#its just two blokes who do fuck all most of times. put that energy towards weirdos

[mxttellion]

some people in this fanbase are needlessly hateful towards completely normal shippers and shipping content and I'll never get it . Even when the current crew is RELATIVELY fine with shippers it's just. weird lol

[wolfstar-supremacy-innit]

"Tell who?"- Part 1

Remus smiled into his pillow. Why’s he so cute? He felt something rustle under his stomach. Reaching under himself, he pulled out a wrinkled piece of parchment. His resolutions list. Remus flipped onto his back and squinted at the letters. Warmth was pooling in his chest. Something is missing here. He patted the bed in search for his quill and ink, then wrote:

5. Fuck this I wanna tell him I love him

The paper slipped to the floor as Remus’ arms gave out and he drifted into an instantaneous, profound sleep.

Alternatively:

The Marauders are in their 6th year at Hogwarts, it's New Year's Eve and Remus writes a New Year's resolutions list. Sirius finds it the next day. The story is written from Remus' point of view. It's wolfstar and lighthearted. Kinda inspired by this fanfic.

This is part 1 of the story. I will be posting the other parts separately here and also the full fic on ao3 (I will link everything when it's done, check this post for that in some time). Warnings: underage drinking and smoking, mentions of anxiety disorder.

Enjoy! :)

Part 2 Part 3

Remus sat on the windowsill in the 6th year boys’ dormitory rolling a cigarette with magic. Well, trying to. He carefully placed the tobacco and filter on the small paper and tapped it with his wand, but half of the contents plopped out. The spell needed perfecting, obviously. Remus had picked up the habit of smoking socializing with some muggle kids back home during that summer. He knew it was stupid, but he had thought it looked cool. Later, he also found out he quite liked the lightheadedness that followed smoking a cigarette quickly. And some more time after that, there was a boy at school to try to impress, but that's a little embarrassing to admit. A nicotine addiction was surely well on its way to becoming a reality, but Remus didn't like to think about that. And anyway, with the war looming over everyone's head, who cares if a 16-year-old werewolf is addicted to nicotine? The problem was that cigarettes were expensive and Remus didn't have a lot of money to spare, so he resigned to rolling as it was cheaper and lasted longer. With some practice, he'll be able to assemble them with magic effortlessly anyway.

"Hiya, Moony," James said, walking into the room, "you're not getting ready?"

"Yes, I am." Remus pointed at his cigarette rolling arrangement, although James was probably referring to the fact that he wasn't dressed for a party.

It was the 31st of December. The four of them were staying at Hogwarts for the entirety of the holidays, given that the full moon had been on the 26th. Well, that was the excuse they gave their parents. The real reason why they hadn’t gone to the Potters after the 26th, where they usually spent the Christmas holidays, was that Sirius had stumbled upon a flyer for a gig and party occurring in Hogsmeade that Friday. James and Sirius were ecstatic, but Remus was pretty apathetic towards the idea of going. With his crush on his best friend and all. In fact, he had been trying to steer clear of settings in which he was sure Sirius would look particularly, well, hot. However, there was a flaw in his thinking, he had realised. Day by day, Sirius was beginning to look extraordinarily hot to Remus in every setting, and there was nothing he could do about it.

When Sirius had arrived at their train compartment at the beginning of that school year, Remus was very, very confused. Sirius had run away from home and spent the majority of the summer at the Potters, but in the two months, he had changed profoundly. Although they had been exchanging letters the whole summer, nothing could've prepared Remus for the feeling of panic bubbling up in him when Sirius had stepped through the sliding doors. After finally being released from his family's clutches, the freedom and eagerness to express himself had been immediately evident. Sirius had let his hair grow out longer than usual, past his shoulders, messier and curlier, but all the better looking (if that was even possible). He'd gotten taller and his shoulders broader, his muggle clothes sitting flawlessly on his lean figure. He’d looked cool, to say the least- chunky black lace-up boots, black trousers, a small silver loop earring in one ear and, of course, a black leather jacket. Remus had been perplexed and silent the whole train ride. What is wrong with me, he had thought. It wasn't envy or disapproval. It was excitement for his best friend's joy after years of trauma, of course, it was. But what the hell was that lump in his throat and the inability to look Sirius in the eye? Later that week, as Sirius had stepped out of the bathroom with his shirt hanging loosely around his neck exposing his prominent collarbones, Remus had realised with a sinking feeling that it all impossibly resembled a crush. A crush on Sirius?? I am so fucked, he had thought as he swallowed a lump.

In the following months, Remus had been desperately attempting to push his feelings into the deep dark depths of his mind and just forget about it. Still, as it turned out, Sirius' natural charm and charisma were impossible to look past. He would casually sling his arm over Remus' shoulders on their way to class or wink at him when James said a sentence without picking up on the innuendo of it. And it made Remus' heart jump out of his chest. On top of all that, Sirius was, in all likelihood, the most handsome bloke in the whole of Britain. So much so that talking to him made Remus' stomach twist with nervous energy most of the time. Anxious talking to my best friend of five years... He felt completely off his rocker.

In the present time, Sirius threw the dorm door open, stepping inside with Peter following and Remus jumped a little. "Lads," he said rubbing his palms together, "tonight's the night. We're getting plastered!"

"No," Remus said, still struggling with the cigarettes, now resolving to roll them manually. He wasn't very keen on his big mouth outrunning his drunk brain as it so usually happened after a few drinks. And now he had a dangerous secret to keep...

"Oh come on, Moony! This is our night off the chain!" There wasn't much Remus could say no to with those big grey eyes looking into his. Before he could say anything, Sirius asked: "Mate, could you roll me a few?" He had picked smoking up from Remus, of course. Sirius had said it looked "wicked" and “punk rock”. Remus was more proud of that than he was willing to admit.

"Sure," Remus replied.

"Cheers." Sirius winked at Remus and his stomach flipped. "Right. I'm going to get ready. We gotta clear off when I get out," Sirius said disappearing into the bathroom.

Remus successfully rolled up enough cigarettes for him and Sirius and placed them into his case. Oblivious to James' and Peter's conversation, Remus contemplated how he would survive the night. He'll have his cigs and the music, he concluded. He'll be fine.

He changed into his teal sweater and dark jeans and plopped onto his bed, gazing into the wooden board above him for a while. He sighed. In a few hours, 1976 would die and the illusion of a new slate in the form of a new year will be born. Remus was aware it was silly, but he liked creating little lists of goals for himself for the following year. They were never anything revolutionary, just a couple of small and realistic things he would like to accomplish. He thought about it for a few moments, then reached into the drawer of his bedside table and pulled out some parchment, ink and a quill. He wrote:

1977 New Years resolutions:

1. Get mum that record she's been talking about for months now

2. Master the cig rolling spell

3. Improve on non-verbal magic

4. Complete that muggle reading challenge Lilly and I compiled

Sirius then came out of the bathroom dolled up and with very discreet lines of black eyeshadow around his eyes. The parchment and quill slipped from Remus’ fingers. The deep grey now stood out even further than usual. "Should we get a move on, then?" Remus rolled on his bed, pressed his face into the pillow and groaned softly, pretending it was because of his reluctance to go. He didn't know how many more of Sirius' little surprises he could take before his head imploded. This was clearly one of those times Sirius would look just exceptionally fucking fit.

"You're wearing that, Moony?" Remus picked his head up to look at Sirius, not being able to suppress the disappointment that was creeping up.

“What’s wrong with it?”

“Well, you wear sweaters every day, don’t you? This is a party we’re going to!” Remus sat up and peered at him silently, allowing himself to take a better look at the eyeshadow that suited him wonderfully.

“Where did you get that?” James piped in, finally noticing Sirius’ make up.

“Borrowed it from Marls. Now, Moony, let’s see...” He started rummaging through his wardrobe and emerged with a dark grey shirt with a band logo on it. “Here you go, mate.” Sirius held it up for him to look at, then tossed it on the werewolf’s bed. Remus loved that shirt, especially because it was one of Sirius’ favourites.

“It’s December,” Remus said, but excitement was swirling in his stomach at the thought of wearing Sirius’ clothes. “Well, wear your coat.” He flashed Remus a smile. As the other boys started pilling their belongings into their pockets and putting on jackets, Remus reflected on changing into the shirt. Then he did it, quickly. Heat rose swiftly up his neck and cheeks at the realisation it smelled like Sirius. It felt like he would melt into the carpet any second now. Maybe he could allow himself to simmer in his infatuation just for tonight.

“Looking good.” Sirius smiled at him in the mirror as Remus checked himself out. The blush intensified.

The four boys crept down hallways using the Marauder’s Map to avoid Filch and the teachers and made it safely to the One-Eyed Witch Statue on the third floor. Sirius and James were practically skipping down the secret passage leading to Honeydukes. Even Remus felt a little giddy, but that may or may not have been because of the shirt. They arrived at the pub without hindrances and made their way inside. The place was loud and crowded as they pushed their way to a round wooden bar table. There were decorative lights of different shapes and sizes everywhere as well as tiny glass lanterns with magical flames flickering inside. The atmosphere was bewitching.

“Right,” Sirius clapped his hands, “what’re we drinking?”

Remus wanted a Butterbeer, but it was decided on his behalf that he would be having Firewhiskey. After all, Sirius was now of age and this was his first opportunity to take advantage of it. And so, Remus was coerced into his first glass of alcohol. He downed it quickly when the first girl approached Sirius. This was nothing new, of course. He was showered in attention from girls at school all the time. What was different now was that it gravely bothered Remus. However, Sirius paid no attention to the lady and instead turned to Remus to ask for a cigarette. Sirius smoking was a work of art; Remus could testify to that.

After the first drink, it was no trouble following up with more and the boys wanted to try weird sounding beverages from the menu. Thick, white smoke covered their table when James brought over the Simison Steaming Stout. Later, Remus had a shot (or three) of something called Checker’s Quick Everclear which made him inexplicably snap his fingers a few times after swallowing it. It was incredibly amusing and enough to get him rather half cut. After that, things became somewhat fuzzy. The band was fine, so they danced and drank and Remus felt just swell. It could’ve had something to do with Sirius ignoring the girls or plainly the amount of alcohol in his blood. By the time people began counting down from ten, Remus had half lost his ability to comprehend what was going on. He caught sight of James hugging Sirius when the clock hit midnight as the two of them shouted: “Happy New Year!” A couple seconds later Remus felt hands around himself and realised James hugged him next, yelling the same words, frankly a bit too close to his ear. It seemed that James was either holding his drinks well or just hadn’t drank that much. Sirius’ eyes, however, were half-closed, Remus noticed, as he moved to embrace him. It was just a smidge underwhelming. Remus was numb all over and barely felt the touch of Sirius’s arms over the colossal spike of adrenaline that flashed in his insides. He likely held him tighter than necessary and reluctantly pulled away when Sirius did too. Their cheeks brushed briefly in the process. When Remus looked at him, Sirius was smiling. His hair was messy, lips full and smooth. The eyeshadow hadn’t moved. Remus almost leaned in, but chose to just smile back instead. I have a secret to keep. Big secret. Scary secret. He slyly avoided hugging Peter (who was really sweaty) as his stupid, drunk brain kept repeating: Big. Scary. Secret. Secret. But he had already forgotten what was so confidential. He was really fuckin’ pissed, wasn’t he? Remus sniggered to himself.

Sirius and James wanted to go to the dancefloor and Peter followed them. Remus, however, wasn’t quite sure he could stand very well without having a table to hold on to once in a while. So he stayed put, fetched a cigarette from his case, lit it with his wand and leaned on his forearms on the table. Reveling in the fact that that he was allowing himself to feel all his forbidden feelings tonight, Remus observed Sirius in a manner he hoped was subtle. Sirius was dancing with his eyes closed, smooth, controlled movements, face tilted upwards. Christ, Remus banged his forehead on the table, why does he have to look like that?! It felt strangely pleasant, so he stayed in that position for some time. His head was swaying lightly and he got an inexplicable urge to laugh.

“Alright, Moony,” a voice brought him back to reality. Remus forced his head up.

“Splendid,” he said. Sirius smiled at him.

“We got any more fags?”

“Yup.” He pulled out the case out of his back pocket and handed it to Sirius, just as he asked: “Having fun, Moony?” Remus’ mouth stretched into a stupid, crooked smile.

“Oh, I’m having a brilliant time.”

“Good.” Sirius struggled pulling his wand out of the pocket of his tight-fitting (Sigh...) jeans. Remus brought his own wand to the cigarette hanging from the other boy’s lips and produced miniature blue flames. Sirius sucked in the smoke, held it briefly, then exhaled. “Cheers.”

Remus downed whatever it was leftover in James’ glass. Then his mind blacked out. The next thing he was aware of was being dragged up the stairs by James to their dormitory. “You’re a miracle,” he mumbled, thinking how James could have possibly snuck him through the castle in this state without getting caught. James laughed softly.

“Okay, Moony.”

Remus plopped on his bed face first and let out a long, loud half-sigh, half-groan. He heard Sirius laugh from his own bed. “Nooo, we’re not getting plastered tonight! No waaay,” he said in a teasing voice. Remus smiled into his pillow. Why’s he so cute? He felt something rustle under his stomach. Reaching under himself, he pulled out a wrinkled piece of parchment. His resolutions list. Remus flipped onto his back and squinted at the letters. Warmth was pooling in his chest. Something is missing here. He patted the bed in search for his quill and ink, then wrote:

5. Fuck this I wanna tell him I love him

The paper slipped to the floor as Remus’ arms gave out and he drifted into an instantaneous, profound sleep.

Part 2 Part 3

[ghostiewriter]

chapter one | tale of a slightly unstable teen hero

Summary: JJ is starting to gain recognition around New York as the new hero in town. However, some complications arise with his new chemistry partner. Oh, and turns out he isn’t the only bloke around here with powers.

Warnings: John B is a simp, I feel like that needs a warning tbh. Umm there’s a lot of swearing (I’m Scottish, don’t judge), again some violence and fighting, also some cute ass moments between JJ and his mum so enjoy that

Word Count: 8.1K

A/N: Sooo there’s finally some Jiara in this chapter!! Hope you enjoy👀and I’m not responsible for any feels caused by JJ and Georgia Maybank!!

masterlist // taglist // ao3

“Spider-Man does it again! Report of our favourite web-slinging hero saving the day once again after a fatal accident left an apartment complex on the corner of 5th and 36th street in flames. The teen hero arrived at the scene not long after the distress call was made to the local fire department and managed to rescue over twelve people that were trapped on the top floor. New York thanks Spider-Man once again.”

JJ grinned as he leaned back in his seat, sparing a smug look towards John B in the driver’s seat. JJ didn’t usually carpool with John B but it was getting colder and his extra-curricular activities were wearing him exhausted by morning. Plus, the last time JJ skated to school when he was half asleep, Pope had to pull him out of a trash can. Turns out raccoons can be very territorial and did not appreciate the blond taking a small visit into their home. He was pretty sure he still had scars on his back from some of those little bastards.

“Three weeks on the job and you already have a little fanbase,” John B commented, reaching over to turn the radio down a little since the reporter moved onto some irrelevant news neither of the boys cared about. “Soon you’ll have a swarm of fangirls chasing after you while you fight crime.”

“Don’t be jealous, JB,” JJ grinned, both arms behind his head as he looked at the passing view. “I’m sure one of my groupies will slum it down for you.” He teased, only laughing when he felt the flick on his forehead.

As much as he hated to admit it, JJ had seriously enjoyed the past three weeks. They were intense, impulsive and unpredictable. Just how JJ liked his life to be. It wasn’t easy at first though, it took a good few attempts before the people of New York actually labelled him as a hero. Maybe it was because he was some young bloke who popped out of nowhere with abilities that no could really understand. Or maybe it was because he was going around in a red ski mask, blue shirt, a red vest with an awfully drawn spider on it and some blue joggers. He looked like a right on idiot, especially with the chunky goggles Pope added to his costume. But if it kept his identity secret, then so be it. The last thing JJ wanted was a bunch of journalists swarming his apartment, especially since he wanted to keep this whole alter ego away from his parents. In fact, he wanted to keep it away from anyone who wasn’t John B or Pope.

It was safer that way.

“At least that’s one more that Pope.” John B said nonchalantly.

“As if, dude!” JJ scoffed, grinning at the distressed—and fairly high pitched—‘WHAT’ that came from the brunette. “Oh, c’mon, Pope created a whole ass bat signal for me! You just sit there and look pretty! Pope gets at least two groupies.” He said with a shrug.

It was true. JJ knew Pope was smart, but this was next level. After realising that JJ wasn’t getting the recognition he needed to be labelled a ‘superhero’, Pope had come up with the ingenuous idea to infiltrate the police radio stations. Not only did they have full access to updates on crimes around the city, but Pope even felt a little fancy and made it so JJ would get a notification sent to his phone the second there was a job for Spider-Man. That boy was way too smart for his own good, but JJ was grateful for it.

“Aw, you think I’m pretty?” John B asked with a teasing grin.

“Yeah,” JJ smiled, reaching to place his hand on John B’s shoulder with a squeeze. “Pretty fucking ugly.”

John B’s smile instantly dropped as he scowled at JJ, who was happily snickering at the sudden change in mood. “Whatever, Spider-boy.”

“Yikes, low blow.”

The rest of the journey was spent in a similar vibe, except with JJ checking his phone every five minutes. He couldn’t help it, but the past three weeks had been some of the most exciting in his life. JJ had been labelled the troublemaker his whole life, the one that was throwing pencils into Mrs Ramirez’s curls because they looked like little hoops. Or even just doing his damn best to avoid the work he was given. It was a force of habit. JJ’s brain was running at a million miles a second. Nothing could hold him down, keep him entertained for longer than thirty minutes at most. And his teachers had constantly reminded him that his impulsive nature and high energy would lead him nowhere good in life.

All JJ had to say to them now was a massive ‘FUCK YOU!’ because how wrong they were. It was those qualities that made JJ the perfect hero. He could react quick to a sudden change, he was always on his feet, he had found something that not only could he channel all his energy into—but he was damn good at it as well. John B and Pope had warned him that it was best to keep himself humble, to not get too arrogant. But who was he kidding? JJ made a pretty fucking bomb superhero and everyone loved him. It seemed like he deserved to feel arrogant, to soak in his time in the spotlight. He enjoyed every single second.

So, can you really blame JJ for checking his phone, wanting an excuse to put that mask on and do the one thing he is good at? Except for skateboarding. Everyone knew JJ was the best skater in Queens.

Unfortunately, there was no sudden crimes that JJ could use as excuse to ditch school. A true tragedy, if you asked him. It seems like he will just have to suffer through another day of learning things that either happened way too long ago, didn’t make sense to him or he just truly didn’t care about. Which just happened to be basically every subject—excluding wood-shop. Except he was taken out of the class because apparently making mini bongs for birds is not okay. Who would’ve thought.

“I don’t see what the issue is—it’s a fool-proof plan!” John B argued as the two boys made their way through the corridors of Midtown High. Only stopping once they reached John B’s locker where he exchanged his books and JJ checked out the hallway for anything that caught his eye.

“Bro, you have a ten-year plan to end up with Sarah Cameron,” JJ stated bluntly. “And even then, you end up as her second husband—“

“No one can prove what happened to the first.”

“It’s fucking sad, JB.”

“It’s a solid plan.” John B stated simply and shrugged his shoulders, deciding to ignore JJ as he rolled his eyes, muttering something about John B being a ‘hopeless fool’. John B only grinned wider and glanced at his watch before whispering a small ‘shit’ to himself. “I gotta go, see you at lunch.” And with that, John B was zooming his way down the corridor.

“You know it’s really creepy that you plan when you bump into her!” JJ called down the corridor, but he doubted John B heard him. “Like really fucking creepy…like restraining order level creepy!

Once he noticed John B’s head turn the corner, undoubtedly on his way to ‘coincidentally’ bump into Sarah Cameron, JJ calmly made his way to his first period class, not in a big rush to get there.

**********

You see, after the incident in wood shop and many others after that, the school had taken the decision to move JJ into a class they deemed more valuable of his time. Chemistry. Stick the ADHD kid in a room full of chemicals…seemed about right. However, JJ was being transferred half way through the term with absolutely no knowledge in chemistry other than how to make a Molotov cocktail. Therefore, he didn’t really see an issue in showing up to a class he was already hopeless in. His teacher disagreed.

“Mr Maybank, it’s nice of you to finally join us.” Mr Marino—a middle-aged bald man who had looked as though he had been through one too many divorces and contained most of his knowledge in the form of his beer belly—commented as JJ entered the class.

“Oh, you wouldn’t believe what happened to me!” JJ sighed dramatically.

“Let me guess: your alarm didn’t go off.”

“It was my pet monkey, sir. Has a mind of its own.”

“Your pet monkey?”

“Yup, his name is JB. Nasty wee guy but I keep him around, he’s a good laugh. Could do with a shower though.”

“Take a seat, Maybank.”

“I can feel the love.” JJ grinned before he turned to look at the class. It was set up with eight workbenches, two seats at each. His eyes scanned over each one before he caught an empty seat at the back-left workbench, the only empty seat—and just his luck it was next to the curly haired beauty for the trip.

JJ was starting to think he might actually enjoy this class.

“We just keep meeting, sweetheart. I think it’s a sign.” JJ whispered to her as he took his seat next to her, definitely sitting a little closer than he had to. He tried not to smirk when he noticed her subtly moving away from him. JJ always loved a challenge.

“Or a punishment.” She replied bluntly, not even sparing JJ a glance.

“Aw, is this how it’s going to be for the rest of the year, princess?” JJ muttered with a pout. He tried not to smile when she finally turned to look at him.

“Rafe got a concussion.” She hissed.

“So?” JJ frowned.

“So? You caused it!”

“And I should care because?”

“He is banned from the football team for six weeks!”

JJ stared at her blankly. “And…?”

“He is the captain!”

“Boohoo, they’ll survive without him.” JJ shrugged, leaning back in his stool as he flashed her one of his usual girl-charming smiles. “But hey, if you’re really stressed out about it, I’m sure I can help you find a way to relax.”

“You’re a pig.” She stated with a small huff, stubbornly turning to face the front, planning to not even give him the chance to redeem himself. Trust me when I say Kiara is an open person, always there to give people a second chance. But JJ Maybank was not one of those people. In the three times she had met him, he had been nothing but a shameless flirt who had no care for the world beyond his sex life. She could be judging him too quickly, but in her defence, he hadn’t given her anything else to work with.

However, Kiara assumed her behaviour was clear enough that she didn’t want to talk to him, that she could gladly go the rest of the year without willingly speaking to him. But this is JJ. Hyperactive, unable to sit still JJ. He didn’t get the hint.

“So, do anything interesting this weekend?” JJ asked her, that classic smirk of his on his lips. But she didn’t answer him. Instead, she kept her gaze on Mr Marino and his oh-so interesting talk on bond orbitals within an atom.

JJ raised his eyebrows when he received no reply from her. “Giving me the silent treatment now? That’s a bit rude.” He commented.

“So is giving someone a concussion.” She stated.

“Do you want to know what I did?” JJ asked.

“No.”

“Geez, princess, no one ever taught you manners?” He teased, taking the pen he was spinning between his fingers to gently poke her arm. She only huffed and moved her seat further away.

“Okay, alright, fine! I get it…” JJ trailed off, and Kiara couldn’t help but let out a sigh of relief. But she spoke to soon. She heard the scrape of a chair and suddenly she could feel the warmth of JJ right beside her, their elbows just touching.

“Is there an issue, Mr Maybank?” She heard Mr Marino call out but the boy next to her just shook his head, that mischievous glint shining in his eyes.

“No, please carry on, Alan.” The blond replied, his fingers tapping against the worktop counter.

Kiara sighed. She knew very well that she could put her hand up and complain, or even ask Mr Marino to change seats after class ended. But she was stubborn, and she would be damned if she gave JJ that satisfaction of knowing that he got under her skin.

This was going to be a long year.

**********

“She called me JB! That basically takes three years off my plan!”

“Dude, I don’t know if this is really sad or creepy now…” JJ grimaced. He had spent the last fifteen minutes listening to John B and his ‘coincidental’ encounter with Sarah Cameron. And if he was being honest, he was concerned for his friend. And his stomach…this boy needed to let JJ eat his lunch before he had to hear one more comment about how ‘yellow is totally her colour’.

“I mean, it just compliments her complexion so well! C’mon, how many people do you know that can pull of yellow and not looked totally washed out!” John B argued. But JJ just met him with a blank stare.

“When the fuck did you become a fashion expert?” JJ spoke up, his nose scrunched in confusion.

“I took a class once.”

JJ looked at him with his mouth agape. “Who the fuck are you?”

“Piss off, I wanted to learn how to dress better.”

“Says the guy that wears horrible thrifted Hawaiian shirts.” JJ deadpanned. John B only rolled his eyes and turned his attention back onto Sarah.

JJ followed his line of sight towards Sarah Cameron and her group, and he was shocked at the sight. He noticed the usual people in their uptown outfits and obnoxious laughs he could unfortunately hear from his seat. But it was the sight of his chemistry partner looking quite cosy under Rafe’s arm that caught him off-guard. His eyebrows furrowed a little, but hey, JJ should have seen this coming. The uptown kids like to stick with each other. Yet, JJ couldn’t help but find the sight quite uncomfortable to look at—Rafe had that effect on people. It was a surprise he managed to score…JJ paused. He had spent a whole hour with her and yet, he didn’t even know her name.

He nudged John B, yet neither one of them looked away from the group. “Hey JB, who’s Sarah’s new chick?”

“Who?”

“The pretty curly haired one standing next to her, dumbass.”

“Oh…I don’t actually know—“

“—Kiara Carrera. Relocated here from Kernersville, North Carolina. Her father owns a large chain of restaurants around the country. She is also the only junior other than yours truly doing three AP classes, including environmental science, biology and English.” Pope finished, panting a little considering he had literally just ran into the cafeteria and heard the last few words of their conversation.

JJ looked up at Pope with a mix of awe and fear. “What, you forgot her national insurance number as well? How the fuck do you know all that?”

“The school files.” Pope answered easily as he turned his laptop around and with the screen facing them, JJ decided he was definitely a little scared of Pope.

“Those are meant to be locked away in some super, secret network thing!” JJ hissed, only to be met with a smirking Pope.

“As if, it’s easy as fuck to hack something as amateur as the school’s firewall. Could do it with my eyes closed.” He grinned at the two of them. “Why, JJ? Hiding something from us like…I don’t know…your middle name being Belinda.” He snickered.

“YOUR NAME IS BELINDA?!” John B gasped, looking at JJ with wide eyes.

“Shut up, would you!” JJ hissed at the both of them, leaning over the table to flick John B on the forehead. “I was named after my grandmother.”

“Aww, Grammie Belinda.” John B cooed. JJ only glared at him.

“Hey, Grammie Belinda was a saint, don’t disrespect her like that.” JJ huffed, pointing a finger towards John B. He then turned to Pope who had made himself comfortable in the seat next to him.

“Why were you asking about Kiara?” Pope asked JJ, snatching a few chips from his plate. JJ swatted his hand away but didn’t stop Pope from doing it again. “Does JJ have a little crush?” He teased, pouting a little.

“Piss off,” JJ laughed as he nudged Pope with his shoulder. “She’s just my chemistry partner.”

“Ooh, so you guys have chemistry together?” John B grinned, wiggling his eyebrows.

“Fuck off, JB. Go back to stalking your little uptown princess.” JJ commented, returning the grin as both friends shook their head. They both knew the other meant no harm.

“Well, if you two little lovebirds are done having your moment,” Pope piped up, both boys looking over at him. “I need you to meet me on your rooftop at nine sharp tonight.”

“Damn, Pope, finally taking me out?”

“You wish, Spider-Boy,” He grinned, but the look he was giving made JJ a little nervous for what Pope had hidden up his sleeve. It could honestly range from a pet raccoon he befriended to creating some weird Frankenstein bug. “Just be there.”

John B pouted. “What about me?! Is this where I become the third-wheel?”

**********

“Mama?”

“In here!”

JJ dropped his bag by the couch as he made his way to the kitchen, the soft sound of the click telling him the door shut behind him. He sniffed the air as he walked in, seeing his mum at the stove and grinned a little, pressing a kiss to her cheek.

“What’s for dinner?” He asked, peeking over her shoulder.

“Spaghetti,” She hummed, a soft smile on her lips as she peeked a glance at her son. “How was school?”

“The usual,” He answered with a shrug as he made his way to the fridge, grabbing a bottle of water before heading towards his usual spot on the counter. “Teachers still don’t appreciate my comments, Pope said smart things I didn’t understand and JB was a love-sick puppy.”

She grinned, shaking her head a little. “I find John B’s attempts to woo that girl quite admirable actually,” She commented. “It wouldn’t kill you to be a hopeless romantic every once in a while.” Yet, she only laughed when she saw JJ’s face scrunch up in disgust.

Despite JJ’s reputation for being an adrenaline junkie who loves to live life on the edge, these were actually his favourite moments. The little moments he shared with his mum, just the two of them. It is one of the few moments in his life where he feels relaxed, no expectations or pressures. And as sappy as it sounded—and no offence to John B and Pope—but JJ wasn’t ashamed to admit that she was one of his best friends, one of the few people in his life he truly cared about. People like her are the reason he enjoys being Spider-Man, because despite the shit people in the world, there were some genuinely good people out there, like Georgia Maybank.

It was hard to believe JJ and Georgia Maybank were related. She was a sweetheart, the type of woman who would take time out of her own life to volunteer at local food shelters despite having just done a twelve-hour shift at the hospital. She is the type of woman to buy flowers and hand them to strangers on the street just to brighten someone’s day. She is the type of woman who would work her ass off to give her son all that she could, despite the struggles she faced with the bills and rent because her son was her life. She was the opposite of JJ’s hyperactive self.

But boy, did they look very similar. From the sandy blonde hair the two of them shared, to the bright blue eyes, to even the exact same smile. JJ really was a carbon copy of his mother. And there was a small part of her, one she would never outwardly admit, that adored the fact JJ looked so much like her. Like a primal mother instinct, she loved her son and she loved that everyone knew he was her son. She would be damned if someone ever asked her to hide that.

Georgia was the type of mother that had that warm aura around her, the one that made you just trust her with your life. The hugs she gives just makes you want to stay in her arms forever, because everything is just better with Georgia Maybank. JJ knew that and he always reminded himself of that. No matter what shit he gets into, no matter how much he may envy the uptown kids—none of them will ever have Georgia Maybank and he would gladly flaunt that.

He may not have designer clothes or a fancy car to drive to school. But they don’t have Georgia Maybank, dancing around barefoot in the kitchen while she badly sings along to some old 80s song that is playing on the radio, just to make him crack a smile.

JJ grinned as his mother grabbed his hand, pulling off the counter before they jokingly began to waltz around the small kitchen, some classical song playing from the small radio that sat on the counter by the stove. JJ only laughed as he apologized for stepping on her toes again, but she didn’t mind. She just smiled and continued to dance.

“Why do I have to do this? I’m starving, woman!” He whined playfully as he twirled his mum around a few times.

“Because, JJ, one day you’re going to have a beautiful girl—or boy, I won’t assume—that will somehow fall for that charm of yours,” She spoke softly, placing a hand on her son’s cheek, a proud glint in her eyes when he rolled his eyes at her statement but still had a small smile on his face. “And I will be damned if I don’t teach my son how to sweep a girl off her feet.”

“Nothing says romantic like stepping on a girl’s toes.” He stated bluntly.

Georgia only laughed and ruffled his hair before she turned back to the stove. She grabbed two plates, putting in a larger portion for JJ—which with his new transformation wouldn’t actually be enough but he will sneak out during the night to eat the leftovers when she’s asleep—before placing them on the small dining table in the corner, gesturing for him to join her.

The rest of the dinner was fairly uneventful, simply just JJ telling her about John B’s updated seven-year plan with Sarah Cameron and Georgia sharing any particularly interesting stories about patients she had to deal with during her shift. JJ really let this dinner sink in. As much as he loved his mother, her inability to say ‘no’ and be so giving kind of bothered him. Because she had taken up extra shifts for a few of her colleagues due to something about the ‘stress of wedding planning’. JJ had been seeing her less and less—and though it was good for his recent Spider-Man shenanigans—this dinner made him realise just how much he missed her. Just a nice, wee dinner with his mum, nothing else. And everything seemed to be going well, until he heard the radio presenter’s voice flowing through the kitchen.

“Locals say that Spider-Man is the next best thing to happen to New York since deep-fried pizza! But I don’t know, Janet. I mean, who is this kid? Where did he come from? There just seems to be a lot of unanswered questions with this so-called hero. Can we really trust some prepubescent boy who probably spends his day with his head in a textbook? It just doesn’t seem—“

The radio presenter was cut off by Georgia turning the volume down. “People can’t appreciate a good gesture anymore.” She huffed. JJ watched her closely as she finished off washing the last of the dishes before turning to face him, a small frown on her lips.

“I think he’s doing the city a favour.” JJ said half-heartedly with a shrug.

Georgia nodded, her fingers gently fiddling with chain around her neck, well more specifically the gold ring attached to it. “I know but,” She sighed. “What a shame, putting all this pressure on a poor teenage boy. Oh, I feel bad for his parents!”

JJ coughed a little. “It could be his decision, you know.”

Georgia continued as though she hadn’t heard him. “I could only imagine how stressful it would be have your son out there, throwing himself at danger.” She shook her head as she made her way to where JJ still sat at the dining table. “Promise me you wouldn’t do something so careless?” She asked sweetly, gently cupping his face in her hands as she looked down at him.

Now, JJ knew there was a teasing tone to her words. She wasn’t being serious because, how could she? Her son being a superhero with crazy powers? Not possible. She and JJ shared everything and it was because of that he couldn’t help but feel a wave of guilt wash over him. He hated lying to his mum, he hated keeping secrets from her. They were always close, JJ never felt the need to hide things from her. There was always such a comfortable vibe between them. But he knew how she would react if he told her the truth. He knew she would freak out and make him stop. And JJ didn’t want to stop. As much as he hated the guilt that bubbled inside him, he pushed it away and gave her a grin.

“Of course not, I would come up with a better name than Spider-Man.” He joked lightly and closed his eyes when he felt his mum press a kiss to his forehead. He nuzzled his head slightly as he wrapped his arms around her, resting his head against her stomach. He smiled softly when he felt her hands running through his hair, just like the way she used to do when he was younger and struggling to fall asleep. He tried to hold back a yawn.

“That’s my baby boy.” She said with a gentle laugh.

“Mama, I’m a not a baby! I’m a man now.” He whined but he didn’t pull away from her grip just yet. He missed his mum’s hugs, sue him.

“You’ll always be my baby boy.” She commented with a small shrug.

“Yeah, yeah,” He murmured. After a few moments of silence, he looked up at her, giving the best puppy-dog eyes he could. She was always a sucker for those. “Can I go hang out with JB and Pope tonight?” He asked with a sweet smile.

She rolled her eyes but nodded. “Just be back before your father gets home.”

**********

JJ rubbed his hands together as he stared at the view from the roof. New York looked absolutely stunning this time of year, especially at night. The sky was pitch black, and it should’ve seemed daunting. But the bright lights of the city illuminated everything. It was mesmerising, a sight that JJ would never get tired of seeing. And with his newly discovered powers, he found something therapeutic about swinging around the city and being surrounded those bright lights. It felt like he was swinging through the stars—he obviously didn’t share that with the boys, they would take the piss out of him. Speaking of which…

“Where the fuck is he?” JJ hissed, turning to look at John B who only shrugged in response. As much as JJ liked New York at night, it was cold. The lower body temperature caused by the spider bite really didn’t help the situation. He had a hoodie and a jacket on and still the light breeze was making his teeth chatter.

“I don’t know.” John B shrugged. JJ rolled his eyes in annoyance. It was 9:15pm and JJ was about five minutes away from freezing to death.

Just then, the rooftop door opened and a wild Pope was sprinting towards then, panting heavily as he ripped his backpack off and quickly unzipped it. Words were leaving his lips but between the panting, neither of them could work out what he was saying.

“Dude, calm down, breathe!” John B exclaimed. Pope nodded and took a minute to catch himself.

“Your lives are gonna change forever!” He grinned before looking at JJ. “Strip.”

JJ raised his eyebrows. “What?”

“Strip.”

“Dude, it’s like fifty fucking degrees, I am not gonna fucking strip!”

“Stop whining and do it!”

JJ huffed and started to take his clothes off, muttering some very…colourful phrases towards Pope. However, he didn’t get much time to question his friend’s demands because the second he was stripped down to his boxers, he had a bunch of fabric thrown at him.

“Wait…is this…?” He trailed off, looking at Pope with a new look of excitement shining in his eyes.

“You bet,” Pope grinned. “Say hello to your brand-new suit, Spider-Man.”

JJ excitedly began to pull the suit on, suddenly forgetting all about his theatrics with the cold. But Pope wasn’t done with his surprise.

“The suit is a total upgrade!” He began, his hands moving wildly as he spoke. “The fabric is strong but flexible. I have added small web-shooters to go over your spinneret glands so you can have a more direct shots. There are a few extra things I’ve added like a small heater to keep you warm and a few sensors, so we can keep track of your vitals. Oh, and for us—” He paused before handing John B a silver bracelet.

John B looked at the bracelet in confusion. “Uh, thanks?”

Pope only grinned and showed John B that he was wearing a similar bracelet. He slipped it off before unclipping a small oval shaped device from the middle of the bracelet. “This is the coolest part,” He nodded for John B to copy his movements. “To be honest, these took the longest. I had JJ’s suit done like two weeks ago but—”

“And you made me wait this long? Dude, I looked like a weirdo running around in joggers!” JJ groaned, but there was no real hostility in his voice.

“Just put on your mask, dude!”

JJ rolled his eyes but didn’t answer as he slipped the mask over his face. He was a bit surprised at how easily he could see through it, way better than the goggles he had before. The suit was a perfect fit—props to Pope after it took an hour to get all of JJ’s measurements. The material was tight and breathable, practically clinging onto JJ like a second skin. Oddly enough, he felt far more comfortable in it than his last costume. Pope clearly liked the colour scheme, having kept the red and blue palette but with a massive spider on his chest, with lines wrapping around him to look like a web. He looked totally badass, he felt badass. He felt like a proper hero from one of those comic books and posters Pope has around his room.

“So, how do I look?” JJ asked, flexing as he gave the boys a little spin. Pope only grinned, proud of his creation. John B gasped, clearly just as hyped as JJ was.

“Dude, your ass looks great.” John B commented, causing JJ to snort.

“When does it not look great?”

“Guys! The last surprise!” Pope piped up, causing both boys to stop staring at JJ’s ass and instead turn to him.

“These little guys,” He said, nodding between the small oval devices in his and John B’s hands. “Are gonna help us keep in contact with you while you’re swinging around. Little ear pieces so we can help you out and keep tabs on you if you need any help.”

“Where’s my bracelet?” JJ frowned beneath the mask.

“You don’t need one, dumbass. Your ear piece is connected into your mask!” Pope grinned proudly. JJ let out a scoff, shaking his head.

“Pope, you fucking genius!” He yelled, and he pulled his friend into a tight hug. John B, feeling a little left out, quickly joined the hug.

“This is so cool, dude, now we are like an actual team!” John B grinned.

Pope was the first to pull back, looking at JJ with a wild look in his eyes. “I think it’s time for Spider-Man to show the city his new look.”

JJ grinned under the mask, already beginning to take a few steps back. “I think you’re right.” And without a second thought, he left himself fall off the edge of the building.

On that October night, New York watched their own hero swing through the streets, letting the cheers and whoops of the strangers sink in. They watched their hero in a new light, a more professional one. The next day, he was no longer that kid running around like some wannabe. He was Spider-Man, the new saviour of New York and a beloved hero.

It was wild what a good new suit could do for your reputation.

**********

“Did you see the pictures The Daily Bugle released?”

“He looked so hot!”

“I’d let him save me any day!”

“You don’t even know what he looks like…”

“So? Have you seen those arms? Nothing else matters!”

JJ couldn’t help but let the smirk on his face grow as he walked through the corridors of the school. It was the day after his new suit reveal and he wasn’t going to lie, he was soaking in all the attention. He was particularly enjoying the twitter thread that was made about his ass. John B didn’t lie, his ass did look good in this new suit.

He continued his way through the sea of students before he made it to his chemistry class, not surprised that people were still talking about Spider-Man. His eyes instantly glanced over at Kiara, who was sitting at their workbench scrolling through her phone.

He grinned as he quickly past the other students and sat quite comfortably in his seat. His eyebrows raised slightly when she didn’t react at first to his appearance. His curiosity got the best of him as he leaned towards her, peeking over her shoulder to see what she was looking at. Now, JJ won’t lie to you, but when he saw her staring at pictures of Spider-Man, his ego definitely inflated a little. Okay, maybe more than a little but you get the point.

“You a fan?” He couldn’t help but ask, trying to keep his smirk to himself.

Kiara quickly snapped her head to look at him, slamming her phone down screen first onto the desk. “Can you mind your business?” She huffed, trying to calm her heartbeat a little. She didn’t even hear him come in, which is odd since usually you could hear JJ from a mile away.

“Aw, c’mon, Kiara! I thought we were besties now.” He grinned to her, wiggling his eyebrows a little. He leaned forward on the desk, bringing him a little closer to her. His forearms were pressed against the desk, his body leaning on them. She noticed how close their hands were. But after yesterday, she refused to left JJ get under her skin again. Or at least let him see how much he is bothering her. So, she stayed where she was, not moving back like he expected.

“You know my name.” It wasn’t a question, more a statement.

“Surprised?” He whispered, smirking a little when he noticed he wasn’t moving away. JJ risked it a little more and moved a bit closer.

“Took you long enough.” She replied with a shrug. JJ’s grin only widened.

“Oh yeah, counting down the days, princess?” He raised an eyebrow. He noticed her lips quirk a little, like she was fighting back a smile.

“You wish, pretty boy.”

“You think I’m pretty?”

“Shut up.”

“I think someone has a little crush, Kiara.” He grinned at her, only to witness her roll her eyes and push him away.

“In your dreams, Maybank.”

“Oh, you’re definitely in my dreams, Kiara.”

She rolled her eyes again but didn’t bother replying this time. She instead focused her gaze on the front of the class as Mr Marino entered the room, beginning the lesson. But if she had glanced over to the blond sitting on his right, she would’ve seen he was smiling throughout the whole lesson.

**********

“Thank you, dear!”

JJ nodded his head a little in acknowledgement and gave the older woman a small salute. “Always here to help, ma’am.” He said, handing her the small handbag that he had just rescued from the hands of some man who had tried to steal it from her.

“Aw, you’re really starting to win over the senior citizens.”

JJ rolled his eyes when he heard Pope’s voice through his earpiece. “Dude, I think she pinched my ass.”

“Lucky you, older woman, that’s hot.”

“JB, shut up.”

JJ snorted a little at the bickering, extending his arm out before he was swinging between the buildings with no trouble. He had been using any free time he had lately to be out in his suit, getting used to all the cool, extra bits that Pope had added. And he won’t lie, the boy really outdid himself. JJ felt like a total badass, being able to swing around and save people and feel like a real hero. He also enjoyed the change in attitude people had with him. He was Spider-Man, the city hero. He was appreciated. He was wanted. Not something JJ felt very often.

“Anything happening around town?” JJ asked, his eyes scanning the streets below, waiting to see any conflict. He couldn’t help but feel as though there was a part of him that was on edge. He couldn’t really explain it, it was like a bad shiver down his spine. It was a similar feeling he felt before that bank robbery fiasco a few weeks ago. It was a nasty wee feeling, one that had him on alert. Something was wrong, he didn’t know what. But he could sense it.

“Nah, everything seems to be fine. Maybe you should take a break, you’ve been swinging around for, like, three hours. You need to rest, dude.”

“What?” JJ muttered, so quiet that the boys on the other side barely heard him. That couldn’t be right, he can feel it. Something isn’t right, something bad is going to happen. “Guys, are you—”

He was cut off by a series of screams.

JJ’s body was reacting way before his brain did, like his hero side just leaped into action at the alert of any distress. He was swinging as fast as he could, his arms burning a little as he got closer and closer to the sound of those screams. He could hear his blood pumping in his ears, could feel his heart rate pick up. The adrenaline coursing through him, making him forget about the burning in his muscles from the three hours of patrolling he had done.

“That’s fucking weird, there is no police reports coming through.”

JJ ignored the voices coming through the earpiece, his whole body feeling rigid as he crouched on top of a building, looking at the carnage below. There, in the middle of the square stood what looked like a moving black cloud. Civilians were screaming and running away, but the black cloud just remained. His eyes narrowed slightly, like he was waiting for it to do something, to lash out. But it didn’t. He opened his mouth, ready to ask Pope if he was just imagining something when he heard the black cloud speak.

“Spider-Man, oh Spider-Man! Come out, come out wherever you are!” It spoke in a raspy, demonic voice. Whatever this way, it wasn’t human. JJ may have failed biology, but he knew that for sure.

“JJ, don’t. We are have no idea what this thing is. It could be a trap—”

“I got this, Pope.” JJ muttered, ignoring his friends’ pleas to think this through as he swung down, landing a couple of feet away from the black cloud. “You called?”

Suddenly, in the middle of the cloud, JJ swore he could see lips begin to materialise. He frowned beneath the mask but didn’t move away. His fist was clenched at the side, ready to react if the cloud tried anything.

“Ah, we finally meet, Spider-Man.” The cloud spoke again. The voice sent shivers down his spine. JJ pushed away that feeling of discomfort. Something about the cloud felt familiar, but he couldn’t tell what. It was like an annoying itch he couldn’t reach.

“Am I supposed to know who you are?” JJ questioned. “Look, dude, if you’re a fan, I appreciate it, but you don’t need to scare away a whole block of people to get my attention. You can just ask for an autograph like everyone else.”

“JJ stop provoking it!”

“You’ll know me soon enough.” The voice replied ambiguously. JJ furrowed his eyebrows together. Whatever this cloud was, it was being far too vague for JJ’s liking.

“PEOPLE OF NEW YORK, I SPEAK OUT TO YOU!”

JJ winced, clutching his ears. His body was on high-alert, his ears sensitive to pick out any small noise or rustle. He looked at the cloud and then at his surroundings, noticing how every screen—every phone, every billboard, every electrical compliance in this vicinity that he could see—was projecting the black cloud. It was broadcasting to the whole city. JJ couldn’t help but wonder where the fuck the hidden camera was. How was it doing this?

“YOU LABEL THIS KID AS YOUR HERO! YOU TRUST THIS CHILD WITH YOUR LIVES! YOU ARE FOOLISH!” The voice boomed, suddenly the black cloud began to form tentacles that were slithering from whatever was at the centre of it. “LET ME SHOW YOU THE TRUTH! LET ME SHOW YOU WHO YOU HAVE TO PROTECT YOU!”

JJ was a little too distracted by the concept of a cloud broadcasting to the city that he didn’t even notice one of the tentacles slithering towards him. It wrapped itself around his leg before swinging him into the nearest building.

JJ let out a small oomph as his body made contact with the brick wall. He could hear yelling in the distance, the sounds of people screaming. But nothing was overpowering the ringing in his ears as he slowly dragged himself to stand up.

“JJ, GET UP! JJ!”

“Jesus fucking Christ,” He muttered, blinking a few times before he turned back to look at the cloud. He felt the hairs on the back of his neck rise and quickly rolled over to the side, the tentacle that threw him smashing into the wall not even a second later. That rush of adrenaline hitting JJ again as he quickly swung out of there, not even looking behind him until he knew he was a good distance away to assess the situation.

“IS THIS WHO YOU WANT PROTECTING YOU? A COWARDLY TEENAGER? C’MON, SPIDER-MAN! LET’S SEE WHAT YOU’VE GOT!”

JJ swore under his breath, trying to catch up with his thoughts as he watched more tentacles appear from the cloud. “Where the fuck are they coming from?” He muttered before swinging down to a lower building rooftop, crouching at the edge. He narrowed his eyes as he extended his hand out, shooting a web towards the centre of the cloud. There had to be something solid within this thing, something he can grip on to, something he can fight. But he was met with nothing. “Fuck.” He frowned before he began to crawl down the side of the building.

“You seem a bit jealous, mate!” JJ called out, watching as all eight of the tentacles seemed to snap their attention towards him. God, that was scary. “Don’t you have to tell me some wild origin story before you kill me?”

“MY AIM ISN’T TO KILL YOU, SPIDER-MAN. NOT YET!”

“Oh, that’s really reassuring, thank you so much.”

“I WANT NEW YORK TO SEE HOW PATHETIC YOU ARE. HOW USELESS THEIR SAVIOUR IS.”

“A bit of an odd wish, if you ask me.” He murmured to himself, quickly snapping his wrist before swinging around the black cloud. He watched as the tentacles reached out for him, just grazing him as he swung between the buildings.

“JJ, FIGHT BACK!”

“How the fuck do I fight something that isn’t solid? Get a vacuum? If you have one big enough, please do share. Call the ghostbusters or something!”

He heard more screams, some closer than he expected. He assumed everyone ran off, but when he turned his head to the side, he noticed a man standing there, frozen in fear. More importantly, he saw a car heading straight towards the scared man.

“Shit, shit, shit,” JJ yelled as he quickly yanked his web, spinning around and landing in front of the man, his hands extended out in front of him. Seconds later he felt the impact of the car, the weight and momentum it came crashing in at hit him strong enough to make him slide back a few feet. “Go, dude!” He yelled at the man, who had finally come to his senses and thanked JJ profusely before sprinting away. JJ groaned and threw the car away from him, huffing slightly.

“HOLY SHIT, JJ! THAT WAS A CAR!”

“Oh, no shit, Sherlock! I thought it was Barbie’s Dreamhouse.” Only JJ would be sarcastic while his life is in threat.

But it was that sarcasm that distracted him long enough for one of the tentacles wrap around his ankle, yanking him down from the small jump he had taken so the web he was currently gripping snapped with ease, preventing him a quick escape like he planned. He didn’t even have time to scream before he noticed the tentacle bringing him closer to the middle of the cloud, his eyes widening slightly.

He wiggled around in the tentacle’s grip, trying to find a way out but it was relentless. He wasn’t sure what was real or not, not sure if he imagined screaming in his head or if he actually did as he was dropped into the centre of the cloud.

Then, he felt nothing.

JJ was vaguely aware of his surroundings. He didn’t know if his eyes were open or not, but it was dark. He tried to move his arm, but it felt constricted, like he was swimming in something really thick. His brain was screaming at him to call out for Pope and John B, to move his hands and swing out of here, to do something. But another part of JJ felt completely content in this situation. He couldn’t explain it, but something washed over him, like a massive electric shock that made him aware of just how…familiar this seemed. It was similar to the feeling he had earlier.

He felt safe, understood.

And then that feeling was gone.

Suddenly, JJ found himself being thrown around in circles, something holding a tight grip on his ankle. But soon enough, that let go too and JJ was soon flying through the air, too out of it to even react fast enough to web onto something or soften his eventual crash.

JJ felt the air be completely knocked out of him, his body bouncing off the concrete a couple of times before he rolled over. It took him a few attempts to finally open his eyes, take in his surroundings, to see he was in some dingy alleyway. He turned his head to the side, briefly seeing a black blob in the distance. He could hear some muffled yelling.

“HEED THIS AS A WARNING, SPIDER-MAN. NEXT TIME WE MEET, IT WILL BE OUR LAST!”

JJ vaguely furrowed his eyebrows together before turning his head to stare at the blue sky above instead. When the ringing and the muffling was over, he could hear the screams of his friends coming through the earpiece.

“JJ! JJ, PLEASE FUCKING ANSWER, DUDE!”

“JJ, ARE YOU DEAD?!”

“WHY WOULD HE FUCKING ANSWER IF HE WAS DEAD!”

“SHUT UP, I’M FLUSTERED!”

JJ frowned a little, his whole throat felt dry and numb. There was also a metallic taste in his mouth that told him he must’ve bitten his tongue at some point. God, he hated the taste of blood. “It…It felt…”

“OH MY GOD, JJ!”

“IT FELT LIKE WHAT BUD? YOU GOOD?”

“It felt just like me.” He finally got out.

Then everything went black.

[thetravellingvagrant]

Day(s) 5/6 - Iquitos-San Rafael- Iquitos again - In Which I Live Out My Genuine Nightmares

This is going to be a very special (and very long) double entry, because a) the following two days were largely spent doing the same thing b) I am so far behind with this blog that cramming two entries into one seems like perhaps the only way I will ever be able to catch up and c) I didn't really sleep enough to properly separate the two days, anyway, so functionally, they really do count as one for me.

I remember being in no more than primary six or seven, when a man came to speak to our class about the Amazon rainforest. I don't remember who he was or why having a guest speaker tell us about the jungle was particularly necessary, but I do remember in vivid detail the things he told me. More specifically, I remember the things he told me about all the things that could - and most likely would - kill, maim or otherwise damage me, should I ever be fool enough go. Poison tree frogs that can kill you with a single touch, spiders as big as dinner plates that'll snatch your toes right off you, jaguars, scorpions, snakes, wasps, venomous ants, millipedes and even trees; the list went on seemingly forever and I distinctly remember, even at that young age thinking, very firmly to myself “fuuuuuck that.” - except probably a bit higher pitched. More recently, I remember being in Budapest zoo (an excursion featured in this very blog) and there being a very big sign at the entrance to their Amazonia exhibit, describing the area as simply “the green hell”, for much the same reasons. Both of these things have stuck with me for more than twenty and more than five years respectively and, to be honest, did combine mentally to rather put me off ever going to such a horrible, godless locale. It seemed almost unreal, almost like a fever dream, then (Not least of all, because I actually was running a fever, still being fucked into a paste as I was, by my jungle flu.), as I loaded my bags into the back of a tiny little tuktuk motor-taxi, to be whisked away to this nightmarish place, which I swore I would never visit, for actuals and reals.

Before that though, I had a tuktuk to ride. These little things are basically the only way to get around Iquitos, other than a truly abysmal bus service, or just owning a bike; cars are essentially a non-entity here, being very difficult to actually transport over from other citites as they are, as Iquitos is entirely inaccessible by road. They're also quite fun – the tuktuk taxis, that is- I have to be honest, however not-in-keeping with the tone of this blog that statement is. Riding one is sort of like being the terrified non-player-character passenger in a Grand Theft Auto taxi driving side-mission, as your driver weaves carelessly through a sea of other motorcabs, paying no heed whatsoever to the rules of the road or the safety of pedestrians, hoping against hope that they don't lose interest in the task at hand and drive you off the edge of a cliff, or into a deserted field at night, to shoot you in the head with an AR-15 and take all your money.

All too soon though, we were ejected from our mental little death-wagon and ushered into a sort of garage, that appeared to be serving as the headquarters of Maniti Expeditions; the company that was due to take us jungle-side.

We took a seat and waited while the other members of our tour filed in. As it turned out, we were rather a small group. We were joined by a family of Pakistani-Americans from New Jersey, a Portuguese man, who I think was called Pedro, who was nice, though verging dangerously on the pretentious, and, of course – because apparently there is a God, but unfortunately he's just a bastard – the Indian couple from the night before. Of course they were there. Of course they were. Also, it turned out they were actually American, so that made my accidental racism one degree worse than it had even been before. Whizzer.

After a brief interlude wherein a man, whom I did not realise had just wandered in off the street, handed me a torch - which I assumed was just an extra they gave you as part of the tour, but after some time and a lot of him refusing to let me hand it back to him, realised he was trying to sell me, for a frankly ludicrous price, resulting in me having to physically force the thing back into his hands while shouting “no gracias” as politely, yet firmly as I could - we were loaded on to a shitty, rickety old bus and sent towards Bellavista Naney port with our new guide. His name was Alfredo.

Alfredo was, as you might expect a jungle tour guide to be, an interesting chap. He was a short, sturdy, sixty-five year old man, sporting a Peruvian national football shirt, a pair of quite small shorts with sailboats printed on them, a camouflage backpack with a Cannibal Corpse patch poorly sewed onto it and one hell of a coke-nail. He told us, also, not long after we had met that he had been doing Ayahuasca, that traditional Peruvian mind-fuck broth for the last fifty years or so of his life. This was our expert. This was the only barrier between ourselves and definitely dying at the hands of a cruel and dangerous jungle. A junkie death-metal-head. Great. (though, to be totally fair to Alfredo, he was only about 20% as fucking weird and unreliable as this description makes him out to be. In reality, he was very knowledgeable, friendly and really, clearly cared a lot about making sure we were all safe and happy. He was both a top lad and a ruddy good bloke)

We were rushed through Bellavista port by Alfredo, stopping only briefly to marvel at the culinary delights the small port had to offer

Like these buckets full of fucking grubs, for some reason. Apparently they taste just like butter

and before we knew it, we were boarding a small, rickety boat bound for jungletown in the least official looking dock I had ever been to.

Pictured: Not a dock

Just as I was going to take my seat, something pale darted across the corner of my eye. I quickly spun to face the movement and there it was, sitting, bold as brass, right next to where I was about to park my – frankly 10/10 – arse was a massive, white spider, about the size of the palm of my hand, staring up at me, human blood dripping from its fangs, hissing threats in some esoteric spider-language. Fortunately, I was too fucked with the flu to have any energy left to make a fool of myself by panicking and so, instead, quietly just moved down the boat, screaming myself hoarse inside. Alfredo, then noticing the spider himself, then scooped the horrible thing into his hands and very softly deposited it off the side of the boat as if it was nothing, thereby tacitly making a total bitch of me for being so scared of it. Thanks Alfredo. Prick. Fortunately, though that seemed to be the only spider that had snuck on board, as I remained unbothered by any of its kin for the duration of our (very long) boat-ride up the Amazon river.

The boat ride was, despite my malady and my intrinsic fear of ever being submerged in the Amazon river, for any amount of time and for any purpose, fairly incredible. The river is bizarrely fascinating to be on, even when nothing of any interest is happening, and once I had gotten over my terrible, terrible fear of the boat capsizing, or a piranha flying out of the water and biting my face, I settled in to really quite enjoying myself. Alfredo's talk about the river, much like the thing itself, remained interesting, even at points when he was pretty much just babbling a load of shit about nothing, and a conversation with the father of the Pakistani-American family (who was every inch the spitting image of a brown Todd, from The Last Man On Earth) revealed that he, too, was something of an absolute delight. Perhaps this wouldn't be so bad, after all.

We eventually pulled in to San Rafael, the little community adjacent to our lodge and, after veeeeery fucking carefully removing myself from the boat, we walked for about ten minutes through very nearly actual proper jungle

Aaaaaah!

seeing some wild tamarins on the way and everything (which are apparently very rare to spot in the wild, so that was neat). By this point though, the heat was almost unbearable and lugging around  my heavy backpack with a swirling vortex of fluey malaise sucking me ever deeper into its terrible maw was really starting to wipe me out. Before long, though, we arrived at the lodge, which was really quite nice, though perhaps a little too similar to the Others' village in Lost, for me to be totally comfortable in.

Delightful, yet sinister, like if Ted Bundy could make balloon animals

I quickly scooted off to dump my bag in our... fairly modest room

Hey, cool, I’m definitely going to die here.

before, with little to no chance for me to rest, being dragged straight back out for a short taster walk, into the actual and for reals jungle.

The walk was definitely an interesting, if very tiring excursion, especially for a gross, snotty flu-man, which I very much was. I think, though that it was largely the novelty of being in a new biome that really did the bulk of holding my attention, as, presumably due to the lovely, but very loud and panicky American family's constant hoots of fear, we didn't see a huge amount in the way of wildlife. Especially not anything that might bite, poison or constrict you. Still, though, it was quietly quite comforting to not be the most scared person there. Grow up, Americans. God.

Around half an hour later and fifteen pounds heavier in mud caked to the bottom of my shoe and trousers, we returned to the lodge for a surprisingly nice lunch of mashed potato and beef. I couldn't really enjoy it, however, as my sinuses were full beyond bursting and the room was spinning horribly around me, as I ate. We were given, mercifully, around an hour to relax before the next part of our tour, which I spent soundly asleep, not even caring that spiders could and probably would be crawling over my exhausted, broken body as I did.

The nap turned out to be a good choice. I awoke feeling slightly more human, albeit by the scantiest margin possible. It wouldn't have mattered if I was literally dying though- I'd still have gone on the next bit of the tour; was I fuck missing a trip to Monkey Island, under any circumstances.

We boarded the boat once more; one tour member lighter - in the form of Pedro who had decided to go off with another, different guide to camp in the jungle for a night, though with the new addition of Karl, another American man and weird lookalike of his namesake Karl Pilkington, arriving late - and were away to Monkey Island. Fuck yes we were away to Monkey Island.

Monkey Island, as its name suggests is a rehabilitation centre for monkeys who were rescued from the black market's pet trade, and that's all brilliant and everything, but jesus christ, it was just a little patch of jungle with all friendly woolly monkeys running around and, jumping through trees and tumbling around and playing and coming up to you to hold your hand or climb onto your shoulders and it was everything I have ever wanted and I don't expect I will feel joy like I did while being there, ever again. Or any sort of joy at all, to be honest.

L O O K A T T H E M 

It was so good that for around the hour and a half we were there, I basically forgot I had the flu. That's how good it was; it was good enough to override my body slowly shutting down through fatigue and illness, like a lemsip for the soul. It was genuinely fantastic; the only thing that marred the experience, even slightly was the American family being a bit too loud and overbearing, pushing to the front of every experience, and so taking all of the monkeys' precious attentions for themselves, for the vast majority of the time. I suppose it can be forgiven of people for being a little over-excited about a god damned island full of monkeys though, so for once, I will bare no grudge against them. But let it me known, if anyone physically comes between me and a monkey, ever again, I will cut a bitch.

Way, way too fucking soon, though, we were pulled away from Monkey Island, in much the way its inhabitants were pulled away from the still-warm corpses of their mothers by poachers (...too dark?) and loaded back onto the boat.

We returned to San Rafael and, by this point, a combination of the heat, the flu and not being allowed to spend literally forever on Monkey Island in a perpetual state of utter bliss had ruined me. I badly needed a nap, again, for fear that if I did not take one, I might actually die, but alas, I was not to be afforded such a simple pleasure. Alfredo informed us, once we were back on land, that we'd be heading out into the jungle again, for an hour long night-walk to look for spiders and shit. I couldn't think of a more terrifying sentence for him to say, to be honest, but I decided that was probably actually quite unlikely that I was actually going to die and it would be quite an experience to miss out on if I just spent the time asleep in the relative comfort of my room, and so, like the solider I am, I nutted up and just did it.

I've genuinely had nightmares about being stuck in the jungle at night. If you'd have asked me a week ago to describe my top most terrifying real-world scenarios I'd never want to be in, that probably would have ranked in the top three. Actually experiencing it, however, really wasn't all that bad. I don't know if my mind and body were just too mangled to process exactly what was happening to me (I do remember spending a lot of the time, almost asleep on my feet, not fully knowing where I was, but being quite convinced that I was in a forest in Scotland), or if the lovely, but loud American family had just spooked all the dangerous animals in a fifty mile radius away with their unforgivably loud hollers and yelps, but I didn't find myself feeling at all anxious, or frightened, or...anything, really. It was just something that was happening to me before I could sleep.

Although in retrospect, it looks fucking terrifying

The walk progressed slowly, with little of interest being spotted, other than a couple of (admittedly pretty sick) stick insects and apparently an opossum (although I didn't see it, myself) and seemed to be winding down without incident. Then, ten minutes or so from camp, Sam's left leg stated burning. Panicking, she told Alfredo what was happening, who traipsed back to her, lifted her trouser-leg and saw, to Sam's horror, but his own light amusement that a not insignificant amount of fire-ants were swarming around her calf. Apparently she had stomped her little stompy feet through their nest and was now paying the price for her murderous hubris. Alfredo swatted the ants away as best he could and we continued walking (or in Sam's case, badly limping) back to the camp.

Once back, we ducked back into our bungalow to make sure neither of us had any more of the nasty little fuckers on us, which thankfully, we did not, and everything was great,forever. The End.

Nah, just kidding; we had an entire fucking colony milling around our socks and lower trousers. We very quickly and with very very little dignity, stripped our khakis off in a bit more of a girlish panic than I'd honestly like to admit, shook the ants free from the trousers, outside and just straight up binned the socks like the unwearable garbage they now were. When we were absolutely sure that we now ant-free (which took so much more time and energy than my body could realistically spare), we headed to dinner; another fairly nice affair full of chicken legs and mashed potato, so I'm told, at least. Genuinely, I don't know, I was so far beyond physically okay that the entire thing really was a bit of a blur for me. I do remember being given a pill by the Indian couple, which they claimed was a combination of painkillers and muscle relaxant and which knocked me out almost as soon as I returned to our room. At least I was too sick to care about spending a night in the jungle- the part of the trip I was most worried about, previously – so uh. Every cloud and all that, I guess. Also, the muscle relaxant didn't even one, as I had worried it might, make me piss the bed. So that's two silver linings, which honestly, is pretty good going, as far as silver linings are concerned.

I was up several times in the night. The jungle is (shockingly) pitch black during the evening and, much like the night before, I found myself awaking with a jolt every two hours or so, to empty my bladder and perform a full and thorough inspection of my bed, using the torch on my phone, to make sure no errant tarantulas had decided to become my erstwhile bedfellows. They hadn't, to be fair, but that doesn't make me hate them any less. Furry, spindly little pricks.

Despite this, I did sleep better than I had the previous night (albeit again, only by the slimmest of margins) and actually found myself, for once, being woken up by my alarm, rather than just being awake several hours before it was due to go off, anyway. Take that, alarm.

Our morning plan was to take the boat out once more, to watch the sun rise over the Amazon and then around to go river-dolphin spotting, which, to be fair, did sound appallingly lovely. The sunrise was mostly obscured by clouds, so wasn't perhaps as impressive as it could have been, though still managed to remain fairly bloody impressive

Neat, I guess.

and what the clouds took away from the gravity of the experience, Alfredo more than added back in by uttering the cryptic, slightly frightening and just very, very metal line of “...His eye opens” as the sun just began to peek over the horizon

BEHOLD!

By the time we had begun dolphin spotting, I had once again grown weary and while I was definitely thoroughly enjoying the experience, and managed, at points, to get incredibly close and take some pretty okayish videos of the ugly, pink little jerks

I have no way of editing videos out here, but if you wait until around the 30 second mark, you should see a big splashy boy

I was definitely not enjoying my nostrils turning into a snot-faucet and my head being slowly crushed into a singularity from the inside, so by the time we packed it all in and returned home, I was super glad to be doing so, despite feeling a little guilty for thinking like this. To be honest though, as amazing as this experience was (and indeed all the experiences the rainforest had to offer thus far – save for fire-ants, which can go fuck themselves), it was hard for me to really, properly enjoy them, as each time I got close to feeling like I was, the realisation that I am a comparatively rich, white tourist who paid for this experience set in, hard, and, in what has to be the most first-world-problemy way possible, did rather make the entire thing seem a bit...plastic. Not the monkeys though; they were legit.

Once home, we took a quick break; not long enough for a recovery nap, but just about long enough to relax in a hammock for a while

So relaxed...

before being ushered out onto the river by Alfredo once more. This time to go and meet some members of a local tribe. I wasn't particularly thrilled about this part of the tour, feeling that it was perhaps a little ...colonial and exploitative; parading us around this relatively primative tribe, oohing and ahhing at their grass skirts and shitty little home-made crafts and rudimentary hunting techniques and all that, but I did pay...quite a lot for this tour and didn't really want miss any part of it; especially a bit so awkward and unwanted that it was almost guaranteed to generate some dynamite blog-content, so I bundled myself back into the boat and headed off to tribesville.

We arrived at the small village and were directed to sit down inside, what I assumed was the main hut. We had been joined by another, different tour-group for what was about to ensue, which I was uncharacteristically thankful for, as it, at the very least, would dilute some of the attention that our group would get. After a brief talk on the tribe from Alfredo, which didn't exactly blow me away with any fascinating insight into their way of life (they're farmers who grow rice and bananas, they hunt for their food and use blowdarts), we then got another small talk in the tribe's native tongue from the chieftain; short, stern and stocky man, wearing a grass skirt and a large ornamental headdress, who was, hilariously, just called Richard, who essentially just went over the same things as Alfredo, but in a language that seemed to only consist of three independent syllables.

The tribe then demonstrated two of their traditional songs, both of which were accompanied by a dance, with which we were invited to join in (an offer which every single member of our group declined)

Not this guy, though. He was fucking loving it.

and both of which, with the best will in the world, were a bit shit. After a gruelling and genuinely awkward few minutes, the music abated and we were led to a different area to try our hand at blow-gunning, which, I'll be honest, I did rather enjoy, despite myself.

P-tew!

with no time to enjoy my definitely 10/10 blowgun prowess, we were directed immediately to the tribe's market stall, in which we were expected to spend our money on various bits of, to be totally honest, absolute garbage, which the tribe had made. Sam had brought very little money with her and I hadn't thought to bring any, at all, so we had a quick look around to see what we could buy with fifteen soles that was something either one of us would actually like and we weren't just buying because it felt awkward not to. It was then that li'l chief Richard approached us, his hand outstretched, rubbing his thumb against his middle and fore-finger – the international symbol for “give me money”

“Para la musica” he told us. For the music.

Great. Now apparently we had to pay for enduring their shit music which wasn't good and which I didn't enjoy listening to. Perfect. We (Sam) handed him five of our soles and he looked disgusted with us. We (Sam) apologised for not giving more and Richard walked away, unspeaking. I don't care if you are in some jungle tribe with all different culture and everything, rudeness is rudeness. Fuck you, Richard. Prick.

Now feeling a little like what little shine the experience had possessed, previously had very much worn out, we continued being made to browse the tribe's wares, until we finally succumbed to pressure and bought ourselves some tat.

Glad I spend money on this sweet little number

With everyone's pockets now entirely emptied and the lines on who was exploiting who blurred beyond all recognition, we loaded ourselves back onto the boat. Also, a little side-note here, but it was at this point that I watched a portly lady who was on the other tour, lean out of the window of her boat to take one final picture of the tribe, though instead managed to let her phone slip out of her hands and straight to the bottom of the river; an act which I singularly enjoyed infinitely more than I had the last hour or so of tribal interaction and having my money guilted off me. They should genuinely employ someone to do that on every tour, because, honestly, I nearly enjoyed it as much as Monkey Island.

Our next stop was one I could be fucked with almost as much as the previous; piranha fishing. I'm not a huge fan of fishing, to be honest, because I don't really like killing things (although, being in the Amazon does generally make you a little kill-happier. There was no way in hell I was going to scoop up each individual fire-ant on a bit of cardboard and pop them outside on the bungalow's windowsill. It was the boot for them), but we were told by Alfredo that the lodge's chefs would cook up what we caught and we could have them for lunch, which did remove some of the grey morality which which I was struggling.

Turns out I needn't have worried about any of that, though, because I was fucking terrible at Piranha fishing and didn't land a single catch. I couldn't get them to stay on the hook, no matter what I tried and more than likely emptied our group's reserves of spare bait, single-handedly in the process, like the saint I am. Sam, however, being a salty Geordie fish woman, was great at it and caught, as she kept boastfully reminding me of, as if ending the lives of innocent little snappy-boys was something to be proud of, no fewer than four fish. Five, actually, but one wasn't a piranha and was therefore too small to bother cooking (it was, however, too badly damaged to go back in the water and so had to be stomped to death, anyway. What a monster she is.)

After a while, even Sam's bloodlust was sated and we unanimously decided to pack in this whole fishing lark and go back for lunch. I got back on board the boat, over the piranha infested waters as carefully as I have ever done anything in my life and we returned to the lodge for what would be the final time.

We were afforded enough time, once back, for me to have another nap, which, at this point were the only things making me feel even vaguely alive or human, in any sense, before being served our last lodge supper. More mashed potatoes, jungle-beans, the piranhas Sam caught and a big chunky fillet of another, different (and anyone with tastebuds would say) better fish called Pacu and which looks like this

...yummy

I am told that this all tasted quite nice, but by this point, the flu had cruelly taken away my senses of both smell and taste, so I had no idea. I could just about make out that it was very salty, though, so that was something. Small victories.

With that, our jungle experience came to a close and after a strangely intimate hug goodbye with Alfredo, we and the Indian couple (who were the only other guests not booked to stay any longer than a single night) were plopped back on our boat and ferried upstream back to Belavista. A trip which I spent nearly the entirety of asleep, which I like to think was because I had grown so comfortable with being in the jungle, at that point, that I could relax fully in it, but more likely was because I had just been crumpled into a ball of misery and fatigue by my flu over the previous three days. Overall though, being in the jungle was a surprisingly good experience and one that I might even consider doing again at some point, should the opportunity arise. A solid 9/10, except for, as I've said, the fire-ants which can go fuck themselves.

Back on terra firma, we were wizzed via tuktuk first back to the company's headquarters, where we finally parted ways with the Indian couple – hopefully actually to never see them again this time, and then to our new AirBnb, in which we would spend out final few days in Iquitos.

Our new AirBnb, as it happens, was actually a collection of luxury riverfront apartments, in which, we had unknowingly booked the nicest room. We were checked in by the receptionist, Diego, who looked the spitting image of a brown Zach Woods and who was incredibly welcoming and helpful to an almost snivelling degree (not entirely unlike every character Zach Woods plays, now I think of it.) Diego explained everything there was to explain about the apartment in frankly laborious detail and, after dropping this info-dump on us and bidding us welcome, asked us point blanc

“what's my name?”

I suppose this was as some kind of test to see if we had retained the information he had just said, rather than a test of politeness, or some weird ego-trip. Regardless, I did not remember what it was. I was hard-humped with flu and generally disregard someone's name the first three times they tell me it, even when it is someone I know I'll actually see again.

“...What's. My. Name?” he repeated.

I laughed and told him I'd just be in the jungle for two days, so I'd forgotten. This seemed to be an acceptable enough answer for him and he immediately flicked back to his friendly, helpful self, creepily seamlessly. The entire interlude was really quite odd, totally out of keeping what the rest of what I'd seen of his personality and I'm almost certain, a preamble to my own murder.

Doing our best to put whatever psychosis we had just witnessed behind us, we settled in to our new digs. This apartment, a penthouse suite overlooking the Naney river, was about as different from living in the jungle as it was possible to get, and let me tell you, the change was one hundred percent welcomed by me.

The view is spectacular

...I mean if you’re into things like that.

The bed was comfy, the fridge loaded with pre-cooled water bottles, the kitchen fully stocked and the entire apartment almost entirely bug-free, due in no small part to its remarkably effective AC system, which really did turn the flat into a little icy paradise of excess, amidst a sea of poverty and sweat.

We couldn't quite settle in fully just yet, though. Sam insisted that we make a quick outing to the supermarket, because apparently she needed shampoo and apparently wasn't willing to go alone, for fear of being “mugged” or “abducted and killed” by a “crime man”, which to be honest, I felt was very selfish of her.

For the final time that day, then, I dragged what was left of my body out through the streets of Iquitos, to the supermarket and back, before finally being able to collapse onto our exceptionally soft airbnb couch, to eat a modest dinner of a single sausage and a couple of minty biscuits, while watching the Peru episode of an Idiot Abroad - because watching someone else suffer through what I just had was really the only thing that had the capability of making me feel any better at that point – and then heading directly to our comfy, comfy bed, which I believe I must have fallen asleep in, before my head had even touched the pillow. I have never been more done.

[yourmajestythequeenn]

Confessions Chapter 4

This is a long one: 2k+ 

Warnings: Swearing, torture 

Pairings: Scorpius x Rose, Albus x OC 

Confessions Masterlist

Em’s Masterlist

Chapter 4 ~ There’s Always a Cost

"Rose," Al reads off the slip of paper, grinning deviously.

Fucking Hell…

Anger pulses through my veins.

"Liar," I snarl at him, rising out of my seat. I stalk towards him, snatching the bit of paper from his rough hands, I read in neat letters Rose Weasley.

Shit, I was hoping he was just trying to piss me off.

"Well," I snap crisply. "I’m not going."

I feel a strange tingling sensation creep down my spine. I expect the feeling to pass, but it doesn’t. Weird…

"You have to," Al calmly states, as if he thinks he can control me.

Then suddenly, the sensation spreads down my arms and legs, I can feel it in my fingertips and my toes. With every breath…every heartbeat, the tingling grows stronger, becoming more intense, slowly changing from mere tingling to extreme discomfort.

This must be a leftover sensation from the extreme torture Al put me through at practice today.

"I absolutely do not!" I feebly sit on the couch next to Dominique, but instead of feeling better I feel worse.

Something strange going on…something magical?

"Yes, you do," he insists, his eyebrow slightly raised as if he expects something to happen.

The discomfort pulses through my arms, legs, and torso. A knot grows in my stomach getting bigger, like a puddle of water slowly flooding my body with its presence.

"NO!" I stand, my anger overcoming my weakness. "I most certainly do not! I don’t want a part in your insane plan Al!" The discomfort morphs into pain, rapidly taking over my body. I draw in a long shaky breath.

"Rose…are you okay?" Dom has sensed something's off. She places her hand on my shoulder.

The realization hits me like a ton of spell books. His devious smile and raised eyebrows…Al’s behind it…whatever ‘it’ is.

"Al…" I manage to squeak out. I double over, crumpling to my knees, my arms cradle my stomach my head wedged between my knees.

"What the hell did you do Potter?!" Dom screams, most likely at Al. I shut my eyes trying to block out the world. The pain. Everything.

The pain is extreme, taking over my entire body. My lungs burn with every ragged breath I take, my muscles shake as though every one of them has been stuck into an electrical socket.

"Albus Severus Potter!" screams Dom.

"I…uhhh…sorry?" Al stutters out "I didn’t mean…it wasn’t supposed to-"

"Well whatever you did fix it!"

"I can’t."

"Al what have you done?" A new feminine voice comes in, whom I can only assume is Roxy.

"ROSE!" Assuming he’s finally grasped the seriousness of his idiocy, he grabs me, pulling me close to his warm, strong body. "Rosie, you must go along with my plan. Then it will go away, all the pain, gone. You must believe that you will go." He speaks forcefully, his breath warm on my ear.

Through the blinding pain my brain only processes the words, "go along with my plan," and "pain gone."

I will do anything to make the crippling pain stop.

I want to go to the Slytherin practice…Wow did I just think that?

I want…I want to win…

And to win I have to go…

I force my tense muscles to relax, the pain slipping further away with every thought.

"Rosie…please…" Al’s voice echoes through my scrambled thoughts.

Wanting the pain to go away is one thing; wanting to go to a Slytherin practice is on the opposite side of the universe kind of thing.

But I tried…

I really really did…

As if a giant black hole opened up in my chest, the crippling sensation slowly pulled back from my limbs and my head, leaving my limbs numb and my heart racing, I relax into Al’s arms.

"Al…" Dom’s voice interrupts the silence. "Is it the goblet…the goblet?"

I couldn't hear him answer.

"Albus! How could you be so fucking stupid! She could have died!" Dom’s panicked voice shrieks. "What were you bloody thinking you fucking prick?"

"Do-" Al’s voice is interrupted by more of Dom’s ranting.

"You are the most insensitive arse I have ever met!"

My body feels raw and exhausted. I’m positioned on Al’s lap. My eyes are still squeezed shut…each breath wracking my burning lungs.

"Did you have any idea-" Dom's voice is now interrupted by Al's anger filled one.

"No! I had no idea! You know the story just as much as I do… it must have been the wrong one. Why would you think I would do something like that? She’s my best friend!"

At this point my brain has started to function somewhat normally, but I have no idea what my cousins are talking about. My eyes flutter open…

At my stirring the room once again goes silent.

"Rosie?" Al asks tentatively.

"Yeah… " I croak out of my raw throat.

It seems as if everyone in the room has let out a sigh of relief.

"Rosie," Dom drops to her knees, embracing me as if she hasn’t seen me in years.

As I struggle to sit up, shapes and colors blur together. My stomach churns and my ears feel as though they were filled with cotton balls.

This simple movement is too much for me. I drop my head back in Al’s lap. Darkness encroaches on my vision. Once again, I’m pulled out of the real world, this time into a sea of darkness.

Blurred images swim before my vision as my eyes adjust to the weak morning light. Above me the crest of Gryffndor hangs, the magically animated lion silently roars, shaking his mane and batting the air.

Slowly I turn onto my stomach, immediately realizing that this isn’t my bed. The sheets have golden snitches zipping around the bedclothes at…where the hell am I?

"So, the dead finally awakens." I recognize Al’s voice immediately.

"Where am I?" I groggily question, rubbing my eyes.

"My bed."

"What!" I push myself up, looking at my surroundings…dirty clothes everywhere, unmade beds, and posters of Quidditch teams and half naked witches cover the walls. This is definitely not my dorm.

"Yeah, after you passed out we brought you to the Hospital Wing, we all had to tell McGonagall and Poppy what happened." my eyes grew wide with the fear of everyone knowing about the embarrassing torture I had endured. "Poppy gave you a potion and there was nothing else we could do so I took you up here." He grins at my uncomfortable situation.

"Why did I- ohh…" My last conscious memories flood my brain. Al’s to blame for everything.

"Bastard," I snarl at him, flipping back the covers.

"Rose I-"

"Shut up! Everything that’s happened is your fault!"

"Rose I’m so-"

"Don’t you sorry me, you two-faced nob-headed wanger! I can’t bloody believe you, do you have any bloody idea what I went through? You fucking tosspot! Your mum will hear about this! Mark my words, Albus Potter!” I scream at him, tossing back the covers, kneeling on the bed to get eye to eye with him.

His face is fills with fear at the mention of his mother, but it is all too quickly replaced by anger.

"Rose you have no right, no right, to bring my mother into this!"

"Oh really, I almost died! You are so fucking irresponsible!”

“It was a fucking accident Rose!”

"You git!"

"Nonce!"

"Fucking tosser!"

"Bloody wench!"

"Wanger!"

"Slag!"

"Prick!"

"Minger!"

"Arsehole!"

"What in Merlin’s pants is going on in here?" Shouts a voice from the door.

I look up and see Arthur Birchgrove in all his perfect glory staring over his half-moon glasses.

"Piss off Arthur!" I hiss.

"I was only down in the common room reading this book called The Controdictory-"

"No one cares Birchgrove." Al speaks up.

"Well the Gryffindor handbook states that there shall be no females in the male dormitories," I step forward, but Arthur holds up his hand. "And there shall be no profanities spoken about or to anyone in this house," his gaze is locked on me, as I sit on Al’s rumpled bedclothes.

"Arthur…" Al mumbles obviously annoyed.

"This is your last warning, if I catch you here again. You will be reported," he raises a bushy eyebrow and disappears.

I start to turn back to Al, but another figure fills the doorway. I whip back around to see James, his slim frame leaning against the door.

"Can I help you?" I huff.

"Just heard some yelling and thought I would investigate," he smirks the trademark Potter smirk, "Turns out its just you two, what’s wrong, Red?" he rolls my stupid nickname over his tongue, drawing out the e sound.

"Why don’t you ask your brother," I gesture to Al. James snickers, pushing his wavy black hair out of his eyes.

"James Sirius Potter! What is so funny?" I demand, my lips pressed together menacingly.

"Nothing…Hermione," he drops his eyes to avoid my gaze…well more like death glare. James thinks when I get angry I start to act like my mother, but I am nothing like my mother. Even though we’re blood related, I take after my Weasley side not the nerdy Granger one.

"First off, I think Al owes me an explanation on why I almost died last night." I turn from one brother to the other, crossing my arms over my chest and waiting for an answer.

"Yes…I do," Al says slowly as if he’s making sure to choose his words wisely.

"So, get on with it," I snap impatiently.

"That goblet I picked names from last night is no ordinary goblet…" I wait patiently sitting cross legged on his bed, forcing my face to remain as emotionless as possible. As his tale ends, I am bursting with fury, I cannot even look at that dumbarse anymore. I spring off Al’s bed, and rush out of the room, nearly knocking James to the ground in the process.

I walk into my dorm fuming with anger,

My dorm mates look up from their various morning rituals in worry.

Our dorm consists of; Dom, Juliet Woods -whose brother is our chaser, and who Al set on fire last year by accident- Lucy Weasley, Lavinia Scamander -she’s the Scamander twins’ sister- then there’s Roxy…she is a seventh year, but the girls in her dorm are hags so she unofficially bunks with us. But at the moment Roxy is MIA…probably off snogging some bloke.

"Where were you last night Rosie?" pipes Juliet, she is a ball of energy that never runs out, ever.

"Oh she wa-" starts Dom, looking up from blowing her freshly painted nails dry.

"I fell asleep in the common room, then Al took me up to his room" I interrupt Dom, not wanting the whole school to know that I was tortured by a magic goblet that Godric Gryffindor created. I give Dom my 'shut up now' face; she returns her 'okay, okay sorry' expression.

"You slept in Al’s BED," Lavinia squeals excitedly, thankfully too preoccupied to notice my and Dom’s silent conversing.

"Uhh…yeah," I force my voice to be even, "I really didn’t have a choice."

I sift through my trunk pulling on the first t-shirt and sweatpants I find. Hey, it’s a Saturday.

"He is soooooo cute," Lavinia comments spritzing her face with rose water.

"Al Potter" sighs Juliet dreamily, she’s had a terrible crush on Al since first year. But for appearances she acts as if she cannot stand him, I really don’t understand women in love.

"Ewww," cringes Lucy. "You do realize we’re related to him." She plops down on her bed with a pile of books in her hands. I am not sure how she got into Gryffindor with her enormous brains.

"So, what exactly are we doing today?" I question my friends. It was a weekend after all, no classes.

"I have to do a spa day," Dom says, she begins spackling her face with a thick orange mask and her feet are already soaking in her bewitched foot spa.

"Research," mumbles Lucy under her mountain of books.

"I’m not really sure, probably going down to breakfast then to the library," says Juliet shrugging her shoulders.

"What for? Looks like Lucy already cleaned it out," Dom giggles from under her paste face.

I hear Lucy grunt in retaliation from her bed.

"Lorcan and Lysander are forcing me to go bloody Nargal hunting with them," groans Lavinia miserably. As much as she loves her brothers, they defiantly inherited their mother’s quirks.

I have four choices:

Spa day with Dom, not on your life. I’d probably end up looking like a deranged poodle.

Nargal hunting… this shouldn’t even be on my sane list of options.

Homework…not on a weekend, no thank you.

Leaving breakfast with Juliet.

"I’ll go with you down to breakfast Jules," I confirm, she squeals with excitement and rushes out the door ahead of me, bounding down the stars two at a time,

I had just piled my plate with food, grinning at the feast that awaits me. I pick up my fork, about to dig in when I feel a tap on my shoulder.

Who dared to interrupt my breakfast?

Albus Potter, that’s who.

"What?" I snap at him, impatient to get back to my highly anticipated meal.

"You are coming with me!" Al says a bit too brightly.

"Not on your life Potter" I hiss angrily.

Al looks around to make sure no one is in earshot, then leans close to my ear. "You really have no choice. Unless you want to relive last night, we need to plan for the plan."

"But I’m starving, I’m mad at you, and its Saturday, Slytherin practice isn’t utill Monday," I point out.

"Too bad, we need to get started." Al grabs my hand, pulling me off the bench, leaving my breakfast and Juliet behind.

Sorry about the length, I didn’t want to break it up. 

Thank you again for reading. Please let me know if you like how the series is progressing, a note, comment, or reblog. 

Cannot wait to post the next chapter, 

Em

[kkruml]

GAOL//LOVE

Based on PROMPT #1 from @thelallybrochlibrary: Jamie and Claire meet at a PRIDE parade/event. Romance ensues.

This story is a first for me in a few ways- my first attempt at writing a relationship other than Jamie and Claire (they’re in here- trust me), my first attempt at writing characters I’m not SUPER familiar with, and my first attempt to write those two characters together who are no where near each other in canon. 

BUT that hasn’t stopped me before so I am jumping in with both feet and seeing where this goes. 

I’m nervous to post this story- because I don’t want to fuck it up. Representation matters and I want to get this right. ❤

@smoakingwaffles thank you for letting me send you ANOTHER fic to BETA.

@futurelounging thank you for putting up with my questions with the photo editing for this banner. And my favorite part of this chapter was your little plot bunny. All the credit to you, I hope I didn’t fail you with it.

Claire

“What’s the bloke’s name again?” Claire asked as she picked up her camera, checking the memory card and battery.

“Willie.” Geillis’s voice was somewhat muffled as she tried on the last in a string of colorful shirts. “Willie Fraser. Only met him once or twice but he’s a bonny lad.”

“How will I find him? The place will be mayhem.”

“I’ll take ye to him, but only if ye help me settle on the right top.”

She smiled and laughed, seeing her most recent choice- LET ME BE PERFECTLY QUEER written across the chest.

The streets were lined with rainbow flags, confetti, and smiling faces. Music pulsed through the air and an infectious energy filled her as she followed Geillis through the crowd.

Throngs of excited faces lined the pavement of Edinburgh. Rainbow kilts, little kids with colorful balloons, and signs with declarations of love filled the streets. Countless floats were lined up, facing the destination around the corner-a large stage constructed at the end of the parade route.

Flashes of color filled her vision as they darted between the pockets of people. Claire squeezed Geillis’s hand to slow her pace as the crowd started to fill the alleyways.

Geillis pointed to the square, eyeing the crowd as she stopped. “He said to meet here at the fountain at one o’clock. He’s a tall bloke- bright red hair, blue eyes. Heart-shatteringly gorgeous. Canna miss him.” Claire’s cheeks blushed at this and Geillis giggled, elbowing her in the ribs and giving a wink. “Dinna fash lass… ye ken yer no’ his type. He’ll give the signal when it’s time.”

How had she been roped into this?

She hadn’t picked up her camera in months. Medical school hadn’t afforded her any free time, but Geillis had begged her to fill in after the hired photographer backed out at the last minute. Like healing, she hoped that when the time came, her hands would remember what to do. She was determined to capture as much as she could- she just wished she wasn’t so out of practice.

She checked her camera settings as she waited, a nervous habit- always wanting to be ready for the unscripted look, feeling, or reaction that would capture the moment. Looking up from her lens to gauge the direction of the sun, her eyes caught the sight of a mess of auburn curls above the crowd. A sharp jawline framed a strikingly beautiful face. Blue eyes scanned the mass of people- relaxed, happy. Without thinking, she pulled the camera to her eye, focused and snapped three photos, all fixated on the mop of red.

Jesus H.  Roosevelt Christ.

Please say that’s not Willie.

Jamie

Almost one o’clock.

“Come on ye lazy dolts, yer gonna miss the parade.” He looked back, seeing their hands linked and matching flags- one wrapped around Willie’s shoulders, the other was small and hanging loose from John’s back pocket.

His brother Willie had always been loud and proud. John on the other hand… he was subtle, unsure.  Opposites in every sense of the word. But they loved each other- they had from the moment they met three years ago.

This parade. This place, this energy, this acceptance of both life and love. This is where it all started. Jamie had witnessed that exact moment, and it was as sure as the sunrise in the morning that they would end up here. On this sunny day, with love and affirmation filling the air, his older brother would finally have what he longed for most- with him.

Today was going to be a good day.

Hopefully.

He turned back again, this time seeing them entangled in an embrace- arms locked around each other and hands intertwined in each other’s hair and clothing. Willie was whispering something, the tips of his ears a deep red as his lips curled into a smile against John’s cheek.  Jamie shook his head as he laughed and whistled to get their attention, “Come on ye two leannan, or we’ll miss the parade,” as he led them towards the fountain in the main square.

Out of the corner of his eye, Jamie caught a flash of curly brown hair, Ray Ban sunglasses, and a camera. His eyes followed her as she looked around, neck craned in search of something.

Please say that’s the photographer.  

Jamie looked to see Willie’s eyes sparkling with excitement, and he attempted a wink at his younger brother. Seeing the failed gesture, Jamie laughed in response- a wide smile splashed across his face.

“John, I’m gonna go grab a snow cone, want me to grab ye one, too?”

“Oh sure, thanks love.” John smiled, watching as Willie dipped through the crowd; a bounce in his step made him laugh. He tilted his head and smiled, “Sometimes I wonder about that brother of yours.”

“Oh aye- every damn day- and twice on Sunday,” Jamie chuckled as he elbowed John’s ribs. “So are ye two still goin’ on that trip up the coast this fall? Sounds like a bonny holiday.”

“That’s the plan. Willie’s been pretty busy with work these last few weeks, can’t seem to get a straight answer out of him lately.”

Jamie hummed in response, a small smile pulling at his lip that he shook off with a cough. “Tryin’ to peg him down is like herdin’ drunken sheep.”

John had become like another brother to Jamie. He’d watched as Willie’s edges had been slowly softened by John’s quiet presence, but his joy and exuberance had not been dampened- rather it took on a spectacular glow that emanated from his smile to his fingertips.

But the past three years had also showed Jamie just how much he was missing in his own life. A quintessential little brother jealousy crept in as he watched John wait for Willie. The look of anticipation and eagerness on John’s face pinged at his own heart. Willie had John; he needed his someone now, too.

But today was about Willie and John.

The music blasted over the loud speaker, signaling the start of the parade.

John scanned the crowd, looking around with a hint of anxiety creeping into his voice, “Do you see Willie?”

Jamie felt the excitement rise in his chest, and he let his smile show as he said, “Not yet.”

The line of floats slowly passed, and John’s head swiveled around again, eyes darting. The sound of Willie’s voice over the loudspeaker stopped him cold.

“Hello Edinburgh!” Willie’s voice was electric as it echoed through the crowd as the cheers quieted.

John turned to see Willie on the platform of a float, on bended knee.

Willie’s blue eyes glistened in the sun as his eyes locked on John’s face. “I hope you’ll indulge me for just a moment… because I needta say somethin’.”

Jamie put his arm around John and gently pushed him forward. John’s eyes were wide like a deer caught in headlights.

Out of the corner of his eye, Jamie caught the sound of the camera shutter and smiled- it was the photographer. He held his hand out to her, signaling to follow John. With one eye focused through the lens, she nodded- smiling back at him between shutter clicks.

“John Grey,” his voice was starting to shake as he spoke into the microphone, “When I was a bairn, I asked my Da ‘how do ye know when ye find ‘the one’- and he said, “When the time came, I’d have no doubt.’ An’ he was right.”

Murmurs and soft ‘ahhhs’ rippled through the crowd as John stood holding Willie’s hand, tears brimming over as their eyes stayed locked on each other.  

“We met here three years ago. This day. This place. It brought me you.” Willie’s voice was low, husky as he cleared his throat, it was thick with emotion as he took in John’s face. “Ye’ve given me more love, compassion, and happiness than I ever thought to hope for... Ye also give me a healthy dose of cheeky British wit when I need it most.”

John’s face broke from tears to laughter as he raised his hand to his mouth, covering it. From where Jamie stood, he could tell it was shaking and he let out a whistle of encouragement.

Willie’s voice turned serious as he took a deep breath, letting the crowd die down again. “I promise ye a lifetime of adventure, of love, of us. Will ye marry me?”

John nodded his head and through the microphone the crowd heard his answer, a half sob followed by “Yes!” and with that, Willie leapt to his feet. His arms encompassed John, one arm around his waist and the other at the base of his neck, holding his face to his as they kissed. The crowd erupted into cheers and applause as a flurry of confetti, streamers, and music filled the air around them. The float resumed its movement, and Jamie was close enough to them to hear them as they passed.

Holding Willie close, John laughed as he said, “I’m gonna kill you.”

With another failed wink Willie nuzzled his nose to John’s as he said, “Marry me first.”

As the procession continued, Jamie turned to see the photographer at his side, snapping one last photo. Looking back to his brother, he saw their silhouettes, arms wrapped around each other against the backdrop of a rainbow of color and confetti. That’s the perfect shot.

His eyes wandered back to the bird’s nest of curls behind the lens, and he smiled.

Today was definitely a good day.

[brownskinsugarplum76]

Friends at the Bar, Part 1

This story is going to have 2 or 3 parts. This part is PG-13-ish, but we’ll get to the full-fledged smut before it’s over. 😁 Thanks @callmethehunter for the sanity check on this one. 👍🏽❤️

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Are you kidding me???” Karen demanded, walking back to the table from the bathroom, watching her boyfriend, Marc, in a very passionate kiss with a very interested redhead. “What the fuck?” she shouted, tossing her clutch on the table and clenching her hands at her sides.

Marc stopped and turned his gaze toward his irate girlfriend. The redhead smiled, stood from her position on Marc’s lap, and leaned over slowly for one last kiss. Then she turned and walked to the bar without a look in Karen’s direction or a word to her or Marc, although she was speaking volumes with her sway in her leather mini skirt, shrunken, distressed band T-shirt and spike-heeled boots.

Marc heard every unspoken word and, with his gaze on her retreating figure, stood up. “I’m done here, with us,” he muttered, barely looking at Karen before he lifted his guitar case from against the wall and headed to the redhead at the bar with his quick, long-legged gait.

Karen stood, trembling and glaring at his retreating figure, her mouth agape. She was glad that she hadn’t had any of her drink before she went to the bathroom, and she quickly gulped her Jack and Coke to steady herself.

She slammed the empty glass on the table and fought the urge to throw it at a wall, or Marc, or the redhead. Marc had seemed distant before she went in the bathroom, and pretty much all day that day, but she had no idea this was coming. Wow. Very unexpected. I’m so glad I kept my own place…

While she was taking a moment to calm down and work up the courage to approach the bar for another drink, one was placed on her table by a tall stranger who was actually quite familiar.

His presence made the previous ugly moment with Marc a little less ugly. “Thanks.” She quickly drained the glass, another Jack and Coke, while the man watched her with concern.

“Do you come here often?” she asked, truly bemused by his company.

“Only when there’s a damsel in distress, or disgust,” he quipped, looking over in Marc’s  direction and seeing him attached to the redhead by the lips again. “I’m Robert,” the stranger offered with a wink, scanning her curvaceous body.

“I see that,” she said, with an uncontrollable grin in bloom on her face. “I’m Karen.”

She swept her bangs out of her eyes and took in the sight of his leather jacket and tight black Swan Song Records T-shirt, and then she considered his chiseled face and wild head of curls, which she had seen in the magazines and her fantasies. Tonight his jeans hugged his sculpted legs, but not in the manner of the second-skin variety that he preferred onstage. He was also less towering than on those nights, thanks to the Converse high tops on his feet.

This is the kind of distraction I need right now. But why is he inserting himself into my messy situation? With liquid courage inside of her, she motioned for him to sit down and he obliged, dragging a wooden chair across the sticky floor to sit beside her.

“What are you doing in this rat hole? And why on earth would you want to talk to me right now?” Karen asked, nodding her head toward the bar, feeling embarrassed by her earlier outburst.

“Jimmy and I decided to come down from Mount Olympus to hear what the kids are doing these days,” he said with a serious voice that gave way to a hearty laugh and the most disarming smile that Karen had ever seen.

Jimmy is here, too? I guess the surprises aren’t over yet.

“We saw The Damned recently and wanted to check out some other acts. I’m glad we’re here. You look like you could use a friend. With drinks.“

“I didn’t see that coming from Marc. I don’t understand, but whatever.” She was sullen but determined to set the feelings aside and enjoy her present company. And then I’ll give Marc a piece of my mind.

Robert placed a hand on top of one of hers. “Let me help you take your mind off of that, Karen. Come sit with Jimmy and me. I’ll keep the drinks coming, and one way or another, I’ll make your evening much better.”

There’s that dangerous smile again. With an invitation… She tried to ignore the warm current of excitement that was spreading through her body from Robert’s slightest touch while she was processing what had happened with Marc.

She continued to keep her cool as they stood and walked through the crowd in the dimly lit building to the table where Jimmy sat.

“Robert to the rescue, eh?” Jimmy imparted in greeting, while Robert headed off to the bar. Jimmy’s glossy, tousled dark hair and a pair of sunglasses obscured much of his expressionless face, but with the amount of time he wordlessly faced Karen, she could tell he was making an appraisal of her in her tight black and white striped minidress, leather choker and ankle boots, and the way her blood red lipstick popped against her pecan-colored skin.

“He was right to talk to you, though. We watched that guy… Your boyfriend?”

“Former boyfriend now,” she corrected him.

“We saw what he did and how you reacted. I’m sorry that happened to you, Miss…?”

“Karen. And thank you. This concern means a lot from the two of you. So, you guys are into punk now?” she asked, changing the subject and trying to suppress her surprise at how thin Jimmy looked in his all-black outfit of T-shirt and jeans.

“I’m enjoying the fashion show that you ladies are putting on,” he said, grinning broadly, “but I do also think the energy of the music is great. We’re thinking there’s something we could do with this sound.”

“We’ll give it a go somehow, don’t you worry,” said Robert, who returned victorious with a whiskey bottle and three shot glasses.

The music discussion would have to be tabled. “Right. I’ll be back, mate.” Jimmy stood, facing a blonde who was sitting alone. It was clear that he had been eyeing her for some time. “It was a pleasure to meet you, Karen. I’m sure our dear Robert will be good, therapeutic company for you tonight.” Jimmy winked and headed to the other table.

“More whiskey and wit for us to share, then! So, what lured you into this London rat hole, as you call it?” Robert asked as he sat down next to Karen.

“Marc is in a band that’s playing here tonight. I came to support him. But his band is awful! Shit, it feels good to be able to tell the truth about that now! Maybe he’s into that girl because she thinks he knows what he’s doing on a guitar.” She laughed uncontrollably at the thought.

“Maybe this is a blessing in disguise. I don’t have to tread lightly around his ego anymore. I could get used to that!”

“And with that, we have something to drink to,” said Robert, pouring shots for the two of them. “Chin chin,” he pronounced, clinking the tiny glass against Karen’s and setting her soul ablaze with an intense, lingering stare.

They drank in one gulp. He slowly licked the last bit of the whiskey from his lips. She felt flushed, and not only from the drinks she’d had.

“You’re not from around these parts, yeah? American?”

“I am. I came here for college and stuck around after that. But I’ve been wandering around without really getting anything exciting going for myself, and then I got caught up with Marc for the past several months…”

“Well, the world is yours at this moment, darlin’. Take your time in making your next move,” he said, placing a hand on top of hers again. “As for me, I’m here all night, and I’m intrigued to see how bad this bloke really is.”

“He should be going on any minute now. Brace yourself.” Karen poured another round for the two of them. Let’s make this as entertaining as possible.

They drained the glasses again. Karen noticed that Marc had disappeared from the bar area. The redhead was perched on a stool facing the stage with a professional camera in her hands. She is serious about being in his circle, isn’t she? Karen poured herself another drink.

Marc emerged and yelled “Good evening!” as he and his three band mates took their places on the tiny stage. He ran a nervous hand through his shaggy brown mop of hair, while his new companion cheered loudly and started taking pictures.

The crowd responded with screams of praise. The drummer counted in the first song, and the music and Marc’s singing began. Just as Karen predicted, the band was short on talent.

The crowd agreed, as their earlier cheers turned to boos and beer bottles and cans being launched at the stage.

For a split second, the band seemed to contemplate whether they would keep playing or leave. They chose to finish out the song and storm off the stage.

The redhead placed her camera in its bag and began to walk away, but not before noting the presence of Robert and Jimmy, lost in separate conversations. She made a beeline for the table where Robert and Karen sat, but thought better of any interaction when she saw Karen’s murderous glare. The redhead slung her camera bag over her shoulder and made her way to the exit.

She’s left without him. Talk about adding insult to injury for Marc! Karen beamed inside, taking a celebratory drink.

“Bloody hell, you were right,” said Robert with a smirk and a chuckle.

“That’s part of the reason why I didn’t move in with him. I refused to have to hear that noise any hour of the day or night. That, and I’ve grown used to my independence.” Or, maybe part of me knew all along that Marc wasn’t Mr. Right… “I guess I’ll be even more independent now…”

She looked at Robert and found notes of lust and mischief, nevertheless still tempered with concern, on his face and in the depths of his overcast cerulean eyes.

Yes, the perfect distraction. She kissed him urgently and received an enthusiastic response, complete with his large hands cupping her face and locking her into their oral embrace. This, and several ounces of whiskey, emboldened her to place a hand on one of his thick thighs and walk her fingers upward.

Robert purred with anticipation. “You seem to be a strong woman, love. I think you’ll move on just fine.”

“I think you’re right,” she murmured, closing in on the final destination for her fingers, his fertile bulge.

"I’d love to help you celebrate your new independence, my dear,” he said in a hushed tone, leaning in for another kiss.

Marc and his band came into view, walking quickly toward the exit. Marc caught sight of Karen and Robert and stopped at their table while his band mates left. “Made a new friend, have you?” he asked Karen, sitting his guitar down and taking in the vibe that was percolating in front of him.

“That’s no longer any concern of yours, remember?” Karen stood and tried to steady herself through her anger at Marc, her burgeoning need for Robert, and her  intensifying intoxication.

“I just didn’t think I’d find you with this dinosaur, is all.” He folded his arms across his chest, displaying his biceps and the ragged edges of his improvised sleeveless t-shirt.

Robert stood and coolly assessed the growing conflict but didn’t say a word, letting the insult die in the air. He was confident that Karen was more than prepared to fend for herself.

Karen inhaled sharply. “I don’t need to explain anything to you anymore. You know, you did me a favor tonight. You made me realize that I’m tired of hearing your music, I’m tired of pretending you have a shot at success with your band, and I’m tired of putting my dreams on hold for yours. Honestly, I think I’m just as done with us as you are.”

“Whatever you want,” Marc scoffed, glaring at Robert, grabbing his guitar, and walking away.

Robert watched Marc’s retreating figure and made a mock cross-eyed angry face. Karen collapsed against Robert in a fit of laughter.

“Thank you for lifting my spirits, Mr. Plant. You are just what I needed tonight.” She stood a bit taller to kiss him but wobbled on her feet.

Robert prevented a fall by circling an arm around her waist. “Hmm, you’re a little worse for wear than I realized… I’m glad I could help, love, but I think it’s time for you to go home. Where do you live?”

“A few blocks away.”

“How do you feel about walking?”

“Let’s find out,” she said, grabbing her clutch and starting toward the door.

Robert followed but quickly grabbed her hand when she nearly crashed into some people en route to the exit. “I think you’ve earned yourself a one-way ticket to your apartment,” he said, hailing a cab when they were outside.

Karen gave her address as Robert sat down beside her in the cab.

“I think it’s really good to be single right now, and to have you at my place,” she said a little too loudly, climbing into Robert’s lap and grabbing his face for a forceful kiss that was more sloppy than she intended.

“I like where you’re going with this,” he said, breaking away, dropping his voice to a murmur and caressing her hair, “but you’re too in your cups at the moment, darlin’. Give me your number. I’ll take you to your door tonight. I’m in the city for a few days and will call and check on you tomorrow.”

She pouted, produced a stick of gum and a pen from her clutch, popped the gum in her mouth, and wrote her number inside the wrapper. “Here,” she said, thrusting the paper at his chest and collapsing there with her dizzy momentum. “You better call,” she slurred into his t-shirt.

“Oh, I will, my feisty new friend. Just rest up and be ready to celebrate your freedom.” He placed the paper in his pocket and held her, resuming his soothing caress.

[yuudetama]

Seven Thirty, Uncharted Territory [Part 1] // BTS’ Suga

In which an awkward Slytherin falls for an all-too suspecting Hufflepuff.

Fluff, humour, Hogwarts AU.   Word Count: 1.7k.

Part 1 //

Seven-thirty in the morning, and Min Yoongi is already resenting the world. It must be some sort of curse, he thinks to himself as he slumps down at the dining table, that is desecrating either his luck or ability to pass through a day without feeling the need to snap his wand in half. While he acknowledges that optimistic mornings are not normally his forte, he can’t help but feel as though today in particular is destined to run to the ground: somebody has spiked the coffee pots with pumpkin juice- not even with good juice, too, the bloke just had to use yesterday’s stale leftovers- and the Potions essay he meticulously wrote last night is missing the back page. Couple that with a double period of Arithmancy and a stack of unreasonably difficult assignments, and it’s as though the world is serving him a big steaming platter of LOL and get fucked, mate. Scowling, he jabs at a grilled sausage. The seventh years further up the table shoot him scathing looks, but he soundly ignores their disapproval. His housemates aren’t very fond of him, he knows, but seeing as the feeling is mutual he really couldn’t give a damn. Sometimes when he’s lying in bed at night he wonders what sort of bastardly demon could have possessed the Sorting Hat to put him in Slytherin, of all places. He’s nothing like his haughty housemates- at least, he hopes to the gods he’s not- but he supposes it has something to do with his lineage being among the oldest and most traditional in the wizarding world. A prime candidate to carry on the legacy of Salazar bleedin’ Slytherin. Really, family could positively ruin your life without even trying, sometimes. Just as he’s about to begin his breakfast, a hand reaches over his shoulder and plucks the fork from his hold. “What climbed into your knickers this morning, Yoongs?”

A lanky figure plops into the seat beside his. Yoongi knows who it is but glances up anyway. He’s not disappointed when he’s greeted by the sight of familiar tawny hair and the signature red-and-gold necktie of the Lion’s house. “Just the usual inescapable miseries of life, nothing new.” He watches with a surly expression as his visitor enthusiastically digs into his food. “And I told you to quit calling me that, Taehyung. You make it sound like I’m some sort of pet toad.” Kim Taehyung polishes off the rest of the sausage and grins. “Come on, don’t be like that. I bet you’d make a great toad.” He passes the fork back to its disgruntled owner and snags a pastry from the bread basket. The seventh years snarl at his boldness but otherwise leave him be. After enduring five years of the younger Gryffindor skipping to their table to join Yoongi for the odd meal, they’ve learned that not even threats or aggressive brandishing of wands can scare him off their territory. Despite himself, Yoongi feels his lips twitch. If anybody ever says that Gryffindors aren’t loyal friends then surely they haven’t met Kim Taehyung. Yoongi grabs a platter and begins to reload his plate. “Forget about me. How are you not dead after writing that sleeping draught essay?” “Simple. I haven’t started yet,” Taehyung announces proudly through a mouthful of pastry. Yoongi arches a brow as he takes a bite of eggs. “Nothing in the instructions about it being optional, mate.” “Don’t worry,” dismisses the Gryffindor, popping the last bit of danish into his mouth. “We have like, what, another day to finish it? I still have some time before it’s due.” “Only the third week back and you’re already at the top of the game. Your dedication to academics is commendable,” Yoongi comments dryly, although he can’t help but marvel at his friend’s laidback attitude. Ever since their youth Taehyung has followed the motto of everything will be okay, and, if truth be told, Yoongi feels a little envious that he can breeze through life with such a carefree philosophy. Especially at a time such as now, what with the professors upping their regime in preparation for the gruelling NEWT exams. "You do realize we're already in our sixth year now, don't you?" “No, Yoongi, I didn’t know,” Taehyung says in a long-suffering voice. “As a matter of fact, I’m still waiting for my play mat and colouring books so I can get settled in with the other first years.” Yoongi shoots him a look that says he is entirely not in the mood to deal with unwarranted sass. "Great. And here I was thinking you were missing out on Snape's idea of fun." Taehyung peers inside the nearest coffee pot. "You haven't had any caffeine yet, have you? I can tell because you're never this testy about homework- why does this coffee look spotty?" "Because some idiot thought it'd be brilliant to dump pumpkin juice into all of our pots," Yoongi grimaces. "It's disgusting. I can smell the spices from here." Taehyung dips a spoon into the pitcher and samples the questionable liquid. He smacks his lips together with a thoughtful look. “You know what, it’s not half bad. Just think of it as eight- no, ten- free pumpkin spice latte knockoffs," he says as he goes in for another spoonful. As a muggle-born Taehyung is constantly making references to his non-magic world, something which Yoongi finds both fascinating and mystifying. He has no idea what this latte concoction is, but decides to inquire after it another day when he actually has enough energy to digest the explanation. Before Yoongi can ask his friend to sneak a cup of dark roast from his own table, a pack of Gryffindor girls passes by their seats. "Hey, Taehyung! Are you going down to Quidditch pitch later? Jackson just got the latest Windsweeper and he’s been dying to show it off,” one of them calls out. Taehyung waves his classmates a hello. "No, I’ll be hanging out with Yoongi here. But tell him that I want to have a go at it myself, yeah?” The girls continue to migrate towards the double doors, but not before giving Yoongi an apprehensive stare. Yoongi inwardly sighs. No doubt they're wondering how he coerced their poor, unsuspecting housemate into sitting with the dirty Slytherins for breakfast. He thinks that Taehyung may have noticed the subtle change in his mood, because his friend suddenly nudges his arm. "Hey, you should come take a look at Jackson’s new broomstick too! I bet we could fit in a quick game before third period, if we can sneak out the Quidditch chest.” Yoongi averts his eyes. Despite their persisting friendship, the invisible barrier between their two houses has always been somewhat of an awkward topic for him to cross. “No, it’s fine. I need to go back to my dorm anyway, I’m missing a page from my-” He stops mid-sentence. A group of students are crossing the Hall, laughing and catching the last free moments before first period. All except for the student at the back reading a tattered book. Yoongi watches as you flip pages, too engrossed in your book to pay attention to what your friends are saying. He notices the way you smooth over the paper, running a finger down the aged parchment, scrunching your nose at whatever it was you were reading. The loose curl of hair brushing against your cheek, the yellow-and-black badge emblazoned on your robes- And then your eyes flicker over your book to meet his. Yoongi doesn’t even have time to pretend he’s not staring before your lips quirk up. A smile, soft and hardly unfazed; it’s a movement as minuscule as the Snitch itself yet Yoongi finds it more enrapturing than any Quidditch game he’s ever seen. Taehyung follows his line of sight. “Checking out the Hufflepuffs now, are we?” Yoongi jerks his head back. “I’m not- Who said I was looking at her?” His friend perks up at the sputtered response. “At her? So you were checking one of them out? Don’t worry, I already figured out who it is.” Taehyung’s voice is smug. “The one at the very back, right?” “I wasn’t looking at her,” Yoongi says defensively. “I was just trying to see what book she was holding.” Oh Gringotts, it sounds pathetic even to his own ears. He clears his throat in an attempt to recover his cool. “But since you mentioned it… She new here? How come I haven’t seen her around before?” he asks in what he hopes is a casual tone. Taehyung smirks at him. “Why don’t you ask her for yourself?” Yoongi scowls, but he can feel the back of his neck flushing red. “You know what, forget I said anything. Hurry up and finish eating; classes will be starting soon.” But as he speaks his eyes drift towards the door through which you had vanished. He realizes that he doesn’t know your name, or even what year you’re in, and, because he is a luckless resident of the Snake, he will most likely never have the opportunity to find out. And even more unfortunate for him, Taehyung can read him like a bloody Howler. The Gryffindor’s grin practically stretches from ear to ear as he gives Yoongi a hearty clap on the back. "Come on, you don't have to pretend you're not interested! Listen, if you’re really fond of her then I'll help you out, alright? Consider it my early Christmas present to you." "No, you really don't have to-” Taehyung cuts him off. "Trust me, Yoongs, leave it all to me. I'll have you guys necking and exchanging love spells in no time," he promises, adding an enthusiastic thumbs up for good measure. Yoongi looks at the beaming grin on his friend’s face and sighs. He thinks that his life is a little doomed.

[inthesummerswelter]

recipe for disaster: chapter five

The darkness permeating the stairwell suffocates any last bit of energy that she might have had as she comes back from a rough shift at the restaurant.      

Penn slogs onwards and upwards, but her toes catch the lip of the stair when she’s halfway up. She falls, bag flying off her shoulder and hands splayed out to catch herself, and ends up with a spectacular splinter piercing cleanly through the side of her right-hand ring finger.

“Fucking sonovabitch! Fuck, fuck, fuck!”

Carefully, with quivering fingers, she removes the long piece of wood, opens a window, and tosses the offending object outside.

To an uninformed observer, this may see just like a freak accident, but Penn knows better. It’s the most recent in the long line of horrible events that have made up her entire.

For starters, Ashton didn’t show up for breakfast, and she burnt the toast waiting for him.

 She stands in front of the kitchen stove for an inordinate amount of time, gazing out the window across the terrace, fingers clenched around the edges of the sink basin.

But no cheery greeting comes. No face silhouetted in the morning sunrise. No quiet shuffling around the entryway as he tries to slide off his shoes as quietly as possible, knowing that she doesn’t appreciate loud noises too early in the day.

Which is ironic, as the smoke detector goes off moments later, wailing and shrieking, making Penn glance down automatically and seize the pan without any mitts on to take it off the burner.

So, now she has scorched toast, minor burns on her hands, and a persistent ringing in her ears.

The dogs eat it nevertheless – which leaves mounds of crumbs on the floor she has yet to tidy up – but, as strange as it sounds, Penn’s not angry or anything. Instead, she’s almost disappointed.

It’s okay, really. He can have other plans for breakfast, could have other plans he just forgot to tell her about. But, Penn thought he would have called or texted her to let her know?

It’s not a big deal, she tells herself, as she peels a banana and stares at the daily crossword. She has no idea of any of the answers. Ashton always fills in the crosswords when he comes over.

But then she forgets to eat lunch and is late for work and has to throw together a goat cheese-and-grape sandwich from scraps lying around the pantry when she rushes in, almost an hour into afternoon prep, hair a bird’s-nest and chef jacket unbuttoned.

The only bright side to all of this is watching Louis’ painfully slow movements, presumably from another hangover. He’s come to work for the past three days wincing at the beams of light coming through the slatted windows in the back entrance, grimacing after George – their soup specialist, who reminds Penn vaguely of a monkey – asks him to sample his variation on clam chowder, and scowling whenever Penn bangs the pots around a bit too much.

She doesn’t feel an ounce of pity for him. He’s still such a fuckwad to her, and she’s not complaining that his own incompetence and lack of forethought regarding his drinking is putting her further ahead in their competition.

Except that further ahead isn’t really all that further, because it takes Penn close to eight minutes to truss up this leg of lamb and then she bobbles the pan and almost gives herself a rosemary-and-chopped-carrot bath.

Dinner service ends up being a hell of a mess, what with Louis “accidentally” bumping the whole bottle of sherry into her saucepan and nearly scorching off her eyebrows. In the end, Delacroix ends up sending both of them home early, with orders to stop by the clinic around the block on their way if Louis ends up reopening on the gash on his arm or if Penn’s forehead starts to bother her.

Obviously, he’s not pleased. As two of the top chefs in the restaurant, there’s absolutely no excuse for the amount of fuck-ups they’ve committed over the past week, not in a professional culinary setting. Penn’s so thankful that Delacroix’s chalking up all the accidents and mistakes to the stress from the competition.

The whole restaurant business is insanely competitive and finding another job in London still within cycling distance of her flat might take longer than she can afford. Paying for rent without a steady income gets really expensive really fast. And, she couldn’t ask Gran for help in that, either.

This whole experience has to come from herself, from her own earnings.

Her personal pride wouldn’t allow anything else.

Louis shuffles out at about a quarter ‘til midnight, but Penn’s not released until half past one, due to orders to make sure every soup pot used is sparkling. Finishing, with sore shoulders and a cramp in her neck, she wipes the soap suds off the best she can and practically runs to her locker in her haste to leave.

She’s a fucking mess, throwing everything into her bag, knives still not entirely secure in their carrier and chef’s coat crumpled at the bottom. Ripping out the barrette she wears to keep her fringe from flopping in her eyes, Penn tosses that in the bag too as she rushes out the back towards her bike, quickly snagging the little bit of leftovers she’s allowed to take back home for her late dinner.

It’s rained since she’s arrived at the restaurant, and Penn’s eyes take in the slick cobblestones of the street.

However, her mind does not.

It’s occupied with neat little fantasies of a meltingly hot bath and cookie dough scooped right out of the mixing bowl with some trash telly playing in the background.

Throwing one leg over the seat of her bike, Penn sets her feet on the pedals and begins her journey back home, crashing through puddles as if they aren’t even there.

She wipes out spectacularly in front of a pub around the corner from her building, tossing up a sheet of grimy water that completely drenches her. Gasping, in both pain and shock, Penn flicks her hands quickly to throw the excess water off, wincing at the strain in her jammed wrists from where she tried to catch herself from cracking her skull on the curb of the sidewalk.

A quick body check follows – bruising accumulating from where the bicycle fell on top of her and an insanely large amount of road-rash on her forearms and kneecaps – and she pulls herself up with the aid of a streetlamp.

Staggering into the pub, Penn slaps a handful of quid on the counter, rasping out, “A bottle ‘f vodka, please. Brand doesn’t matter.”

Honestly, this night’s chances of getting better are all riding on how soon Penn can decompress in that bath and get herself all loose and drunk on some cheap liquor.

The bartender turns, and it’s the bloke from that night. That Australian kid.

“Jesus! Are you alright? Do I need to call for an ambulance?”

She catches a glimpse of her reflection in the mirrored surface behind the bar and nearly jumps out of her skin.

“Jesus Christ!”

She looks like something a from a gutter that a cat ate and then vomited back up again.

Her hair, previously matted from her shift at work, was soaked with street-water in her fall, and is now sticking up in a way that looks like she just found her way out of a crackhouse. The wild eyes with dark bags to match, and a lovely smear of green-yellow bruising across her temple do nothing to improve her appearance.

There’s a resounding silence for a few moments, as Penn gawks with wide eyes at both the bartender and herself.

“Um, can I have that vodka?” she croaks out, staring intently at the scratched surface of the bar and shielding her face with one scraped hand, utterly embarrassed. She can feel her cheeks blazing hot and wants nothing more than the floorboards to open up underneath her and suck her down into a nice, quiet, little hole in the ground.

He hands a bottle over the counter to her, and, as she’s tucking it away in her bag for safe-keeping, he passes her a scribbled-on napkin as well.

“Just in case,” he clarifies, “if you’re ever in a bind and need help and…”

He lets his sentence trail off at the end, letting a vague gesture at Penn do the rest of the explaining for the messily scrawled name and number.

Strangely, Penn’s touched.

“Thanks, uh…Calum? I’ll keep that in mind.”

  At last into her flat, after using part of Calum’s napkin to bind her finger where it had started to bleed and wrangling her bicycle up into its proper place, Penn sags against the door until she’s sitting on the ground.

The dogs come, trotting up to her with the click clack of their paws heralding their arrival, and proceed to give her a through face-wash with their tongues. She only lets them indulge for a few moments, because God only knows what kind of bacteria lives in grimy street-water. Drunk people probably piss into that alley on the regular. Penn scoops them up in her arms, along with her bag, and brings them into the kitchen with her.

She vaguely contemplates the bath again, giving herself a quick sniff and confirms that, yep, she’s rancid. She sets the vodka down on the counter and is in the process of pulling out Clove and Cardy’s late-night snack from under the cupboards when she hears it.

Ashton’s laugh, ridiculously high-pitched and giggly for someone of his stature, as clear as day above her left shoulder.

Penn ends up slamming her head on the underside of the counter in surprise.

“Fuck! Ash…?”

There’s nobody there, however, just Clove staring up at her with a concerned expression on his doggy face. Cardy, on the other hand, has her paws and nose pressed up against the sliding glass door that leads onto the terrace, and Penn shuffles over, clutching the back of her head.

A light on across the way throws two silhouettes in Ashton’s flat into sharp relief. One is quite obviously Ashton, from the waves in the shadow’s hair, to the way he hunches over the table and folds his hands, intent on the other person in the room.

Who, apparently, seems to be very much a female, Penn observes, as she stands up, tossing long hair over her shoulder and stretching lanky, coltish limbs. To be fair, that shadow’s got boobs, too.

A thousand feelings churn through her gut, a roiling pit of vipers, none of which Penn has any desire to examine or identify. They sting, though.

She turns into a flurry of activity, attempting desperately to stop glancing over her shoulder, where Ashton and the girl are now less than a hands-breadth apart, their heights making them practically eye-to-eye. Penn is so fucking short that the top of her head just grazes his chin. A dark flare of something burns in her stomach as she moves at warp speed around the kitchen, determinedly keeping her head down.

Along with her various culinary certifications, Penn is also skilled at avoidance tactics.

The refrigerator door slams multiple times in succession, opening and closing as Penn grabs eggs and milk and a crinkling bag of chocolate chips and comfort. Flour and sugar and a pinch of salt come next, and then a whisk leaps into her hand as she begins to churn the batter. No recipe necessary. Penn’s got it all memorized.

Setting it down about two-thirds of the way through the mixing process, she scoops up Cardy from the window, dashes into the bathroom, and plops the dog beside the tub as she turns the taps on nearly full blast.

“Come and get me when it’s ready, okay?” she tells the dog, as she squirts a lavish amount of bubbles into the bath.

Rushing back into the kitchen, she picks up the bowl from the counter again, giving it a few vicious stirs and tossing a casual glance over her shoulder at Ashton’s flat.

No big deal.

She can handle just a quick peek.

Two shadows have merged to become one amalgamated, lumpy form. She watches it move, a slight sway back and forth, and the back of her throat starts to burn as well.

Nope, no, she can’t.

A swipe of the dough with her finger tells Penn that it’s just about the right consistency, and, as she goes to lick it off the pad of her index finger, one of the blobs draws back, putting space between the bodies, and then the head swoops in.

After a moment, they separate again, as Ashton walks his guest to the door and hugs her once again.

It’s no use to stand there and watch the silhouettes embrace any longer. Very quietly, now, Penn reaches inside herself and twirls her sadness into a thread, and winds it about a small bobbin, making sure no loose ends escape. It goes in the little cupboard in that space just beside her heart, packed away tightly with its fellows.

It is better now.

Or so she tells herself.

But then, three things happen all at once that start Penn’s heart to racing: Cardy comes screeching into the kitchen, froth piled atop her nose, the vodka bottle tips towards the floor, bumped by Penn’s elbow, and Ashton slips on a pair of shoes and begins to open the slider door to the terrace.

Oh, god.

He can’t know that she was watching, spying, on him.

That’s not okay, not okay at all.

Quickly, she catches the alcohol and snags a glass with the same hand as she careens around the small kitchen with the bowl of cookie dough cradled in her other arm. The dogs dart in and around her legs, and she skids into the corner, bouncing off the wall into the bathroom.

Cardy and Clove are left on the other side of the door, as she frantically locks it, placing the liquor and glass near the edge of the tub and the cookie dough in the sink and begins to strip off her clothes.

Obviously, she couldn’t have seen Ashton at all if she had been enjoying a nice bath the whole time, right?

Penn practically swan-dives into the bath, scooping the bubbles up and over her and shutting off the taps. It’s heated bliss, and she can feel her muscles relaxing palpably. She cups the bathwater in her hands and scrubs her face with the bubbles furiously.

The vodka and batter make their way into her hands, and she manages a few shots of liquor and two or three spoonfuls of cookie dough before she hears the faint sounds of Clove and Cardy rushing to the terrace door to greet their new houseguest.

Fuck.

She slides down in the water until her ears are completely submerged, and she gives her hair a good scrubbing too, feeling the grime from the street-water beginning to soak and dissipate.

Then two, thunderous knocks send vibrations through the water.

She holds her breath. She should have locked the terrace door and turned out the lights. Her mistake.

“Penn?...Penn? I know you’re in there. Can I come in?” his voice sounds out, plaintive. “I want to talk to you.”

“Can’t!” She shouts this, just a bit too loud, too soon to be casual. “Door’s locked and I’m naked–”

She cuts herself off, but her brain is just a microsecond too slow for her mouth. A long pause follows, and Penn can feel her ears burning.

Fuck. He’s probably disgusted now, comparing all of her flaws against that lean, long-legged veritable goddess he was with earlier. Penn looks through the bubbles at herself, picking apart her imperfections, going through the list she’s already memorized. Short and stumpy versus a good candidate for the next Miss Universe pageant. Not a hard choice.

“Oh. Oh, um. Well, I just wanted to, um, tell you that I…”

Suddenly, all she wants him to do is to stop talking.

“Ashton! Ashton, it’s okay – just stop, okay – it’s okay!”

The doorknob shakes once as he tries the door.

“I just wanted to say that I–”

It’s too much.

“Just leave, okay! Just go! I don’t want to talk to you right now!”

“What?” His voice sounds small now. “Penn…”

Everything’s starting to hurt now, her body aching again, from the tenderness still in the timbre of his words. Her heart aching again.

“Go away, Ashton! I don’t want to see you right now!”

“Oh. Oh…alright.”

Penn lets herself sink down again, after she’s sure that his footsteps have finished echoing through the hallway and tries to pretend that she’s not crying. It’s hard to distinguish her tears from the bathwater.

She hates herself so much right now, self-loathing bubbling up under her skin and burning burning burning.

The water goes cold long before she leaves the tub.

[altruist5-blog]

Three conversations about sex.

Shannon

Since the rape nothing had ever felt the same. Only the butterflies seemed not to have changed, which was strange considering they morph into their state of existence, live a very short life, procreate, and then die. But the constantly changing life of butterflies was the only stable thing in Shannon’s life … since the rape. On her morning walk up Mt. Gnoyninub each day, with her dog Daisy, Shannon observed the butterflies studiously … wishing she could sprout wings and fly away to enjoy the short but certain existence these creatures enjoyed. It was her only respite from the never-ending sensation of being a victim, as those around her described her, in fact, as she was deemed by society and the so-called justice system. She was a victim, first and fore-most, and a (broken) person only secondly. The identity she had before the rape was gone, replaced by a daily struggle of figuring out who (or what) she was now, and how to re-build her life from here. Every day was the same. Flashbacks, headaches, nausea, sometimes vomiting, and avoidance of any routine that might give her life structure, while at the same time craving the structure she actively avoided. The structure other people had in their lives … working, sleeping, eating, socialising, having sex, effortlessly. Since the rape, Shannon’s life had become like a merry-go-round that is careening too fast toward an end that never comes, but, frustratingly, when it did occasionally slow down she felt as though she had no right to step off her travelling prison. But, worse than that, she feared stepping off the merry-go-round when it did slow down because without it she had nothing. Endless days and nights of nothing but the memories she could not forget, no matter how hard she tried. Only when she walked among the flittering butterflies up the mountain did she feel she had something that was truly her own. Isolated bliss, in a storm of conflicting emotions that nobody seemed to understand, especially herself. Her Counsellor at the Rape Crisis Centre seemed to have an inkling as to why her life now felt so tenuous … since the rape. Sometimes, after yet another gut-wrenching hour-long session of counselling, Shannon left feeling that she could regain her sense of self again, and that she would work hard to put her life back together again. But mostly she just left feeling devoid of all emotion. And the emotions that had spilled out of her like a waterfall onto the rocks, that used to be her foundation, felt like a waste of energy and time. On those days, she went home and cut herself until she bled rivulets of blood, which proved to her that she was in fact still alive. Otherwise, she felt dead and that she may as well have died during the rape, as she very nearly did due to the physical violence the rapist inflicted on her to make her submit to his sexual demands. Her life was divided by a definitive line: Shannon before the rape on one side of the line and Shannon after the rape on the other side of the line. And if felt impossible that these two sides of her life would ever unite so that she could be a whole person again.

 On most days the dull ache in her back was tolerable, but for the last three weeks it had been unbearable, like today. As she worked through her rehabilitation exercises each morning lately it had released years of pent up emotion, especially grief. This meant that she was crying every morning again, something she swore she would never let herself do … again. But this time she felt unable to hold back the tide of self-pity that threatened to swallow her into the abyss … again … somewhere she swore she would never let herself go … again. When will it ever end? She thought, as she trudged up Mt. Gnoyninub with her dog Daisy pulling her up the steep incline with her leash … If it’s not my stomach it’s my back, if not either of them it’s my hip and knee, or my shoulder and neck. And if it’s not any of these for a moment, just for a moment, then it’s tears and bitter regret. Sometimes they all grace me with their presence at the same time and then I’m fucked for an indeterminate time. Then I smoke, and the smoking aggravates my lungs which affects my posture which affects my back. And then I drink and it fucks up my stomach and bowel. And all of these things make me even more depressed … if that’s possible. And all for the sake of an unwanted fuck! Oh, why did I go on that holiday in the first place? If I hadn’t then he wouldn’t have ruined my life! Oh sure, like they say in counselling, but you’re a survivor! A “survivor” who can’t work, can’t move properly, can’t think or see properly on many days, and who needs to sleep for at least 12 hours/night just to feel human, and struggles to have any social contact at all, and can’t remember things at times. And who struggles to cope every day. And every day is the same, only the level of pain varies, as does the level of self-abuse and neglect or self-pity. Aaargh! Shannon pushed herself harder through the steepest part of the climb. This was self-inflicted punishment that was doing her good, not harm. It was only after climbing Mt. Gnoyninub first thing every morning with Daisy that Shannon felt she could think clearly. Without being bombarded by flashbacks or despairing sadness that felt like it oozed out of her pores, making her feel filthy from the inside.  

Tracey, Cheryl, and Derek

“’Ere Tracey?”

“Yeah Cheryl luv?”

“You know ‘ow blokes are all nice to you an’ ‘at when they wanna get into yer knickers, but then, after they ‘ave they’re not nice to ya no more?”

“Yeah I know luv”                                                            

“Well ya know, I do that to them ‘at sometimes too, especially if he were not good at it. So I was wonderin’ if ‘at means that I were not good at it, ya know, with them ones what aren’t nice to me no more after.”

“Noooo. You mean like, I might not have been good at it too? Noooo. I never thought of it like ‘at before, but I do ‘at too ya know.”

“But then, what about the ones ‘at are nice to ya after? Does that mean I were good at it wif ‘em?

“…Tell you what, we need to ask other people if ‘at’s why they stop bein’ nice after, or why they are still nice after, so what they mean by ‘at.”

“Yeah, you’re right luv. Hey what about Derek? He’s had his fair share of blokes so he might know what it means when they stop bein’ nice and ‘at. I wonder if it happens to him too, ya know, bein’ a gay an’ all. It’s all sex”

“’Ere, let’s ring him.”

“Ooooh, yes, let’s.”

Mobile phone rings …

“’Ere Derek luv? Yeah, it’s Cheryl and Tracey luv, an’ we were just talkin’ an’ at’, ya know, about when blokes you’ve had sex wif aren’t nice to ya no more after, and we was jus’ wonderin’ whever ‘at happens to you an’ all?”

“Ooooh luv, a course it does! But you know, I usually find they’re the ones ‘at weren’t no good at it so I don’t really mind and I laf at ‘em!”

“Ah luv, don’t say that coz that were our next question! We were wonderin’ if they weren’t nice to us no more after coz we were no good at it, ay? Whatchathink Derek?”

“Don’t be daft luv! It’s them what aren’t bein’ nice no more coz they know they were no good at it. Don’t ya see?”

“Oh, thank god Derek. Ere Cheryl luv, no it’s not us its them, says our Derek.”

A Love Sonnet to my lover

When you hold me in your arms, it is bliss                            

When we touch my heart swells beyond its size                    

And excitement courses through my body                            

My eyes feel alive and my body is warmed                          

My senses are ablaze with life, with love                              

As we lay together, naked enjoy                                            

Bodies entwined, in a newer space                                        

The place where we: just you and I become                          

And as we interlace delight swells me                                  

Until it erupts, reaching deep inside me