her jeans. All Y/N had wanted to do was find Peyton, her designated driver, and leave, but instead, she was covered in beer. "Mind watching where you're going, please?" She jabbed half-heartedly, the alcohol running through her system causing a few of her words to mingle together.

The blonde hair of the girl who'd bumped into her flew by in a blur as she whipped around to look at Y/N. Her eyebrows—illuminated by the dim lighting of Lydia Martin's party—were noticeably furrowed at first, but when her brown eyes gave Y/N a once over, her expression softened. "Oh, my God," she uttered, reaching out to Y/N in a guilty manner with her free hand. "Honey, I'm so sorry, I didn't even see you there," the girl explained with undeniable sincerity—and the lingering effects of a few shots—laced in her voice and written all over her face as she spoke.

Y/N, who suddenly felt really bad about snapping at her, shook her head softly. "No, no, you're totally fine," she reassured her with a nervous laugh, hoping it'd be enough to bury the fact that she almost wigged out at this poor girl. "I don't even know why I was such a bitch about it, I'm sorry," she apologized, putting some of the blame on herself and flashing the girl an awkward smile.

She only nodded her head, the corners of her mouth quirking upwards slightly as she tucked a lock of golden hair behind her ear. "Don't worry about it, girl. Go have a good time," she suggested, shooting off a playful wink as she brought her cup to her lips.

"You, too," Y/N replied, her smile becoming a little more certain as the interaction ended exceptionally better than she'd imagined. The blonde flashed her a drunken grin and sent her off with a flittering wave of her fingers, which Y/N repaid with a casual flick of her hand, and the girl turned back around to face her friends.

When Y/N remembered what she'd been doing before the girl had knocked into her, which was looking for her ride, she started moving again. Her eyes scanned over dozens of heads bobbing to the music and flitted over tons of faces, but none of them were Peyton. She continued to push between and around people, though, muttering excuse me's and a couple of excuse you's as she did.

If she was being honest, she didn't feel like looking for Peyton anymore. There were so many people and so many rooms in this giant house and, being the tired, drunken girl that she was, all Y/N wanted to do was find a nice, empty room to take a nap in. She didn't change course, though, because putting in the extra energy to make it to her own bed seemed more worthwhile than hopping under the covers of a stranger's.

She hardly got to take another step before she felt a hand, large and rough, against her ass. Her movements faltered as the hand squeezed harshly, the fingertips of whoever it belonged to digging into her flesh.

Without waiting another beat, Y/N whirled around, the beer in her cup splashing onto her skin again. She decided to ditch the cup on a coffee table to her right before switching her attention back to the tall, bulky, brunette asshole who thought it was a good idea to touch her ass without permission. There was a crooked smirk on his face and his eyes were bloodshot, but his intoxicated state didn't justify his behavior in the slightest. "What the hell do you think you're doing?" She yelled, a scowl tugging at her lips as she crossed her arms over her chest.

"OH, SHIT," Isaac hissed as he carefully avoided yet another flailing arm, swerving expertly around the Solo cup to avoid the contents spilling out of it. He moved a bit further to the edge of the crowd, figuring his chances of getting doused in Budweiser were far less on the outskirts. He continued to look over everyone, though, searching for the familiar spastic movements of Stiles Stilinski, Scott McCall's crooked jawline, and the telltale signs of the rest of his friends.

Unfortunately, he'd been looking for them for the past twenty minutes, but he'd had no luck finding any of them. His eyes kept mulling over the same familiar faces of his peers and, at one point, he'd thought about asking someone for help, but he doubted that any of these people were sober enough to give him any valuable information. He kept moving as much as he didn't want to anymore, knowing he'd find them sooner or later, but after a while, something caught his eye.

A girl—attractive, alone, and a decent distance away from him—spun around so fast he thought she might topple over, but instead, she set her cup down on a table and glared daggers at the guy in front of her. "What the hell do you think you're doing?" He could hear her spit from across the room, humility and disgust radiating off of her. If Isaac had been anybody else, her voice would've been drowned out by the loud music, but since he was a werewolf, he filtered through the pulsing of the beat to pick up what she was saying.

Either way, he would've known she was uncomfortable because of the unmistakable anger written on her face.

His eyebrows furrowed as he watched the scene unfold in front of him. He looked at the buff guy in front of her, who smirked triumphantly down at her as he held a near-empty bottle of beer in his grasp. "Just havin' a little fun, babygirl," he slurred and that was all Isaac needed to hear to know that the dude was completely shitfaced.

"That doesn't mean you can grab my ass without my permission, you prick," the girl hissed and Isaac's eyes widened.

At this point, he felt like maybe he should intervene. Instead of continuing to look for his friends, he started to make his way over to the girl. Getting her away from that intoxicated dickhead became his new objective.

Y/N WASN'T just disgusted; she was absolutely repulsed. This jerkoff just tried to justify groping her ass by calling it 'a little fun' and then, he had the nerve to call her 'babygirl'? She wanted to puke so bad at that, she could almost taste the bile in her throat. "That doesn't mean you can grab my ass without my permission, you prick," she growled at him, but the guy laughed.

He shrugged his broad shoulders and took an unnecessary swig of his beer. "Well, if you didn't shake it in my fucking face, we wouldn't be having this problem," he snarled, his crude behavior suddenly turning aggressive, and anger bubbled up under her skin at his useless excuses.

Y/N let her arms fall to her sides and she clenched her fists. "I didn't shake anything in your face, dude," she hissed. "I was literally walking by you, minding my own goddamn business, and you grabbed my ass!" She shouted, earning a few glances from people around them.

The only person who seemed sober enough to actually care what was going on was a tall, well-built boy with a mop of curly brown hair on top of his head. He stepped into Y/N's vision, his hands reaching out to brush against her shoulders. "Are you okay?" He asked, but she didn't hear him. She didn't even register that he was standing right in front of her.

She didn't register anything except the white hot rage and the dribble of alcohol inside of her, so she drew her arm backwards, whammed her fist against the first thing in sight, and listened to the satisfying crack as it collided with something.

Instead of getting the ideal cry of pain from the pervert who'd grabbed her ass, the curly-haired guy who just suddenly appeared brought his hands to his nose and staggered backwards. "Holy shit," he exclaimed, blinking a few times because his head was fucking spinning. He regained his balance after a few seconds, but there was a waterfall of blood gushing down his face and between his fingers.

Confusion swirled around in Y/N's mind as she watched this tall, extremely cute lacrosse player contort his face in pain until it clicked. "Oh, my God," she whispered quickly, glancing behind him only to realize that her violator was long gone and this guy had just been trying to help. "I'm so, so sorry," she blurted, stepping towards him and reaching out to hesitantly, but gently, grab his elbows.

His hands were still cupped over his face and he gave her a wide-eyed look. "What the hell?" He asked and his voice was slightly high-pitched. His eyes darted back and forth, searching her expression for any kind of explanation for why she'd just sucker-punched him in the nose.

Her face washed over with a mixture of guilt and concern as she looked at him and she shook her head rapidly. "I didn't mean to do that, I swear," she protested, but he didn't seem to be buying it. "I've had a few drinks and I was aiming for that asshole. I was so mad I didn't even realize you stepped between us, I'm so sorry," she apologized, her thumbs brushing over the skin on his elbows gently.

Isaac scoffed and rolled his eyes. "Yeah, okay, fight club," he hummed unenthusiastically, and she laughed nervously at the nickname. He slowly brought his hands off of his face and she took her hands off of his elbows so that they could both assess the damage.

The entire bottom half of his face and the palms of his hands were smeared in red and Y/N widened her eyes at the sight. "Oh, God," she muttered, before taking one of his blood-stained hands in hers. "I'm gonna help you clean this up and get you some ice, okay?" She told him, but it seemed like more of a statement than an offer, so he nodded his head.

She started to pull him in the direction of the kitchen but after a few steps, she paused and looked over her shoulder at him. "I'm Y/N, by the way," she introduced herself, flashing him a small smile in an attempt to lighten the mood.

He shook his head softly and let out a dry laugh. "I'm Isaac," he replied. She grinned at his response, though, happy that she hadn't ruined all chances of a friendship, and she started to tug him to safety once more.

It didn't take long before Y/N was guiding Isaac gently into the empty kitchen, leading him to the other end so that they stood in front of the sink. "Just..." she trailed off, letting go of his hand and tilting his head upwards so that he was looking at the ceiling. "Stay like that so you don't get blood everywhere and I'll clean you up," she instructed, missing the amused curve of his lips as she turned to grab a wad of paper towels. She turned on the faucet and ran them underneath the tap.

When she turned back around to face Isaac, she stumbled over her own two feet and just about into the side of the kitchen island. "Whoa, whoa, whoa," he blurted, breaking his eye contact with one of the lightbulbs above them, and he hurriedly reached out to steady her. His hands clasped around her elbows and a small giggle spilled from her mouth. "You good?" He asked and she nodded her head.

"Yeah, I'm fine," she replied confidently and Isaac let his hands fall back at his side. "You're the one with a bloody nose," she added, smiling to herself when he rolled his eyes.

Isaac huffed. "I wonder why," he teased and she laughed, picking up one of his hands and wiping off the blood with her wet paper towel.

Y/N glanced up at him with an infectious smile on her face, but he could still smell the guilt on her. "I'm really sorry about that, by the way," she confessed again. "If I was in my right mind, that never would've happened," she explained.

He nodded his head as she spoke. "It's fine, really. Happens more often than you'd think," he told her with a note of amusement playing in his voice. She didn't seem to think anything of it, though. "Plus, I can't really blame you for wanting to deck a guy like that," he continued, but he regretted it the second that her cheery expression fell awkward.

Instead of saying anything else, Y/N let go of his hand and carefully grabbed his other one, working on cleaning that one off, too. He watched her intently as she put all of her attention on shining him up, studying the way her eyebrows knitted with focus and the way her lips pressed together in concentration.

There was a lot of irony in their situation, if you thought about it. I mean, he was completely sober and, somehow, there was a drunk girl taking care of him.

A few more seconds of Y/N scrubbing away at his palm and wiping away whatever had trickled onto his forearm passed before a drop of blood landed on her wrist. She looked up at Isaac, her cheeks flushing red when she found his eyes already on her, and she held her hand up to him. "Isaac, you're dripping," she pointed, her voice laced with a combination of concern and nerves.

"Oh, sorry," he told her. His eyebrows quirked upwards at that and he went to look back up at the ceiling, but she shook her head.

"It's okay, I'll just wipe your nose off and see if there's an icepack somewhere," she said and he didn't have the heart to tell her that he didn't need one. Not that it didn't hurt, because damn, she had one hell of an arm, but because of the accelerated healing that came with being a werewolf.

Instead, he nodded and dipped his head down into her reach. She smiled sympathetically up at him, cupping the side of his jaw delicately with one of her hands and starting to wipe the blood away with the other. The paper towel was cool against his heated skin and, if he was being truthful, it felt nice to not have to deal with the mess on his own for once.

"Thank you for doing this," he told her when she pulled the paper towel away from his face, wiping the excess water off on the sleeve of his shirt.

Y/N nodded her head and made her way over to the freezer, dropping the soaked paper towel into the trash can on her way. "It's the least I can do after punching you in the face," she responded and they both laughed at that. "But you're welcome," she said more seriously, glancing at him over her shoulder and smiling warmly. There was something about seeing her grin crookedly at him, her features illuminated by the light of the freezer, that made his heart flutter, but he chose to ignore it. He leaned against the countertop when she turned away, instead. "Hey, there's no icepacks in here," she said, ice crunching as she sifted through the bags and boxes. "Are frozen peas alright?" She questioned, pulling the bag of frozen vegetables out of the bottom and holding it up for him to see.

Isaac nodded at that, knowing that frozen peas were the next best thing to an actual icepack, and she shut the freezer. He watched her as she stepped back over to him, wobbling very slightly as she did, and she hopped up onto the counter beside him. "Here," she hummed, dropping them into his hands when he held them out.

"Thanks," he told her, pressing the peas over his nose to humor her.

A minute or two of silence fell over them after that and they each avoided looking at each other, their eyes flickering over different objects in the room instead. Isaac tapped the fingertips of his free hand against the counter and Y/N knocked the heel of her shoe against the cabinet absentmindedly as they sat there.

Y/N glanced over at Isaac quickly, silently admiring his features that weren't covered by the bag. He had a mess of beautiful, brown curls and his blue eyes were nothing short of enchanting. His jawline was sharp, his eyebrows were full, and she didn't even want to get started on how kissable his lips looked in the moment. God, he was really handsome.

She looked at him a little while longer until he peeked over at her. She focused her attention on something in front of her quickly, her cheeks warming up at the fact that she'd just been caught staring. "So, I just realized it, but I think you're in my English class," she pointed out randomly, just hoping to break the barrier of awkward silence that had formed between them.

She looked back at him and he furrowed his eyebrows slightly, analyzing her features carefully. "Oh, yeah," he said in realization. "I guess I didn't recognize you right away because I usually only see the back of your head," he added and she shrugged.

"Maybe," she answered. "And I guess I didn't recognize you because I usually don't see you at all, so," she trailed off and Isaac chuckled at her revision to his own words. Just another negative of sitting in the front, she thought to herself.

He shifted his position so that he held the bag of peas against his nose with his other hand. "No offense, but I never took you as a party person," he said, glancing down at the floor before looking back up at her.

Y/N scoffed. "That's because I'm not," she explained. "I don't know if you know Peyton James, but she was the one who asked me to come tonight. I mean, free booze, chips and dip, and some quality best friend time? How could I refuse?" She joked, ending her sentence with a mockingly glamorous tone of voice.

Isaac cracked a smile. "Well, if you're having fun, that's what counts, I guess," he told her.

She laughed and shook her head. "Fun's not exactly the word I'd use to describe it," she said. "I'm covered in the booze, the chips were stale, Peyton ditched me, and some creep touched my butt," she explained, rolling her eyes at the mention of the pervert from earlier.

"Yeah, I know what you mean. I mean, not about the guy touching your butt, just the 'everything-gone-wrong' part," he agreed. "I came here to hang out with my friends and I literally haven't seen them the whole time I've been here."

"Oh, so you've just been floating around the whole time?" Y/N asked, watching as he switched between hands again.

Isaac shrugged. "Kind of, I guess. I mean, I've been texting them but nobody's answered and I couldn't find them, so I pretty much have been walking around for the past half hour."

Y/N made a face at that and she sighed. "Yeesh," she breathed, leaning back on the palms of her hands. "I've kind of been doing the same. I was trying to find Peyton when I ran into that guy but, luckily, I have a few beers in my system and I wasn't looking for long, so I'm not too upset about it anymore."

"I don't drink, so I've just been bored out of my mind," he admitted. "Well, up until now, at least."

Her eyebrows lifted in surprise. "You're not drunk?"

Isaac shook his head. Due to the superhuman rate of his metabolism, he processed alcohol way too quickly to feel the effects of it. He couldn't exactly tell her that, though, so he decided to go with a different reason. "No, I don't like what it does to people," he told her and she squinted her eyes at him curiously. "When I was growing up, my dad," he paused, shaking his head. "He sucked when he was sober, so when he got drunk—" he stopped when his voice cracked unexpectedly, snippets of the way his childhood was—slaps, bruises, and broken glass—flashed through his head. He opened his mouth to keep going, though, because he felt strangely connected to her, but Y/N set her hand on his bicep to stop him. It was weird how comforting her touch was considering how little he knew about her.

She offered him a reassuring smile. "Seems like it was rough for you," she told him, giving his arm a squeeze, and he nodded his head. "We can talk about something else, though. I don't mind," she told him.

Isaac flashed her a grateful smile. "Yeah, like how much this party blows," he said, switching hands on the makeshift ice pack again.

"Here, I'll hold it," she offered and Isaac nodded, handing her the bag of peas.

"I'll move so it's easier." He pushed himself off of the counter and stepped in front of her, blushing slightly when she moved her knees apart. Y/N gestured for him to slot himself between them and he did, albeit hesitantly.

She laughed softly at the way his cheeks tinted pink and she held the peas back against his face. Truth be told, Isaac really wasn't hurting anymore, but he kind of wanted the excuse to get closer to her. He was a little nervous at first, that him being so near to her would make her feel uncomfortable or violated, but she seemed alright. She seemed content as she held the peas gently against his nose, a small smile set on her lips.

Y/N's eyes fluttered over his own briefly and her smile grew. "It's not so bad, though," she whispered and his eyebrows quirked upwards as if to urge her to continue. "I had a cute guy come to my rescue," she admitted a little bit louder and Isaac's heart skipped a beat in his chest.

His cheeks flared with color, a nervous laugh bubbling out of his lips, and Y/N beamed at him. The way he smiled at her words was beyond adorable and she leaned forward a little bit. Not to kiss him, but just because she was super comfortable with the fact that she'd just called him cute.

Usually, she wasn't that bold, but she was kind of thankful for the liquid courage in her system, because his reaction was the cutest freaking thing she'd ever seen.

He tried to fight the goofy grin that tugged at the corners of his lips, but he couldn't, and he wasn't really sure why. "Well, yeah, I guess it's not all garbage," he agreed quietly. "I mean, I did get punched in the nose, but the girl who did it is really pretty, so," he confessed lightly, shrugging his shoulders nonchalantly as he did.

As the words left his mouth, it was Y/N's turn to grow pink and her stomach did a backflip in her abdomen. "Not fair, Isaac," she teased him, pushing playfully on his shoulder, and he laughed. "You totally jacked my move."

Instead of continuing the banter, he just chuckled again and he gently took the bag of peas out of her hand. He dropped the bag in the sink and he sighed softly, slipping out from between her legs and leaning back against the counter. "So, look," he started. "Can I ask you something kinda weird?" He questioned randomly.

Y/N shrugged. "Well, I'm drunk, so this might be your only chance," she joked and he rolled his eyes. "I'm kidding. Go ahead," she told him, urging him on.

Isaac nodded. "So, I get that we don't really know each other, but I'm kind of tired," he explained. "I don't know where your friend is and I wouldn't feel right leaving you here all by yourself, so, since I'm sober, do you want me to take you home?" He asked.

Honestly, Y/N had been waiting for some sort of stupid question that would change her opinion about this boy completely, but then, he pulled that on her. It was nothing short of thoughtful and it made her feel a little fuzzy on the inside, so she took a moment and then, she nodded her head. "You know, I'd actually really like that," she admitted with a nervous laugh. "Do you think I could put my address in the GPS on your phone really quickly, though? I don't wanna have to do it in the car because I'll probably fall sleep," she told him.

For some reason, the thought of handing a pretty girl his phone made his stomach twist, but he pulled it out of his back pocket anyways. "Oh, uh— okay, so you don't have to," he paused, tapping in the code to unlock his phone, "but if you wanted to put your number in, too, I'd kinda like that," he confessed.

Her eyes widened slightly at his request, mostly because she hadn't really expected him to like her that much, but she nodded her head. "Of course." She bit her bottom lip gently to fight back a huge smile as she tapped away on his phone.

Isaac pressed his lips together to keep from grinning and he pretended to clear his throat so that he could seem less giddy. "Cool," he told her, a little more awkwardly than he'd meant to, but she didn't seem to mind as she handed him back his phone. She put the phone in his palm and the screen was still set on her contact page, which contained her phone number and the words "fight club :)" written in bold above it. When he read over the nickname that he'd given her earlier that night, he couldn't fight his smile any longer. "I'll call you sometime," he promised.

A grin spread across Y/N's face like soft butter and she gently knocked her elbow against his. "You better, Isaac," she hummed, before hopping off of the countertop and looking over at him. "Now, if you could bring me home," she paused for dramatic effect, "that would be superb," she finished. It'd sounded a lot better in her head, but now that she had said the word 'superb' out loud, she wanted bang her head against a wall.

Lucky for her, Isaac thought it was cute.

He laughed and nodded his head in response. "Of course. Just don't give me a goodbye punch when we get there," he teased and, as they made their way to the door, something gave her the feeling that he'd never let her live that down.

↴ author's note / okay so, not what i had in mind when i first came up with title for this imagine because it was gonna be something totally different. i'm really proud of what i did here with the plot and their interactions, even if my writing isn't at its top, but we all have our days. i still think it's really cute. leave me some feedback! thanks for reading x

[bugsybeans]

Haters Just Need a Hug

 Summary: Phil’s soulmate tattoo ends up being a homophobic slur. Can he convince his supposed “other half” to love him back, regardless of his gender?

 Genre: Angst/fluff

 Warnings: Homophobic slurs, swearing.

  A.N: Hey there. This is NOT finished yet, but I do want to post what I have so far because I feel bad how much I have been procrastinating. So, here it is! Also, there are some pretty intense slurs and stereotypes that I have will be using in this fic so if that is triggering, please be warned. I do not condone to any form homophobia, nor do I believe all  religious people share those beliefs. But I do know that there are hateful people out there and I feel like the only way to stop them is through kindness and compassion. Oh yeah, and I don’t know if I’m following all the Soulmate!Au rules, but the whole tattoo thing was more of a metaphor than an actual alternate universe theme. Anyway, I will shut up now. Enjoy!

Phil

   Ever since his first day of secondary school, Phil’s mother knew he was gay. On his first day of Year 8, he came home with a crimson blush adorning his cheeks and a smile up to his ears.

 “How was the first day?” She asked tentatively. “Pretty good.”

 “That’s good... Did you make any friends?”

  “Umm..Yeah actually. His name is Anthony. He’s nice I guess.” Phil had that look he sported every time he was hiding something. Lying was not one of his strong points.

 “You’re looking quite smitten, dear. You sure you only want to be friends?”

  “MOM! Gosh, you’re so embarrassing.” He stomped all the way up to his room, which is where he spent the majority of his teenage years.  

     She had her answer. Anyway, she had absolutely nothing wrong with having a gay son. She would love him no matter what. What did worry her though was not everyone would share that same mindset. Even though society firmly believes in being romantically involved with your soulmate, for some reason, if that soulmate happens to be of the same gender, you have to live your entire life without them. Your other half. The one and only person who is perfectly right for you. She finds the logic absurd.

   The older her son gets, the more pressure there is to conform. She can’t wrap him up in bubblewrap forever, one day he would have to face the hate and anger he is destined to deal with his whole life. But what truly shocked her was that his first time experiencing it first hand was when he got his soulmate tattoo.

  It was a regular Saturday evening like any other, Martin sprawled on the couch, likely talking on the phone with Cornelia, Mrs. Lester cooking dinner in the kitchen and Phil hiding up in his room, doing only God-knows-what. This time, homework was on the agenda but, he was too tired and sweaty to function. The autumn air was cool and brisk, but nevertheless, Phil was down to a t-shirt and boxers facing his fan on the highest setting. He laid on his stomach, face buried in a pillow, trying to make up for lost sleep from the night before. He knew these were some of the most common signs of the imprinting of his soulmate tattoo, but he really didn’t feel like being let down again. Far too many times he has gotten his hopes up only to discover that he just had a common cold. Because at the age of fourteen, Phillip Micheal Lester will be the last kid in his class, or school maybe, to get their tattoo. It was humiliating. Also, the suspense was killing him. “What will be the first words said to me from the love of my life?” He thought. “Or will I even have a soulmate at all? Even if I do, will he ever find me?”

   But, as if his prayers had finally been answered, Phil started to feel an unfamiliar itch on his right arm. He scratched. The patch of skin turned a fiery red, the sensation burning just as much. He could see the shape of letters start to rise to the surface.

   “Mom!” He cried. “I think I’m getting it!”

    He sprinted down stairs at lightning speed. By the time he reached the kitchen, the words were printed bold and clear, the black ink permanently etched into his pale skin. As he read the words, he choked out a sob. What was imprinted in the bold font read;

Fags like you deserve to burn in hell.

——————————————————————————————————————

   Five years had passed since that fateful night. Phil had come to terms with the fact that whoever was meant for him is a homophobic asshole. That still didn’t help the pain subside, though. While everyone else was waiting for a sweet greeting or compliment, he was waiting for a cruel insult. He searched everywhere for hatred; riots, unaccepting churches, once he even walked up to a group of religious protesters and said, “Hi! My name is Phil. I’m gay.”

 He sure did get a few variations of the slur on his arm, but none that were exact. Besides, everyone there looked too old to be in love with him. But the thing about a soulmate is, you really don’t know for sure.

 Anyhow, he had too much on his mind being a University student, to think about finding his soulmate. Tonight, him and his roommate are going to pride. Phil deems himself lucky to have the person he shares a bathroom with so much like himself. They share a lot of common interests, including their gender preferences. Hell, if he didn’t have that goddamn tattoo he would think they are soulmates. But there is someone else out there for him, that man just happens to be a hateful bastard.

   “Charlie! You ready?” He called from outside the bathroom door. “Almost! Just two more minutes.” Charlie puts a lot of effort into his attire. Phil finds it unnecessary, but he knows it makes him really happy when someone compliments his outfit.

  “Fine. But when those two minutes are up I’m leaving without you.” Just as the words left his mouth, Charlie stepped out in a pastel blue top with the words “fairies do it better” written in bright pink across the front, light green cargo shorts and of course, a rainbow cape that went down to his knees. “Well, what do you think?”

  Phil just gaped at him for a few seconds. “You look… well, flaming. But incredible.” He shot Charlie one of his famous grins. The kind that make his eyes crinkle, and the Charlie’s heart soar. “R-really?” He blushed bashfully. For someone who wore bright and provocative colours, Charlie sure was shy.

  “Yeah Char. You look awesome. Now let’s go!”

——————————————————————————————————————

    As soon as they got off the bus, they were practically trampled by the massive crowd of people all heading in the direction of the parade. Charlie’s outfit actually looked pretty tame compared to some of the other attendees. They were swimming in a sea of rainbows and sparkles. You could feel the excitement in the air, the excitement of those who are normally forced to hide, or conform, to what society deems “normal.” And here in the midst of it all, you could love who you want and be who you are, without fear of judgement. It gave Phil a little spark of hope, that one day, the world will change. But he knew, it would take an awfully long time to get there.

   Out of the corner of his eye, like a dark smudge marking a beautiful piece of art, some extreme religious group was holding up signs and chanting something along the lines of “no more homos!” Phil rolled his eyes. “Not now, of all times.” He thought to himself. But just before he was about to turn in the other direction, the group in front of him stopped walking. And so did the people in front of them. Soon enough, practically the whole parade had stopped to face the crazies trying to spread hate. They say strength is in numbers, and that proved to be true. Except this time, the oppressed outnumbers the oppressors.

  Then, the parade started their own chant, “love is love! Love is love! Love is love!” You could no longer hear the hateful messages, but instead, just the sound of people coming together to spread a message of equality. Phil remembered distinctly something his mother told to him as a child when he was afraid of the dark,

 “No need to be afraid Philly. Most monsters are just misunderstood. Sometimes, the only thing they need is a hug.”

  Charlie looked up at Phil, and intertwined their fingers. “Kiss me, it will piss them off to no end.” He whispered in Phil’s ear. He really likes Charlie, don’t get him wrong, he just never developed any feelings for him. But, in the heat of the moment, kissing his best friend seemed like the only option. So, reluctantly, he leaned in, and their lips met.

 If there is a God, he must really have something against poor Phil. The crowd was so loud he barely heard it, the words he had been waiting practically his whole life to hear. But, in a young, timid voice he heard the nine syllables that would change his life forever.

“Fags like you deserve to burn in hell.” Phil disconnected the kiss with a gasp, leaving Charlie hurt and confused. “Phil! Where are you going?”

  He didn’t care if people were shouting, or that he had to push his way through the tightly-knit crowd, all he could think about is that his other half was waiting for him, in the group of religious zealots. As soon as he reached the edge, he saw him. The kid was pretty scrawny, and about Phil’s height, with a light brown fringe on the opposite side. He didn’t look a day over 18. But, what really captured the older boy’s heart were those chocolate brown eyes. They looked frightened, like they’ve seen too much. But nevertheless, Phil could see something in them. It looked trapped. Maybe this kid didn’t know, but it existed. A little spark of hope.

   Soon enough, Phil was face to face with him. “It’s you.”

  The kid gave him a deer-in-the-headlights look. “No! No, this can’t be happening. Dad, D-Dad, this isn’t right.” But before he could finish rambling, Phil engulfed the broken boy in his arms.

[michellelarina]

Supermarket Tribal

In a land of pissed-off shoppers, is peace even possible?

9.05am

My regular supermarket has changed things around again.

I hate that.

It seems a somewhat tone deaf thing to do in the middle of a pandemic, and as I hurry along what used to be the condiment section, clutching my basket, I see my own emotions echoed in the eyes of the masked shoppers around me; confused, angry, frustrated.

We don’t have time for this.

Cowboys and Kisses is playing as I find washing powder where the activated almonds used to be. I hear myself sigh in that irritated, overloud way I’ve always contributed to crotchety old ladies. Further up the aisle, where the fabric softeners are, an elderly gentleman in a biscuit-brown cardigan pulls out a bottle of Sunny Glow Softener, and his face creases around his mask.

‘This is shit,’ he says.

The words are soft; inner frustration spilling out of his lips. But then he says it louder, almost shouting, and as he does he throws the bottle down the aisle.

‘This is shit!’

I find myself watching, fascinated, as the bottle skids across the blindingly white floor. From somewhere in the next aisle I hear a wail.

‘Where the fudge are the biscuits!’

There’s a few giggles. I think it’s because of the word fudge. My feet quicken as I set off once again. I just want to pay for my groceries and leave.

The next aisle is where I normally get tomato paste. Instead I find greeting cards, and feel my mind slipping.

9.15am

I can’t find anything! I’m only halfway though my shopping list. I want to leave but somewhere between frozen foods and garden supplies I feel myself pulled into a circle of spectators who are watching a tiny old lady berate a store manager. Her finger is pointing at him severely.

‘I think its very bad timing, young man, to do this while we’re all trying to get our shopping done as quickly as we can these days . . .’

Nod. Murmurs of agreement. I hear my voice join the others. The manager is sweating slightly under the bright lights.

‘I’m sorry you feel that way, and I’m happy to help you find the paper serviettes . . .’

‘That’s not the point!’ says a woman who’s joggling a plump baby on her hip. ‘I’m trying to do my weekly shop with a kid, and you’ve swapped everything around!’

‘All I want to do is make a slow cooker casserole, but I can’t find anything!’ says another woman, and promptly bursts into tears. ‘I just want to go home!’

‘If you all take a minute to look at the signs . . .’

‘The signs are useless!’ says a man, stepping forward. He looks like a farmer in his town clothes, perhaps sent in by the wife to pick up some groceries while he’s paying bills. Our city is a regional one, surrounded by wheat belts and sheep. The farmer is angry, calloused hands bunched into fists. ‘You’ve made dog’s breakfast of this. I’ve been in here for half a bloody hour!’

More nods. More voices joining in. And then someone says, ‘You can’t keep doing this! We already spend our money here. Why do you always need more of it?’

I never knew who said it. That quiet voice. Perhaps it doesn’t matter.

‘If you just give me a moment, I’ll find some floor staff to assist you . . .’

But then someone else says it. ‘Why do always you need more?’

I find myself repeating it, along with half the people around me.

The manager takes a step back as it becomes a soft chant.

As one, we take a step forward.

9.23am

The manager puts up a good fight but eventually goes down, arms flailing, mouth open in shock as the old lady whacks him with her walking stick, saying, ‘Its just not good enough, young man!’

He’s curled up in a ball now, begging for his life. Security is coming. I put down my basket and pick up the heaviest thing in it; a tin of Corinthian chocolate wafers. They weren’t on my list, but I was looking for tea towels, and they were there, and I was so tired . . .

As I pulled them from a shelf a worn-out looking mother of twin boys who seemed to be trying to kill each other in her shopping cart whispered, ‘Don’t you see? That’s how they get you.’

The middle-aged man beside me has a can of peas and carrots in each hand. The security guards, two men in vests, hesitate.

Someone hurls a jar of Olay Regenerist Night Cream at the tallest one, and it catches him above the eye. He collapses, boneless, and we’re running now, hurling packaged meat and tinned puddings and scented candles, animal-like screams coming from our mouths as the second guard turns and runs.

9.28am

The surviving security guard has locked the doors and is calling the police. He’s saying it’s not okay to beat up store managers and kill security guards with night cream. But as he makes his speech, his thumbs hooked into his belt, the woman with the still-fighting twins lifts them out of her shopping cart and shoves them at him.

‘Attack!’ she screams, and the twins hurls themselves at the guard’s ankles. Teeth snap. The security guard is dancing around, eyes bulging as he screams.

‘Get them off me! For the love of god, get them off me!’

We don’t.

The twins are wrapped around his legs. He stumbles and falls to the floor. One boy immediately latches onto his ear with tiny teeth. Blood flows and we watch with shiny, embittered eyes. Someone has wrapped a blue and white tea towel around a broom handle. They light it with a Bic lighter and lift it high as police cars scream into the carpark, sirens wailing above the security guard’s cries.

9.48am

The manager is being spit-roasted in the meat section.

Many have surround him in a circle, swaying and chanting, but I find the smell overpowering, so when someone suggests serving him with mint sauce I volunteer to go find some.

The condiment section has been taken over by a handful of shoppers that stop me from entering. But their leader, a sweaty man with chilli sauce smeared across his cheeks, is willing to trade. They want coleslaw, he says. And three hot roast chickens.

Three is a ridiculous number. I point out how many people are locked in here, and he relents.

‘One, then,’ he grunts. ‘But we want cola. And barbecue shapes.’

I make my way back as Cruel Summer begins to play overhead.

The meat section was taken over by those of us who first turned on the staff. The two women behind the counter quickly surrendered and were seemingly eager to become part of our tribe, but unbeknown to me, while I was searching the land for mint sauce, they rebelled and split up into their own sub-tribe. They are now in control of all the roast chickens.

I approach. They’re defensive, hostile. Susan, the older one, tells me they’ll trade for weapons.

‘There’s only two of us,’ she says, as the other woman, Barb, nods in agreement. ‘We need to be able to defend ourselves.’

I hear someone shout, ‘Where’s the bloody mint sauce?’ I know my position in the meat section is tenuous, so I agree.

10.02am

Kitchen utensils have been claimed by an all-male warrior clan.

They’ve scarred themselves with a Wiltshire Staysharp. A slow burning fire fuelled by cardboard packaging heats the blade red hot, and each man draws it across their chest three times.

Those who refuse the ritual are banished to the barren land of plasticware, further up the aisle. They’re mostly younger and weaker males, their future bleak.

Over the fire looms a vaguely human-shaped effigy made from barbecue tongs lashed together with plastic ties. Jamie Oliver’s face peers out from the cover of a recipe book that’s placed on the head of this figure. I watch, fascinated, as their newest member draws the blade across his skin while the others chant, ‘Blood is life! Life is blood!’

I roll my eyes. Jamie Oliver’s smile seems to grow wider.

The farmer is their leader. He looks down at me as I ask for a knife or two.

‘No woman shall wield the weapons of steel!’ he bellows, and from behind him his clan chant, ‘No woman! No woman!’

I try to explain how offensive that is. He doesn’t listen. His arms are crossed over his bare chest, blood dripping. But as he turns away, one of the younger men takes pity on me. He slips me a small paring knife and a recipe book.

‘May our great god Jamieoliver bestow his benevolence upon you, woman,’ he says. It’s the most kindness I’ll get from these cavemen, so I nod my thanks and leave.

10.12am

The rotisserie warriors aren’t happy with me.

One paring knife to defend themselves is pretty poor, given their numbers. Their hostility towards me grows, and I have no choice. I offer to join them. I never belonged in the meat section anyway.

They anoint my forehead with hot chicken juice. It burns, but I try not to flinch. I promise to uphold our territory, with my life if necessary. I’m handed a hot chicken, nestled inside its little plastic carry-bag, and begin my journey.

10.17am

I trade the recipe book for a box of barbeque shapes.

I don’t know why the people of savoury biscuits would want a recipe book. Maybe its because they’re distracted; they’re at war with the other half of the aisle, the tribe that rule over assorted creams and scotch fingers and caramel crowns. I can hear the warring factions taunt each other loudly as I continue my journey.

The smoke mart has been taken over by teenagers. They’re lanky and feral, demanding chips and cola from those who wish to trade. They’re being watched over by the mothers who have created a sanctuary in the baby aisle. Their children play with each other while the women sit in a circle, breastfeeding and talking earnestly about the politics of the surrounding lands and the possibility of creating a yoga retreat.

In party supplies there’s a celebration that is said to never end. The people of this land pop streamers at each other while dancing to the non-stop music. They don’t seem to eat or drink, and whenever a Kylie song comes on they go slightly bananas. They seem oblivious to everything else as balloons fill the air, but I’m told that if you wander too close they will try and pull you in.

I skirt around the snacks aisle, even though it makes my journey longer. The people there are twitchy and half-crazed. I see a man spread-eagled on the floor, making a liquorice angel. His lips are ringed in chocolate, his eyes glazed, lost in Sugarland.

In the soft drink section everyone is begging for Cola. Someone from the distant electrical tribe hands over a kettle and a toaster for a single 1.25ml bottle. She clutches it to her chest as it’s handed over, and when I get too close to her, she growls.

The leader is short but ferocious. Muscles like MMA fighter. Spiky hair.

‘What do you want?’ she asks.

‘Cola.’

‘One chicken.’

‘What?’

‘I know who you are, rotisserie woman.’

‘I can offer you a quarter pack . . .’

‘No trade.’

‘But a whole one is ridiculous . . .’

‘No trade!’ she screams, and suddenly her crew are behind her. They’ve made armour out of drink cartons, their cardboard-clad shapes hostile.

What could I do? I gave her my chicken.

10.25am

The people of condiments are restless. The leader snatches my offerings and glares at me.

‘Where is the fowl you promised?’

‘I had to trade it, for that,’ I said, nodding at the plastic bottle in his hands. ‘My journey has been long. I could use a meal and rest before I start back . . .’

‘There’s no food in these lands,’ he said, and I suddenly notice that his people are packing jars and squeeze bottles into shopping bags.

‘We are joining the peoples of the great meat section,’ he says, watching me. ‘They’ve agreed we will be a stronger tribe together. Here . . .’ He shoves a jar of mint sauce at me. ‘I would have gone with applesauce,’ he adds, shrugging. ‘But whatever.’

I leave them to pack and prepare for their long journey.

As I pass the biscuit aisle a man in a hoodie whispers a promise of chocolate and sweetness. I keep my gaze steady, and my feet don’t slow. On my travels I have seen what people will do for a tim tam, and I will not go down that road.

When I finally reach the great plains of the meat section I’m exhausted. The mint sauce is grabbed out of my hands.

The manager is being carved and served up on paper serviettes.

10.28am

My homeland has been depleted. Many chickens have been traded for water and coleslaw and lunch rolls. But that’s not all that’s troubling my clanswomen.

There is talk of war.

10.30am

The coming battle is over the bathrooms.

They’re being guarded by a tribe of warriors in store uniforms. They call themselves Staff.

They have nothing but pure hate for us. They talk of how our people once murdered their leader in cold blood, back in ancient times. They refuse all talks of peace and trade.

They are strong in numbers, so invasion will only be possible if enough tribes join together.

The warrior clan are on board, of course, as is the meat section and the condiment crew. The party people don’t even hear the request; they’re too busy throwing glitter into the air and singing along to Black Velvet, and the mothers are putting babies down for naps and firmly shushing anyone that approaches.

We of the rotisserie chickens have no choice other than to join. We are too few in numbers to be truly independent, though we’ve been joined by a fourth. Janet is from the meat section. She became disenfranchised when she suggested they start wrapping the cold cuts and rationing them. Instead, they decided to trade almost a third of their supplies for cheese and olives, and are gorging on antipasto.

‘But what about tomorrow?’ she says. ‘What about the future?’

So we shall fight.

10.40am

The people of Staff were ready for us.

They’re armed with toilet brushes and bleach. The clash is ferocious, chaotic, and unbelievably loud. I’m knocked to the white floor, the smell of bleach heavy in the air. Over the screams I can hear Cowboys and Kisses, yet again. Am I going mad? I get to my feet and run forward, armed only with sharpened chicken bones.

Suddenly a roll of toilet paper is thrown into the air. We stop as one and stare as it unravels in slow motion — a streaming white banner that floats gently to the floor.

Surrender.

The war is over.

We decide not to take prisoners, because we all really need the loo. We line up, bloodied and bruised. Some are weeping.

Suddenly a procession of people appear from health and haircare. They glide towards us, silent, their faces serene, their hair long and glossy. In their hands are band aids and bandages, aspirin and medicated creams. They start to bandage our wounds, tend to our sprains.

We’re suspicious. What do you want? We ask. Who side are you on?

‘We take no sides,’ they say, their words little more than sighs. ‘We wish only to heal.’

It’s been a long, hard morning. Will we ever make sense out of this chaos?

11.05am

We’ve had our first death.

It’s from the small, strange tribe of people that protect all the peanuts. Driven mad by thirst, they went to war with the water people. But there were too few of them , and after they were driven back one of them promptly died of salt poisoning.

We wrapped his body in a blue cotton throw, and the cold, sombre people of frozen foods allowed us to place his body gently in a freezer.

Strangely, it has bought a kind of peace to our lands. We know now that we need to get along, to live in tolerance of one another, if we are to survive. We may be many lands, but we are just one supermarket, after all.

Trade has become easier and more reasonable. Children are allowed to play outside their borders, though adults must seek a clan leader’s permission to enter any land they’re not from. The mothers have lectured the teenagers about sharing and water is distributed fairly, though I can’t say the same for soft drink. Those people are still jerks.

Our one law is that anyone caught stealing will have a hand ceremoniously removed by the warrior clan leader. This was argued against by the elfin creatures of heath and haircare, but in the end even they saw that trust must be built.

As for my small tribe . . . our stocks are low and we know the end is coming. Janet has started dating someone in ice cream. She says the marriage will secure her future. Perhaps she is right, but I have a strong streak of independence and won’t marry, even for choc mint. Perhaps I will join health and haircare — they’ve set up a small salon and are offering a free cut and shampoo to anyone that wants to become one of them.

12.09pm

Janet has done a runner, taking our last precious chicken with her, as dowry.

We are more sad and betrayed than angry, though if I ever catch her alone I’ll use the paring knife without remorse.

Reluctantly we part ways, and I find myself cast adrift in this new world. I set off, looking for a home.

12.14pm

The elder of health and haircare rejects me.

‘You are from those that eat the flesh of animal,’ they sigh. I can’t tell if it’s a man or a woman. Their hair is so long it brushes the floor. Their skin in translucent, glowing.

‘But I’m just trying to survive.’

‘We live on vitamins, and the light from above that shines on us perpetually. We spend our days trading peacefully with the people from beauty and cosmetics. We help anyone who is in need of pampering, expecting no reward.’ A delicate eyebrow arches. ‘You would not fit in, you — who battles over bathrooms and wields the knife.’

‘Just give me a chance, please! I don’t want to be on my own out there.’

But its no use. The elder offers me a small packet. ‘Take this peppermint conditioner sample. If you can tame the split ends of your heart as well as those in your hair, you may return.’

‘But . . .’

‘Goodbye, traveller,’ the being sighs, and drifts back to the others.

12.26pm

I’ve been caught up in a small skirmish between pasta and bakery.

I can’t tell if its tomato sauce or blood that’s running across the floor. I don’t even know how the battle started, except that it had something to do with breadsticks. I try to run, but someone hits me with a solid cob loaf. I see the floor coming, but I don’t remember hitting it.

4.35pm

When I come to, the battle is over.

I’m in a deserted no-man’s land, somewhere between bakery and pet food. The floor is smeared with red, the air heavy with the scent of parmesan. Overhead a light flickers, making me disorientated. When I sit up and check my watch I’m horrified by how long I’ve been unconscious.

The land is silent, and eerily still.

Suddenly a tiny service dog bolts out of the pet food aisle, teeth bared and tags jingling. Behind it a group of people are hollering at me and making shooing gestures. Something is wrong with them, but I can’t place it as I stagger to my feet.

The dog is still charging. The people jump up and down, urging the creature on. With horror I register the sounds they’re making; hoots and grunts and strange clicks. There are no words. Their clothes are rags. Their feet are bare.

I’m so dazed the creature is almost upon me before I run.

My surroundings are frighteningly unfamiliar. Aisles twist and curve strangely. Shelves are empty. Some have toppled to the floor. Both hair and healthcare and beauty and cosmetics are completely abandoned, and as I run along a path littered with empty shampoo bottles and broken hairbrushes, I hear a voice whisper from the bright lights above me.

‘We have fled the flesh-bodies, traveller. This land has fallen to ruin.’

I stumble over abandoned Country Style magazines. I catch glimpses of the others; faces that peer from behind cereal box camouflage, figures that sink behind the carcasses of checkouts. Something calls out from wilderness, a long, drawn-out sound that is both mournful and savage.

I keep running long after the snarls behind me have faded, looking for refuge.

5pm

A special-ops team crashes through the doors, hurling teargas cannisters and shouting.

I was asleep under a row of shopping carts, living in the outlands to avoid the violent primitives, and they don’t see me.

From the haze of gas comes startled yips and grunts. In the distance I glimpse wild-looking figures, scattering. I wander out of doors that have been forced open, only to be body-slammed by four police officers in full riot gear.

The pavement rises up to meet my face. I breathe in concrete and cigarette butts and fresh air. The smell of outside. Memories are rushing back, of a younger me, parking my car and pulling shopping bags out of the boot. I’m hauled to my feet and with wonder I see the sky. I’d forgotten its blue. I’d forgotten the sweet, soft brightness of natural light.

I begin sobbing with relief. Someone is saying, ‘What’s your name? Do you know?’

I don’t. I just know I’ve survived. I’ve gotten out of the supermarket.

*Certain events in this retelling may be slightly exaggerated.

If you liked reading this, and I hope you did, please consider buying me a coffee.

[spicelupin-blog]

S.Black: Fill Me With Light (Part 1/3)

PART TWO | PART THREE

Sirius Black. Post Prisoner of Azkaban. Part 1/3.

Summary: In which Sirius is drawn to a girl that is full of the light that was stolen from him during his thirteen years imprisonment.

Pairing: Sirius Black (Old) x Reader (Younger)

Warnings: Very light sexual themes (Part 2 will 100% have smut so be warned)

Genre: Angst. Kind of fluffy. Future smut.

Words: 1662

Sirius did know he wasn’t ready for freedom until he got it. Well, kind of. He had escaped Azkaban, meaning he wasn’t truly free. He was a wanted convict, stashed away into hiding to avoid the cold dementor’s kiss.

The House of Black was empty and full of terrible memories for Sirius. All the trauma-filled memories seemed to rush back to him the second he walked through the door. He hated this place. He hadn’t stepped into it since he was sixteen and swore he never would again. But it was the only place he had left to go.

“I’ll stop by tomorrow,” Remus promised as Sirius showed him out. They had had dinner together and talked about different subjects.

Sirius, desperate for any form of company gave a hum of agreement. “I’ll have Kreacher make some pastries and tea.”

“I might bring along some people,” Remus added, making Sirius raise an eyebrow. “Later this week. Just some Order members you might get along well with. That is if you want them over.”

“Of course, Moony. Maybe I’ll get back to my old partying ways.” Sirius joked, but his grin wasn’t wholeheartedly like it once was.

Remus smiled back, giving a small chuckle. “Maybe. I’ll see you later, Padfoot.” And left.

Sirius, alone his dusty childhood home, gave a heaving sigh. Merlin, he hated being alone. He felt like at any second a dementor would float through the window and steal all the remaining happiness left inside of him. That couldn’t happen. He needed to be here for Harry. When all this was over and his innocence was proven, they’d be a family. Harry would have someone who loved him and Sirius would clasp onto the last lingering bits of James he had. He had to survive. He had to stay hidden.

But this staying hidden thing meant spending a sad amount of time alone with nothing to do. At first, he tried to clean. That house was disgustingly grimy as no one had lived there for years. He abandoned that idea when he accidentally knocked the sheet covering his mother’s portrait off, causing her to start wailing insult into the empty house.

“Blood traitor! Disappointment! Get out of my house! GO!” It echoed so loudly Sirius was sure the shrill voice would ring in his mind forever. He hadn’t heard his mother’s voice in so long, but he would never forget the sting of her words.

He covered her up hastily as Kreacher came running out to comfort his poor mistress. The ugly house elf gave Sirius a glare as Sirius hurried out of the room.

That is the first night Sirius had gotten blackout drunk to cope with his overwhelming loneliness. Remus came by as planned and arrived to see a passed out Sirius surrounded by firewhisky bottles. He gave a sad sigh, cleaning up the mess and instructing Kreacher to take care of Sirius.

Remus brought it up the next day, but Sirius just shrugged it off. He defended himself by saying, “Didn’t have good alcohol in Azkaban, mate.”

Remus had no good rebuttal to that.

Friday night, Remus brought along a handful of Order members. Some Sirius knew from the good old days when everything was still good. Moody was as crazy as ever, making Sirius feel comfortable. He remembered laughing with James after meetings about Moody’s outbursts. Unfortunately, reminiscing made Sirius instantly solemn. He stayed back in a loveseat in the corner while everyone laughed, talked and drank.

Many people Sirius had to be introduced to. Nymphadora Tonks, his distant cousin, was a feisty Auror and Sirius felt a deep sense of pride speaking to her. Another member of the House of Black who abandoned the pureblood ideologies.

Another person he had to be introduced to was Y/N Y/L/N. She was fresh out of Hogwarts and as fiery as his cousin. He watched them talk adamantly about Auror training, something Y/N hoped to do. He’d look back down into his amber liquor whenever she would look over at him. He’d usually stop watching someone after being caught once, but he was too infatuated to stop.

It was probably because of her age, Sirius decided. Not in a creepy old man preying on a teenager way, but in a recollecting way. He remembered just graduating Hogwarts, his best friends with him. They joined the Order faster than you could blink, Lily in tow. Somehow between then and the Halloween night his world came crashing down, everything got so muddled up. He remembered being like her. Eighteen years old, wanting to help the greater good. Not caring if your life was at risk because you felt immortal.

Sirius learned the hard way that he, nor anyone around him was immortal. Yet, he missed that free feeling. He wanted to take back that free spirit personality that you radiated.

“Talk to her,” Remus spoke to him, leaning against the wall.

“What?” Sirius furrowed his brow, feeling like a creepy deer caught in headlights.

“You’ve been watching Y/N all night. Talk to her. Ask her whatever question I can see you’re formulating in your head.” Remus kicked off the wall and went to snag another brownie from the coffee table.

Sirius rubbed his temple, pondering on if he should bother. She was so young and fresh. Not like him at all. He was beaten down and always disheartened. He didn’t want to rub any of that negativity onto you. So, he stayed in his loveseat, stealing plenty of glance at Y/N and avoiding Remus’s insistent gaze.

At the end of the night, there was a handful of sober enough wizards disapparating from his home. One or two were walking and another was hailing a cab, trying to explain the convenience of cars to the confused others.

Sirius locked the front door after the last of the drunken crew left. He leaned against it, feeling the earth move around him in his drunken haze. He hadn’t drunk too much, not wanting to lose himself in front of strangers, but it was enough for him to feel light and airy.

A thump upstairs stole his attention from his buoyant feeling. Everyone was gone, as far as Sirius knew. He was about to dismiss it as nothing when he heard it again.

Sirius drew his wand, making his way stealthily up the stairs. No one was in the dimly lit hall as far as he could tell. He slowly walked through the long corridor, listening for any noise. What if it was a dementor? Sirius thought with a chill. What if it’s an Auror who wasn’t apart of the Order? Or a Death Eater?

All these thoughts stopped as a door swung open on Sirius left. He quickly swung to face the person, wand pointed at their face.

“Whoa, man. Watch where you point that thing.” Y/N laughed, pushing past him. She was holding her heels from earlier in her hand but was still stumbling. “You are very hostile, sir.”

Sirius spluttered, “Hostile? It’s my house. I thought someone had broken in.”

Y/N put her hand on her hip and leaned on the wall for support. “I didn’t break in. I’m guest, remember.” She drunkenly grinned.

Sirius chuckled, feeling the free spirit of her rubbing off on him. She was contagious. “Yes, I remember.”

Y/N leaned towards him, using him for a bit of support. Luckily, the adrenaline from earlier had completely sobered Sirius up and made him stable enough for her weight.

“Mr. Black,” She said softly in his ear, making goosebumps appear on Sirius’s neck. “Show me to bed.”

Sirius choked on his tongue. “I—Y/N.”

She yawned dramatically, stretching her arms. “I’m a tired drunk. I want to sleep.”

Sirius cursed himself for having such a dirty mind. Of course, that’s what she meant. “Right.” He guided her by the arm to the nearest bedroom.

It was his old bedroom, covered in Gryffindor banners and muggle posters. Sirius hadn’t been in here much, choosing to sleep in a spare bedroom instead. This wasn’t his bedroom anymore, he had grown too much to stay in such a naïve space anymore.

Y/N toppled back onto the bed with a huff. She threw her shoes to the side and sat up, looking around. “Gryffindor?” She observed.

“Yes.” Sirius nodded, fiddling with the ring on his middle finger. “I was one back in my Hogwarts years.”

“Nice,” Y/N yawned as she spoke, scrunching her nose. “So was I.”

Sirius pretended to be surprised, but he wasn’t. The girl in front of him was too gutsy to be a Hufflepuff, too reckless to be a Ravenclaw and too good to be a Slytherin. He knew she had to be a Gryffindor. Just another reason to be attracted to her, he supposed.

Y/N stood up, turning to face away from him. “Help.” She pointed to the zip in the back of the red dress she wore. She had looked amazing tonight, Sirius noted this the second he saw her.

Sirius carefully unzipped the dress. He expected her to wait until he had left before stripping off the garment, but he was dead wrong. Sirius’s heart sped up boyishly when she revealed the lacy underwear to him. She seemed unfazed by his gaping mouth, as she went back to lay back down on her stomach.

“Well,” Sirius backed away towards the door, “I’ll leave you to sleep.”

“G’night.” Y/N said, face already shoved into her pillow. Sirius forced himself to keep his eyes on the dark wooden floor and off the perky ass on full display in his teenage bed. If only sixteen-year-old Sirius could see his room now.

Sirius shut the door behind him in a hurry. When did he become so prudish? When did his mind and body clam up at the sight of a scantily clothed woman? Probably from thirteen years of not seeing a single woman. Sirius wiped his sweaty palms on his pants as he disappeared into the spare room he had been sleeping in, cursing himself once again.

Masterlist

[loubuggins]

BBRae Week 2017 - Telling the Team

I apologize for what you are about to read. 

The common room that was once the place of countless meetings, lounging, and social events for young, teenage superheroes, was now the setting for a small gathering of retirees. Old men and women sat around the infamous couch, chatting idly with one another. On one end on the couch was an older man dressed a plain white shirt, black pants, and a red tie. He had thin grey hair, a cane in his hand, and a familiar black mask over his sunken eyes. Sitting next to him was an equally aged woman, who still had long flowing hair, but the last of its fiery-red color was faded and intermingled with white. On the other side of the couch sat a large, black man, with a hunched back and walker sitting in front of him. He too had grey hair, but only on the sides of his otherwise, bald head. The man was more of a machine really, with only the very last basic human parts left exposed. They were all waiting for the man that had summoned them here. That man was hiding behind a door that separated the common room from the hallway.  He was a green-skinned man, with pointed ears and a jutting fang protruding from his bottom lip. He, like the female, had aged rather nicely. He had mostly grey hair, with only a few stray forest-green locks sticking out. His senses were still sharp as ever, and physically he was doing pretty well for a 77 year-old.

He was waiting behind the door, listening to his old friends attempting to make conversation as they awaited his announcement. His palms were sweaty and his stomach kept doing somersaults. It reminded him of all the other times he has been in this exact situation. When he would be found standing behind the door, anxiously preparing to make a nerve-racking, life-changing announcement to his teammates.  The feeling of déjà vu brought back all those memories from long ago.

It was a normal day inside the Titan Tower. A group of teenaged superheroes were all lounging around the common room. Starfire was in the kitchen, preparing some sort of Tamaranian snack. Cyborg and Nightwing were playing an intense round of Halo 4. Only two other Titans were left, but neither had quite made it to the common room yet. Standing outside the main door, unbeknownst to the rest, was a nervous changeling and an equally nervous empath.

“I don’t know Gar. Are you sure we have to tell them?” The young women asked with a hint of fear coming from her voice. The man standing close to her simply smiled, and took her hands into his.

“I know you’re nervous Rae, but they are going to find out sooner or later. We might as well tell them now. Isn’t better they find out from us than by walking in on us making out on the couch?”

The women nodded her head. “Yes, I suppose that this is slightly less awkward than that.”

“Great!” The young man grinned and released her hands. “Let’s do this then!” He turned to walk through the door, but a gentle tug on his hand made him stop and turn to face the frightened enchantress. “Rae?” He questioned, raising an eyebrow curiously.

“When we go in there, can you tell them?” Her question was a simply one, yet for her it meant so much more. The normally fiercely independent and emotionless half-demon was scared and asking for help. Gar knew it was not the announcement itself that scared her so much, but the emotions that were going to be brought up from it. She did not trust herself, but she did trust him.

“Of course, Rae.” He said in a loving tone. He gave her hand a gentle squeeze, and then together they both entered the common room.

None of the other Titans paid them any notice at first. The boys were too invested into their game and Starfire in her cooking to pay them any attention. It wasn’t until Garfield cleared his throat that a certain red-head turned around to face the couple. She immediately noticed the young couple’s hands intertwined and the largest smile appeared on her face. Within a heartbeat, Starfire had dropped everything, flew over to her two friends, and wrapped them in a bone-crushing hug.

“Oh friends, what glorious news!” She cheered. The scene was enough to pull Nightwing and Cyborg’s attention away from the game, in order to see what all the commotion was about.

“Star, we haven’t said anything yet.” Garfield gasped as his body was being crushed by the alien princess.

“Oh, but I can already tell by your symbolic holding of the hands! A sign that you and friend Raven are now a couple, yes?” She asked in her signature innocent voice as she released the two from her embrace. Before Garfield could answer her, Cyborgs booming voice interrupted them.

“What? Say it ain’t so!” The robotic man jumped up off the couch and went over to inspect the couple for himself. He blatantly gawked at the sight of the two holding hands. “Well I’ll be! Raven and the green bean finally hooked up!”

Garfield narrowed his eyes at the use of the nickname, while Raven just stood there blushing. “Don’t sound so surprised rust-bucket.” Garfield countered. Cyborg simply chuckled.

“Oh don’t get your panties in a twist; I really am happy for y’all.” The older man said as he gave a rough, but caring pat on Garfield’s back.

“So it’s true then.” The leveled voice of Nightwing was heard and broke up the little love fest the rest of the team was having. He was no longer on the couch and instead of standing beside his alien girlfriend, observing the scene quietly until now. No one knew what to say, so they all waited for the leader to finish. “You two are dating now?”

His question was direct and void of any emotion. It gave even Raven chills. Garfield was about to answer, but his girlfriend beat him to it. “Yes.” Was all she said. Nightwing and Raven shared a short stare-down, before the man gave her a small smile.

“Well then, I think this calls for a celebration. How about an early pizza night, on me?”

The tense atmosphere faded instantly and for the rest of the evening, the group of friends shared their favorite meal and talked about the newest couple in the Tower.

The memory faded from Garfield’s mind as he continued to stand on the other side of the door, trying to gather up enough courage to go in there. “I can��t do this!” He sighed as he dropped his head into his hands. “Damn it!” He cursed as he walked away from the door. “I’m sorry, Rae, but I just can’t do it this time.”

A younger Garfield was standing outside that same door, his hands running through his shaggy green hair. “I’m sorry Rae, but I can’t do this.” He announced as he turned and started headed down the hall. A small, pale hand found its way into his and stopped him in his tracks.

“Yes, you can Gar.” Raven’s voice was uncharacteristically sweet and loving. He turned around and was met with the sight of his beautiful wife, heavy with child (or more specifically children). She was looking at him with big, amethyst eyes that had more affection in them then he had ever seen from anyone else.

“Don’t look at me like that.” He said in mock irritation.

“Like what?” She asked in a fake, innocent voice.

“Like that!” He emphasized. “You’re giving me that look! I know, because I’m the one who invented that look.”

She gave him a smirk. “Then you should know it always works.” She said plainly. “Now enough stalling. Go in there, and ask for that promotion.” She pointed to the door.

“But Rae, I can’t just ask for a promotion. That kind of thing is given, not demanded.” He tried to reason, but the empathy would have none of it.

“No Garfield Logan, stop that. Stop making excuses. I worked hard to get them all here, and I am not letting you through away all that hard work simply because you lost the nerve to tell them the truth. You want this promotion. You deserve this promotion. Now go out there and get that promotion.” As she finished her speech, she yanked Garfield’s arm and pushed him out the door. He tried to turn and run, but the door had already swooshed shut. He turned around and met the confused glances of his old teammates, and suddenly he felt like a teenager again, asking take Raven out for a date.

“She can’t force me out there this time.” Older Garfield spoke to himself. “This one is all on me.”

He was pacing the hallway now. To conflicted within himself to do much else. The way he saw it, he had two choices. Either run down the hall, turn into a falcon and fly far away from here and never come back, or…

“I have to tell them.” He whispered this time. He shut his eyes and took in a deep breath. “They deserve to know. It’s what she wanted.”

He never did like the infirmary. The smell of bleach bothered his nose, and the sight of medical instruments brought up painful memories that he hated to face. Now, however, he had to stay in there. She needed him there.

She was floating just inches away from the mattress of the infirmary cot, lost to the world as she tried to fight the disease that had plagued her body. Garfield sat beside her, waiting for her to wake up. It had been a week now. Seven days since she went into her healing trance, a last ditch effort to heal her body. It was only a matter of time before her mission would be complete, and she could return to him. At least, that is what he told himself.

Suddenly, the soft, white glow that had covered the women’s body disappeared, and Raven fell onto the bed with a thud. The unexpected movement caused the changeling to jump in his seat.

“Raven!” He called out, as he began to worry over her. Questions began to poor out of him as he checked her over, looking for anything out of the ordinary.

“Garfield.” Her voice was barely a whisper, but his perfect hearing picked it up immediately. He froze in place and stared into her faded, violet eyes.  

“Yes, Rae?” His voice cracked, but he paid it no head.

Her face was completely blank at first, reminding him of how she used to look when they were much younger. Back then, he used to think she was an emotionless statue, but after years of being together, he knew better. Though her face should little emotion, it was her eyes that revealed exactly what she was feeling. He stared deep into those eyes, looking past the love they held and seeing something he wished he could forget.

“I’m sorry Gar.” Her voice was hushed, but hoarse. “I tried so hard, but the cancer…it’s just too fast for me.” Her sorrow finally caught up with her, and she back to cough as she choked back her tears. Garfield quickly reached over her and pulled her into a firm hug as he tried to calm her down.

“Shh Rae. Don’t cry. Please, don’t cry.” He cooed as he began to rock her in his arms.

“I…tried…my best, but…it’s spreading so fast.” Her voice broke in between words as her sobbing made it more difficult for her to speak.

“I know, Rae. I know you did your best. It’s not your fault, Raven. It’s not your fault.” His voice gave out at the end, and his own tears started falling from his face. The consequence of her failure was left unsaid. They both knew what was to come. There was no need to put it into words.

They both sat on the bed, crying and trying to comfort each other. When they both ran out of tears, Raven took the opportunity to find her voice. “Garfield?”

“Yes, Rae?”

“Will you tell the team?”

Although they have had countless teams during their days, there was only one team that she could be thinking about at a time like this.

“Of course, Rae.” He said as he tightened his grip around her. “Of course.”  

With one more look at the door, Garfield let out a deep sigh then in one fluid motion he stepped up to the door and the metal object swooshed open as he walked straight through. Old and tired eyes landed on the changeling as he approached the old members of his team.

“So what was so important that you couldn’t tell us over the communicator?” The retired Nightwing asked in his signature, no-nonsense, voice. Garfield looked over at each one of them, and for the first time, he was not nervous, he was heart-broken.

“Hey guys. I have something to tell you.”

[coloursflyaway]

A Pattern Of Errors [6/ ?]

Pairing: Dirk Gently/ Todd Brotzman

Rating: M

Words: 5.041

Dirk picks Todd up for a road trip he never planned to go on, with a red cabriolet and a bright smile and a thousand places to go. And although Todd doesn’t know what he expected, he definitely gets more than he bargained for.

Also, maybe you noticed the slightly higher rating now - if you just want the kissing and none of the touching, stop reading like seven or eight paragraphs before the end.

And one last thing - special thanks to @nekosmuse for answering more questions about the USA than any person should have to, and helping me out so much with this ♥

List of chapters

It's the very first thought in Todd’s head when he wakes – he doesn’t want to leave. They are still tangled together, one of Todd’s legs in between Dirk’s longer ones, his head tucked under the other man’s chin so Dirk’s breath washes over his scalp, warm and damp. He feels safe, and it’s a peculiar, unfamiliar sensation, nice but confusing. Dirk shifts and it’s easy to move with him, bury himself deeper in this cocoon of warmth and affection and forget about everything else.

 He must have fallen asleep, because he wakes up again, this time because Dirk moves, pulling back and suddenly, Todd is a little bit cold, a little bit alone. Dirk doesn’t leave though, stays still until Todd finally moves his head, gazes up at the other and ignores that the muscles in the back of his neck are complaining, because Dirk looks at him with some sort of awe shining out of his eyes, some sort of love. For a moment, Todd wonders what it is Dirk sees written across his face.

On the tip of his tongue, a dozen things are waiting, wanting to be spoken and but he swallows them down for now at least, because it’s too early for confessions and too late for secrets.

“How about”, he starts instead, swallows, because although it’s no confession and no secret, it’s still something that could change a lot, if not everything. “We get up, find something to eat and then ignore that there’s a world out there to see and spend the day in bed instead?”

Dirk looks at him like someone might watch a sunrise over a city they never set a foot into before, like a child might stare when first seeing freshly-fallen snow; excitement and disbelief and wonder all mixed together into a wide-eyed, beautiful gaze that lasts a few moments before Dirk nods. A blush is dusting his cheeks, and Todd cannot quite look at him, cannot quite look away, so he does what is easiest; leans in and kisses Dirk.

 To say that Dirk is bouncing with nervous energy when they set out is an understatement; he’s vibrating with it, long, elegant fingers twitching against Todd’s when he grabs the other’s hand as they leave, showered and with Dirk’s kisses tasting like peppermint at the back of the elevator. Public affection has never been something Todd was comfortable with before, sneering at couples making out in the back row of cinemas, at teenagers blocking everyone’s way in shopping malls because they couldn’t be bothered to let go of each other’s hands, friends that got together and annoyed everyone with their lovesick gazes. And yet, it’s hard to stay away from Dirk, not like he sometimes kept touching a girl he was taking home, but because of something even worse: because with Dirk’s hand in his, everything looks a little brighter, feels easier and better, and because he likes the constant reassurance that the other is still there, even if Todd hasn’t done much to deserve it.

And it’s not like Dirk seems to mind it, just grabs Todd’s hand a little bit tighter when the elevator doors open. Maybe it’s not the best idea, telling the world and everyone who looks in their direction that they are more than friends, but it’s the only one Todd seems to have. “Do you wanna go out or just say here?”, he asks Dirk, who fidgets at his side, bouncing with every step; a couple passes them, scowling when they see their joined hands, and Todd realises that he doesn’t even want to let go long enough to flip them off. It’s quite a surprise.

“Stay, I think”, Dirk tells him after a moment of contemplation, his voice a little bit softer than usual, like he cannot quite concentrate on what is going on around them. Like he’s somewhere else with his thoughts. Todd is, too. “Alright”, he answers, and is secretly glad for Dirk’s answer; he might not be as pleasantly panicked as the other, but he’s definitely… something. “We can do that.”

 They have breakfast at the hotel’s restaurant, Dirk getting pancakes and Todd toast and scrambled eggs, and Dirk seems unable to stop talking for more than the few seconds it takes to put another forkful of pancake into his mouth and chew. It’s impossibly endearing. “-and – I think I might have mentioned this before – really, Thor wasn’t that handsome, even if sort of charming, in his own, weird, godly kind of way. Kate though – Kate Schechter, that is, with two C’s, two H’s, two E’s and also a T, an R and an S – she was quite fascinating. Wonderful hair, too.” Another bite of pancake, dripping with syrup, disappears behind plush lips and Todd knows he could say something, ask Dirk to clarify the dozen things he doesn’t understand about the story he is currently hearing, but he doesn’t, because it doesn’t seem to matter. What matters is that Dirk is here and excited and that Todd cannot wait to get him up into their room again.

 As much as Dirk was talking before, he’s silent the second they are back in the elevator and Todd understands why. His own heart is beating too fast, his hands are sweaty, making him feel like he’s a teenager once again, waiting for his prom date to step out of the door. Only that Dirk isn’t a prom date and they are not going to a dance, but upstairs to do… well. Todd thinks he knows the general direction their actions will take, but wouldn’t be able to say just how far they will go, how much Dirk is comfortable with, what he has done before or what he wants.

Todd knows what he wants, but knows that unlike with former boy- and girlfriends, with groupies he picked up after concerts, what he wants matters a lot less to him than what Dirk is comfortable with. It’s a new kind of sensation, more selfless than he is used to, and although Todd isn’t sure what to do with the feeling, he likes it, thinks he could get used to it. He could ask, of course, but up until now they haven’t talked about any of this, haven’t even put a name to whatever they are to each other, and Todd is something very close to terrified to ruin the thoughtless ease between them by something as mundane as this.

Dirk is looking over at him, like his eyes are glued to Todd’s face, and maybe that is why Todd’s treacherous hands are trembling when he cards his fingers through his hair. He smiles, or tries to, and the elevator stops, saves Todd from whatever his lips could tell the other. Their hands brush when they step outside, and yet Todd doesn’t intertwine their fingers like he usually would, something that seems to surprise both of them. The blush on Dirk’s cheeks is a little bit darker now, and Todd has imagined it before, but the thought that he might really get to see how far down the pink goes, is almost too much for his poor brain. Kissing Dirk, cuddling close to the other, even sliding his hands across a slim chest, letting them follow the line of Dirk’s spine, he can comprehend all of that, and yet it seems hard to even think of Dirk moaning beneath him, above him.

Although his mind is reeling, it’s not awkward between them as they walk down the hallway, perhaps because it’s too tense even for that, even when they reach number 420 and Todd finds that getting his key card into the appropriate slot is an almost impossible task. His hands are trembling, shaking and Dirk is twitching beside him, close enough to touch and yet it feels like he’s just out of reach. Todd manages somehow, though, and the door swings open; with it, Todd’s stomach drops to his knees. If he has ever been this nervous before sex – or any permutation of it – he cannot remember when.

“Alright”, he mutters, more to himself than Dirk, but the other hums in agreement anyway as he walks inside, slowly, almost tentatively starts taking off his tie.   It’s nothing, really, doesn’t reveal even a sliver of skin, and yet Todd’s throat constricts, makes him glad that he can close the door, turn away for a moment. He shouldn’t be this affected, but his body doesn’t seem to notice that, lets his heart beat faster and his mouth go dry.

When he turns – and turn he does, even if a little bit later than necessary – Dirk is standing there, his shoes and socks taken off, leaving him barefooted on the burgundy carpet, and he looks so lost, but so excited, so hopeful. And Todd is used to affection – a familiar, soft, if aching kind of warmth when he thinks about Amanda, a grateful, guilty, never-changing love for his parents, a slightly awed, strong mix of respect and fondness he feels for Farah – but this is new. This is a wave of something, affection and lust and warmth mixed together, sprinkled with the knowledge that they fit together like Todd has never fit with anyone before, with an undercurrent of gratitude and trust and the wish to just stay at least in the proximity of Dirk for the rest of his life. It’s almost overwhelming, makes it hard to breathe, and it’s just what he needs, because suddenly, he doesn’t think.

He doesn’t think, and just walks, gets onto his tiptoes and kisses Dirk deeply, one hand on the other’s cheek and the other on his hip. A few minutes pass, maybe because Dirk is surprised, but then he melts against Todd, lips softening, parting for him, and maybe he should have done it a long time ago, but he didn’t; he does it now. Todd puts a name to it, that feeling that is burning in his chest, clutching at his heart and lungs and throat, calls it love, and finds that the name rings true.

 They stumble towards the bed, lips locked and Todd’s hands fumbling with the buttons of Dirk’s shirt, not at all desperate, but wonderfully excited, like every brush of skin against skin is fanning the flames inside of him, making them burn even brighter. Dirk doesn’t seem to know what to do with his hands, letting them flutter between Todd’s hips and waist, touching and yet never settling. If it’s nerves, or if Dirk feels like he does, overwhelmed by the sudden possibilities, Todd cannot say; it sets his skin on fire in any case.

His hands are clumsier than they usually are, slip on one or two buttons, but he manages and yet cannot break their kiss to look when he finally pushes the shirt off Dirk’s shoulders. It falls away easily, hits the floor with a soft sound, and Dirk shivers, presses closer. Although his lips are still soft, almost gentle, Dirk’s hands are sliding around Todd’s waist with a new kind of insistence, leaving a trail of goose bumps on Todd’s skin, even if Dirk is only touching cloth. His own fingers are tracing lines down Dirk’s arms, feeling the press of bone against his palms when he lets his hands travel up again, cupping Dirk’s neck.

The other’s pulse is strong and fast against his skin, like his body can hardly even contain the flow of his blood, and Todd’s abused flesh aches in sympathy, his own heart pumping blood through his veins at a pace that is worrying at least. It’s a thrill he has never felt before, in all the thirty-three years of his life, maybe because he has never had someone like Dirk: someone he wants, but someone he loves far more than that, someone he longs to touch and yet knows he could be happy just being close to. Maybe it’s because he didn’t meet Dirk in a smoke-filled bar, surrounded by grinding couples and empty beer bottles, driven by lust, and later asked himself if they could maybe make each other happy too, or maybe it’s just because he has never met anyone like Dirk before in his life.

And maybe, Todd could figure it out, if he had enough time, maybe he’d even want to, but Dirk slides cool fingertips under the hem of Todd’s shirt, licks into his mouth almost tentatively, the bed right there, waiting. He has hardly ever forgotten about something this quickly.

 They sleep together, if sleep together is what you can call their tangle of limbs and bodies, half-breathless moans being passed from one mouth to another. Dirk is as inexperienced as he is enthusiastic, blushes when he peels off Todd’s t-shirt and this time, Todd pulls back to watch, finds out that the pink dusting Dirk’s cheeks slowly seeps down his neck until it is just so touching the peaks of his collarbones, making them stand out even more. He’s responsive too, when Todd chases the blood-warm flush with his lips, arches up like he is begging for another kiss, another touch, and Todd gives them willingly, tastes the salt of Dirk’s skin under his tongue, maps out the hollow of the other’s throat, the line of his jaw and the beat of his blood under the layers of tissue.

Every kind of lick, nibble, kiss draws a different kind of sound from Dirk, ranging from little hitches of breath and subtle whines to a moan that sets Todd’s skin aflame when he scrapes his teeth across the other’s pulse. It’s like watching Dirk come to life beneath his hands and mouth.

He gives and gives and gives, makes his way down Dirk’s body slowly, but surely, and it’s another thing he isn’t familiar with, taking this much time to explore another person, find out what makes them tick. But Dirk is worth it, and not only that - putting off his own instant gratification in favour of watching Dirk arch off the mattress when Todd flicks his tongue over one of his nipples isn’t a chore anymore, it’s an adventure, it’s falling in love all over again.

The morning light is making Dirk’s skin glow, erasing small imperfections and the light, honey-coloured freckles that form galaxies on the bridge of Dirk’s nose, and Todd is glad for the air conditioning keeping the room cool, because he already feels close to overheating. Lust is coursing through his veins, making his nerves fire ceaselessly, and every moment he spends touching Dirk is making it better, is making it worse. He still can’t stop, pulls one of the other’s hands from where it’s gripping the sheets and kisses the knuckles, drags his lips over Dirk’s fingers. Their eyes meet, Dirk’s darker than Todd has ever seen them before, his lips kiss-red and parted, and there is nothing Todd can do but bring their lips together once more, sucking his own kisses and the other’s moan from Dirk’s mouth.

Concentrating on anything but Dirk’s lips is difficult, but after a few, long, blissful seconds, Todd manages to move, slides a hand down the other man’s body and finds the button of Dirk’s pants by touch alone. His fingers brush across skin, and Dirk makes the sweetest sound, a half-formed gasp, which Todd feels against his own lips more than he hears.

He’s lost in their kiss, lost enough that Dirk’s hand fluttering down across his back almost comes as a shock. It’s a gentle touch, even as Dirk decides where to let it settle – right in the middle of Todd’s back, like he has half a mind to push him closer – and yet, it makes Todd’s skin tingle. Touching Dirk is one thing, enough to make his pants feel too tight and his body too large to fit in his skin, but being touched in return, with such care, like them being tangled together is a dream Dirk is still half-expecting to wake up from, is better still.

In the quiet room, pulling down Dirk’s zipper sounds impossibly loud, and Todd stills without wanting to, only manages to move again when Dirk’s hand on his back flexes, slides a little bit further down his back. It might not be a deliberate invitation, but it feels like one anyway, and Todd takes it gladly. He sucks on Dirk’s lower lip one last time, drawing another soft groan from the other man, before he pulls away, sits back on his legs to look down onto the mess he’s created.

Dirk is flushed all over, the pink from his cheeks having trickled down way past his collarbones, his maroon pants jutting open, his skin damp with sweat. There is no trace left from his carefully styled hair, the mahogany strands spread out like a dark halo across the pillow, and Todd feels his heart expand, that exhilarating mixture of love and lust and ever-lingering guilt rushing through him until it fills every inch of him, threatening to burst out, because his body isn’t big enough to contain it. The only sound is Dirk panting, and for a moment, Todd thinks that he could lose himself in the other’s body forever and a day.

The moment stretches, like it doesn’t want to leave them just yet, and Todd holds onto it, savours it; when he lets it go, it’s only because Dirk shifts, looking up at him like Todd holds all the answers. He doesn’t, and they both must know that, and yet Todd feels touched. Having someone’s trust placed in him isn’t a regular occurrence, and especially not like this, when he doesn’t know, but can guess, that Dirk has been hurt far too many times before.

Blue eyes blink; Dirk tilts his head, like he’s not quite sure what he is doing is the right thing. His hands wander down his own body, pale skin against pale skin, and Todd’s throat goes dry in a way Death Valley didn’t even succeed in, because Dirk finds the hem of his pants and pushes them down. It’s not the fluid motion one sees on screen: the fabric gets caught around his knees, then his calves, forces Dirk to sit up to get it over his feet, but it doesn’t matter, Todd’s eyes are fixed to the new skin revealed.

“Todd?”, Dirk asks, and sounds hoarse and confused still; it’s the first word he has spoken in such a long time. He must have been staring, Todd realises, for far longer than he thought, because when he tears his gaze away from Dirk’s slender thighs, he finds the other watching him with wide eyes. “…yes. Sorry”, he replies with a voice to match Dirk’s, and yet can’t help but chuckle, lean in to steal the quickest of kisses. “I got a bit distracted. Too much to see.” The comment only seems to confuse Dirk more, at least for a few seconds; realisation looks good on him when it comes, with wide eyes and a suddenly deepened blush, gaping mouth.

“Oh”, he breathes out softly, beautifully flattered and flustered, a small smile stealing on his lips, once they close again. “Well. There could be more to see, though. Especially for me.” This time, it’s Todd who takes too long to understand, Todd who flushes and looks at Dirk’s still flustered, smiling face with a vague sense of surprised amazement, and Todd, who struggles to get out of his jeans. If anything, he’s even less elegant than Dirk was before, and that although he’s the one wearing the far more sensible pants. But he makes Dirk laugh, a soft, happy sound, and when he looks back up, Dirk is sitting there, watching, his hair still a mess and his cheeks pink, and it’s just a moment, a split second, that Todd needs to understand that this is how it’s supposed to be.

He has had good sex, bad sex, sex that made him laugh, but never sex like this: easy and carefree and yet no less passionate for it, with someone who laughs at him getting stuck in his pants without there being a cruel edge to it, who still looks at him like he has hung the stars, even though Dirk has to know he doesn’t deserve any of it. He hasn’t, Todd thinks, even while he bursts out laughing too, stops struggling with the garment for a moment, had sex with someone he honestly, truly loves, yet.

The laughter trickles away, leaves them both smiling, Todd’s pants still stuck around his ankles; this time, it’s Dirk, who shifts closer until he can pull Todd’s ankles into his lap.  He gives him a smile that lacks the seductive edge Todd has come to expect in these moments, although it’s an intimate position they are in, the muscles of Dirk’s thighs tensing and relaxing again while the other tugs at his pants, freeing his feet inch by inch. And, oh God, Todd is aware just how intimate it is, does everything in his power not to let his eyes stray from Dirk’s deft fingers. They work far more efficiently than he may have expected, freeing him from his pants and then tossing the piece of clothing aside, neither of them caring where it lands.

It leaves them close, and although they have been closer before, it doesn’t feel like it at all. Dirk’s eyes are still dark with lust, but soft and bright with mirth, and Todd doesn’t know which one of them leans in first, not that it matters. What matters is that they both do, and that they meet somewhere in the middle, that they kiss.

Dirk’s lips are swollen, but just as enthusiastic as always, one of his hands coming up to cup Todd’s cheek while Todd does what he wanted the whole time, shifts and shuffles until he can tuck his feet under his calves, sit back on his legs and press closer. Until there’s no space left between them, Dirk’s heart beating next to his. It leaves him between the other’s spread legs, Dirk’s thighs pressed against his own, and the only thing it takes to send them tumbling onto the mattress is the tiniest push. Todd gives it, and Dirk smiles against his lips, a feeling as wonderful as it is easily swept away by something novel and even more exciting; Dirk’s whole body pressed against his.

He’s thin and warm all over, the length of his cock hard against Todd’s stomach and his lips soft and sweet, and Todd has felt all of this before. Not with Dirk, with others, and maybe that is why now, it’s almost too much to take, lust chasing away the remnants of amusement, because there is no space left for it. Just for this, for Dirk sucking in a sharp breath when Todd breaks their kiss for a moment, looking maybe as lost to the world as Todd feels, their bodies aligning, not perfectly, but well enough.

And suddenly, Todd cannot wait a second longer, suddenly, every layer of clothing is one too many. He looks down at Dirk, who looks back with wide, trusting eyes, and Todd loves him fiercely, desperately, foolishly. His lips find Dirk’s jaw, leave a trail of kisses from his chin up to his earlobe, while Todd reaches down and pushes his boxer shorts down. It takes some fumbling, some more kisses and another bit of chuckling against the soft skin of Dirk’s throat until they’re discarded, but just a look at the other’s face to know what to do next.

Dirk is watching him wide-eyed, heat making his gaze feel almost like a physical brand, and although it’s hard to break away from him once more, Todd does, even if only so he can hook his fingers under the elastic of Dirk’s briefs and tug. It puts him on display, all of him, and Todd has felt uncomfortable and self-conscious before, and yet hardly spares those possibilities a thought; Dirk looks at him just like he did before, adoring, wanting, trusting.

The fabric of the briefs seems to cling to Dirk’s skin, so Todd pulls a little harder, Dirk lifts his hips, and then the only barrier between them is gone, just another piece of clothing Todd can fling aside. And Dirk is bare beneath him, wide-eyes, hard because of the kisses Todd has left on creamy, flushed skin, which have left his taste on Todd’s lips, and it’s more than he’d deserve and more than he ever thought he’d have.

Words get caught in his throat, which, given the alternative of speaking them out-loud, might be better anyway, and for a few moments, Todd cannot speak, because Dirk isn’t beautiful, but he’s kind and trusting and brilliant in his own way, and he’s loved, and at least for now, he’s his.

And it’s not words he needs anyway, not when they have found some other, deeper way to connect, so Todd uses that instead, leans down to kiss Dirk. It’s the only point of contact for a few, long seconds, both enough and too little, and yet it takes Dirk’s arms sliding around Todd’s neck to drag him down against the other’s body. The first touch is a shock, skin against skin, flesh against flesh, and Todd gasps his moan into Dirk’s mouth, hips rolling against the other’s by their own volition. It’s a lazy drag against the sensitive shaft of his cock, too dry to cause only pleasure and too slow to be enough, and yet it feels better than some one night stands Todd had in the past, if only because Dirk’s breath hitches, his arms tighten around Todd’s neck.

They’re not quite kissing anymore, lips sliding against lips in an uncoordinated fashion, but although it’s difficult to breathe like this, Todd doesn’t pull away, wouldn’t know how to. He grinds down again, feels the line of Dirk’s cock against his own, leaving a smear of wetness on his stomach, and the moan vibrating against his lips is all he needs now and maybe ever, Dirk clinging to him, sharing each and every of his breaths.

Todd is familiar with lust-driven frenzy during sex, chasing his orgasm and perhaps the one of his partner, but this is different and the pace they find is slow, unhurried, bodies moving together like waves crashing on a shore, every sound Dirk makes as sweet as music to Todd’s ears. They are close and yet, after seemingly endless minutes, Dirks brings them closer together still, wraps one of his impossibly long legs around Todd, changes the angle of their next thrust and sends them both reeling. It’s close to too much, the added pressure, the delicious slide of skin against skin, and the knowledge that Dirk needs this as much as he does; Todd is trembling when he rolls his hips again, smears a half moan, half kiss against Dirk’s jaw. Fingertips push into his shoulders, insistent and yet gentle, Dirk arching up to meet his sloppy thrusts. He is breathing heavily into Todd’s hair, and suddenly, Todd needs to see.

Pulling away is an almost impossible feat, but he manages, is met with a sight he could never have prepared for; Dirk flushed, his eyes glazed over with lust, his pupils blown so wide they swallow up the blue of his eyes. He looks gone with pleasure, like he is drowning in it, and Todd can feel his blood being set aflame, turned into a dizzying rush of molten lust. Their gazes meet, although Dirk only seems half conscious; he grinds down against Dirk and makes him moan, eyes fluttering shut like it’s impossible for the other to keep them open a second longer. There is another thrust, another, another, and Todd can feel his orgasm approaching with every spark of pleasure he draws from Dirk’s body, but doesn’t expect that just one more roll of his hips, slow and desperate still, pushes Dirk over the edge.

His hips snap up, colliding with Todd’s, his movements still not frenzied, just more intense, his head thrown back, and maybe it’s the first time Todd can call Dirk beautiful without exaggerating, when the other comes and it’s Todd’s name on his lips, moaned out with something like reverence clinging to the sound, making it sound more like a prayer than anything else.

Todd follows only a few moments afterwards, pressing his face into the crook of Dirk’s neck and mouthing at the skin there, to prevent any treacherous secrets spilling from his lips. Dirk is pliant underneath him, allows him to take the pleasure he needs, arms tightening around Todd, holding him close, as he rides out his orgasm, that explosion of white-hot pleasure right there in his core.

It takes a few moments until Todd can think clearly again, even longer until he can try to roll off Dirk; it doesn’t work, because the arms around him tighten and keep him right where he is. Todd knows he’ll regret it later, when they inevitably get up and shower, but right now, still half-drowned in post-orgasmic bliss, he can’t bring himself to care. So instead, he busies himself with burying his face in the crook of Dirk’s neck again, feeling the other hum in agreement at the back of his throat. His fingers are tracing slow, lazy patterns around Todd’s shoulder blades, his breath washing down in warm huffs over the side of Todd’s neck. “Is it always supposed to be like this?”, Dirk asks softly, after a few more moments have passed, his voice rough and beautiful and unsure.

The question makes Todd pause, wonder what it is Dirk has experienced before and what might have been the first time; he ignores it for the moment, and kisses Dirk’s pulse point, darts out his tongue to taste. “Yes”, he mutters in the end, although he can only guess it; he hopes it’s the truth. “I think so.” The arms around him tighten again, Dirk presses a kiss to the side of his head, and this – Todd can think it now, might even be able to say it one day – this must be what love feels like.