#its my suicide anyway i get to set the tone. suck me off

[tokagrem]

Im tired boss

Might actually kill myself if that guy wins and i get hrt taken away and/or it becomes harder/impossible to get top surgery

[ssamie]

epilogue. “your girlfriend’s kinda hot”

kozume kenma x fem dazai!reader

(bsd x hq)

tw: mentions of suicide and suggestive themes + dirty jokes

masterlist.          suicide freak!

"hey uh, welcome to my stream i guess" he said as he spared the camera a quick glance "im not really playing tonight because an incident has recently occurred in this household" kenma said with a tired sigh 

nobody else knew it, but the said 'incident' was y/n accidentally setting half of their living room on fire 

the reason? apparently, she wanted to try burning herself to death in the furnace. obviously, it didn't work. and all that's left from that is more shit for kenma to clean up and a trip to yosano-san. 

kenma is stressed. and y/n is still alive. both of them are facing problems. 

"can you please wear a maid outfit- no."

kenma shook his head as he continued playing, glancing at the chat once in a while to read the veiwers' questions and comments

╭─━━━━━━━━━━━━─╮

user: how about cat ears?! 

user: ^^ cATBOY CATBOY CATBOY 

user: u suck at this game wtf

kuroo.tetsu: hey kenma ;) 

╰─━━━━━━━━━━━━─╯

"first of all, i do not suck at minecraft thank you very much" kenma scoffed 

"second of all, go away kuroo. im still mad at you" 

╭─━━━━━━━━━━━━─╮

user: LMFAOOO kuroo what did u do?? 💀💀

user: he probably broke kenma's pc 

user: PLSS he's the one kenma’s throwing shade at on twitter 

kuroo.tetsu: STOP THE SLANDER 😔✋🏼

user: rooster head lookin ass 

user: ^^ NOT THE HAIR 

kuroo.testsu: 😃😃

╰─━━━━━━━━━━━━─╯

kenma sighed as he continued building a cute little cottage. he was currently vibing, just building y/n a cute cottage for her to probably burn later on. 

and he decided it would be nice to go on stream since his oh-so-lovely girlfriend was still out for work. 

ah yes, kenma has somehow kept y/n alive all those years. 

barely. 

hence why his phone was being bombarded with messages from her, all of which being blurry selfies. 

the photos had her sporting a huge grin while atsushi panicked in the background. 

╭─━━━━━━━━━━━━─╮

user: ayo, ur phone's blowing up 

user: do you have a girlfriend? 

user: KODZUKEN LET ME SUCK UR TOES 😋😋🤩

user: ^ ayo chill 😃

╰─━━━━━━━━━━━━─╯

kenma simply ignored them and continued on with his task. all was going well until a loud slam was heard. his cat-like eyes widened as he heard a familiar voice singing from downstairs, it was undoubtedly y/n. 

kenma chuckled nervously and muted his mic. 

but of course, cute dumb catboy didn't actually mute his mic. haha <3

he ignored all the questions in the chat, all of them being  speculations that he has a girlfriend. which he does, but they simply did not need to know that <3

"kenma~" she yelled out "i have a surprise for you!!" she said, followed by menacing giggles. 

kenma glanced at the camera before hopping off his gaming chair and peeking his head out of the door. 

"y/n, im streaming!! stay down there!" he yelled out in panic 

"aw, you're playing hard to get aren't ya?" she chuckled 

kenma deadpanned as he saw her limping up the stairs, with her bandages torn and unravelled, same with her clothes. he didn't really think much of it since this is usually how she comes home. 

its most likely just due to work and/or another suicide attempt.

"so, kenma.. you'll never know what just happened to me today" she started off with a goofy grin 

"im streaming, atleast let me turn it off first-" 

she paid no mind to him as she peeled off her ruined coat and pointed to her poorly bandaged stomach

"i got stabbed!" 

"you got what?!"

kenma furrowed his brows as he immediately rushed over to his side, cradling her face and waist as he inspected her injuries

"are you okay, kitten?" he asked worriedly 

"yep, apparently it wasnt deep enough to be fatal" she sighed dejectedly 

"please don't be sad about that." kenma groaned "can you undress?" 

"ara ara~ whats this?" she cooed "you're getting real bold, kenma" she smirked at him 

she unbuttoned her shirt and started pulling down on her skirt "but since you asked so nicely-" 

kenma simply sighed and shook his head. "i was gonna prepare you a bath but now im considering leaving you here to die" 

"but the second option would've been better though" she smiled at him 

"oh my fucking god." 

kozume kenma. (22)

╰─▸ university student, stock trader, pro-gamer, youtuber, ceo of bouncing ball lpt. 

╰─▸ y/n's struggling boyfriend. definitely needs a pay after all he's been through.

╰─▸ currently panicking because his girlfriend got stabbed.

l/n y/n. (22)

╰─▸ operative/member of the armed detective agency. 

╰─▸ kenma's girlfriend. kinda dumb, very hot to compensate for it. still hasn't died yet. 

╰─▸ currently bleeding and wounded. also hoping for severe blood loss.

"kenma, did you know" she mused in a teasing tone "lack of sleep and too much stress could possibly lead to poor memory and lack of awareness" 

kenma looked up at her with a look of confusion. he was currently kneeled down before her while she was sat on the bed as he cleaned her wound up with a damp towel. 

"why are you telling me this?" he asked 

"i just thought it probably applied to you" she snickered 

"why? i didnt forget anything-" 

he cut himself off with a huge intake of air. he slowly turned his head to look at the screen which still had his stream going on. to make it worse, the camera was on and they were both clearly in the camera's field of view. 

to make things worse worse, his mic was on the whole time and the live chat was in shambles. 

"i hate it here" he sighed 

kenma laid his head on her lap as he continued on patching her up, honestly not caring that this whole scene was being recorded for thousands or millions of people to see. 

"well, atleast the internet could finally see my beauty before i die" she laughed 

she ran her fingers through kenma's hair as he grumbled under his breath. kenma was a pretty private person. he made sure not to overshare, given his current 'influencer' status. and he was planning on keeping his relationship a secret, though it seems he can't do that anymore. 

"might as well say hi" she shrugged 

so of course, she then decided to walk up to the camera looking utterly dishevelled and roughed up. 

for context, the newly wrapped bandages around her stomach was being stained already by a crimson red hue and it was only getting worse the more she moved, undoubtedly messing up her wound. 

"hi, im kenma's girlfriend and if i see you flirting with him i will make you regret it" she grinned 

"y/n!" kenma groaned from the bed "you're close to dying right now, turn the stream off" 

ignoring him, she proceeded to read the veiwers' comments, laughing at some of them while she joked around. 

╭─━━━━━━━━━━━━─╮

user: heLLO?!?! 

user: GE HAS A GIRLFRIEND NOOO

user: bruh, did i just hear that right? were you fuckin stabbed? 

user: ur kinda hot tho

╰─━━━━━━━━━━━━─╯

kenma furrowed his brows as he reluctantly walked up behind her, reading the comments with varying reactions 

╭─━━━━━━━━━━━━─╮

user: well damn, hot bloody girl comes in and suddenly im lesbian

user: kenma looks so done

kuroo.tetsu: hi y/n ;) 

user: HER NAME IS Y/N

╰─━━━━━━━━━━━━─╯

"jesus christ shut up, kuroo" kenma grumbled out with a sigh 

"yup! yup! im y/n, and no, i am not a criminal. i swear." she shook her head 

"i got an injury from my job, that's all." she cleared up 

╭─━━━━━━━━━━━━─╮

user: tangina nyo sana ol

user: MSKAKAKKA

user: THIS IS LOWKEY ICONIC

user: time to scratch another gamer boy off my possible bf list 😔

user: girl wtf happened to u

user: that's wack bro 🚶‍♀️

╰─━━━━━━━━━━━━─╯

"great question, random person from the internet!" she beamed "see, what happened was.." 

"i went on a certain mission and got severely injured. though, when i called for help nobody responded" she said 

kenma furrowed his brows at her words. "why didn't anybody respond?" he asked. she sighed and fiddled with her torn bandages, pouting her lips as she does so. 

"well, when i told them that i was finally on death's door, all they said to me was 'congratulations!' and all that.." she said "what's your take on that, hm?" she asked kenma 

"im not surprised" he said 

she grinned at his words and leaned in for a kiss. "you're so mean to me, kenma~" she whined 

she licked her lips as she held his blushing face in her hands, she nuzzled their noses as she leaned in closer to him. 

╭─━━━━━━━━━━━━─╮

kuroo.tetsu: oh shit 😳

user: we all know where this is heading ;) 

user: sana ol talaga punyemas 

user: AYO CHILL 

user: why we goin so fuckin fasstttt 😳

╰─━━━━━━━━━━━━─╯

kenma hastily turned the camera off as soon as y/n's lips touched his. 

"kitten, were still- hmph-" 

he was only silenced as she slipped her tongue in his mouth, smirking lightly as she ran her fingers through his hair 

"thanks babe." she said as she pulled away, giving him a soft peck on his cheek and a nod "anyways.." she hummed as she turned the camera on once again 

she looked through the chat while kenma slaps his face to get rid of his blush. 

╭─━━━━━━━━━━━━─╮

user: ur fuckin freaky 

kuroo.tetsu: oya oya 😼😼

user: MS MAAM I JUST MET U AND I LOVE U ALREADY WJABSJSJJS

user: not me blushing chiiilllleeeeee 🏃‍♀️

user: KENMA IS FLUSTERED

kuroo.tetsu: kenma, i didnt expect this from u 😼

user: im so fucking JEALOUS GRR😡

user: girl r u bleeding rn 😃

╰─━━━━━━━━━━━━─╯

upon reading a certain comment, she subconsciously grazed her fingers against her bandaged wound. her eyes slightly widening as she felt a concerning amount of wetness seeping through

she glanced at kenma who was still calming himself down and inspected her wound 

"oh my.." she muttered, though she couldn't help but let a smile slip through 

so like any normal person would do, she simply ignored her bleeding wound and the fact that she was getting a bit lightheaded. haha <3

"anyways, let's answer some questions!" she beamed 

╭─━━━━━━━━━━━━─╮

user: what's ur full name

user: what's ur job miss girl 

user: are you possibly looking for a gf, because i am more 

than willing to take the spot 🚶‍♀️

user: how did you meet?? 

╰─━━━━━━━━━━━━─╯

"alright, those are all very nice questions" she chuckled. kenma, who's now calmed down, sat down beside her to look at the chat. 

"first, im l/n y/n" she mused "nice to meet ya" 

"second im a detective! mhm, im cooler than your fathers" 

"third, it depends, belladonna" she cooed as she sent the camera flirty smirk "are you perhaps willing to join me in a double suicide?" 

"oh god.." kenma grumbled. he pouted at her and shook his head in disapproval. "don't flirt with random girls" he whined 

"why not?" 

"uh- because i am your beloved boyfriend, is that not good enough of a reason??" 

"... anyways, we met at a cafe way back in high school" she said with a smile "also, i asked him to join me on a double suicide" she said 

she was smiling and nodding as if it was the most normal thing in the world, all while kenma nods along 

╭─━━━━━━━━━━━━─╮

user: wtf are u okay 🗿

kuroo.tetsu: teenage romance 🤩

user: cute ❤️

user: im concerned ❤️

user: ur a detective?? cool

user: LMAOO I'LL GO ON A DOUBLE SEWER SLIDE 

WITH U MOMMY 😩😩😋

user: ^^ SAME 😩

user: CHOKE ME WITH THOSE BANDAGES MOMMAE 😩

user: u r still bleeding 🚶‍♀️        

╰─━━━━━━━━━━━━─╯

kenma was simply glaring at the chat as more compliments and flirtatious comments came flowing in, all of which were directed to his girlfriend. 

"this is why i didn't wanna let people know about you.." kenma grumbled 

"aww, why not?" she asked with a playful pout 

"people are flirting with you." he sighed "also, stop asking for my girlfriend's onlyfans! she doesn't even have one!" he snarled

╭─━━━━━━━━━━━━─╮

user: LMAOO CATBOY IS ANGRY 😩

user: y/n-senpai spit on me 😡😡

user: drop the onlyfans 

user: chupapi munyanyo 😩

╰─━━━━━━━━━━━━─╯

"anyways, i'd hate to ruin the mood" she chimed in with a sluggish giggle "but im so wet kenma" she whined out 

a menacing smirk was etched on her lips as kenma spluttered in response, a bright red hue covering his face almost instantly as he faced her with widened eyes 

"y-y/n! why would you say that?!" he whisper shouted 

"cuz i am" she whined out as she grabbed his hand and trailed it down her abdomen 

she faced the camera and gave them a shit-eating grin as kenma mumbled out incoherent words 

"y/n we should-" he cut himself off as he felt the concerning amount of blood drip down his whole arm 

kenma's face paled as he looked up to see her smiling like a kid in a candy store, completely unbothered. 

"y/n, you idiot! why didn't you tell me!" kenma exclaimed 

"um- my girlfriend is bleeding. excessively. so uh- bye i guess" it was all he said before hastily ending his stream and turning off his computer. 

"y/n, let's get you to a hospital" he said as he reached down to carry her away. though she simply slapped his hands off and closed her eyes. 

"nope. this is my time, kenma. don't ruin it for me" she said 

"you're fucking dying!!" 

"well, would you like to join me?" 

"no"

"damn." she muttered in response 

"so...wanna fuck?" she asked sheepishly 

"for the love of god-" 

this was so messy :/

[jawritter]

Something Worth Fighting For

Request: Hi love! Your writing is amazing and I was wondering if you could do a Dean x depressed!reader? Like dean finds the reader about to jump off the roof of the bunker after reading the note she left him and sam saying goodbye. He had never suspected anything cause she hid it so well. Dean saves her and tells her his feelings for her? You can also add any details you want or anything like that! There is no rush! Thank you!

Word Count: 1865

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader 

Warnings: Warnings: Suicide attempt, Thoughts of suicide, depression, angst, self-hate, body image issues (scares), descriptions of suicidal thoughts, this one is pretty dark guys if this type of thing triggers you please read with caution! Fluffy, Protective!Dean, Language, I think that’s it.

A/N: This fic is unbeta’d! All mistakes are mine! Please do not copy my work, this one is cross-posted on Wattpad as well!! Feedback is Gold! Hope you all enjoy this one!! Remember your never alone! ALWAYS KEEP FIGHTING!!!!

Want more? Check out my Masterlist!!

***MASTERLIST***

You find yourself standing in front of the long mirror in your room in nothing but your sports bra, and sensible underwear. Your fingers trace the deep scare that blemishes the skin of your stomach from a werewolf attack not even a year ago.

It's not the only scar that litters your skin, each a different size, shape, and hold a different story. A gunshot wound to your shoulder from that time you were hunting a witch down in Louisiana, and your young hunting partner, who didn't make it back from that hunt alive, missed their shot, landing you with a witch killing bullet wound to the shoulder. 

Then there were all the cuts and scratches from knife fights in bars as well as hunts. The hunting life has left its mark on you, more than one.

Those were just the marks that you could see. Deeper marks resided deep in the dark corners of your mind in the form of people you loved and lost, couldn't save, and weren't fast enough to save. They haunted you like a ghost that you couldn't salt and burn to get rid of, and there was nothing you could do about it. 

The voice that you could hear no matter how hard you tried to drown it out with heavy metal music playing from your speaker taunted you. 

"Look at you, you will never be good enough for anyone to love. No one ever loved you anyway. You will die alone. Everyone you ever loved or come in contact with will eventually die, and there will be nothing you could do to save them, nothing you can do to stop it... Your position. 

Pulling Dean's old AC/DC shirt over your head, and a pair of leggings on you take one more look into the taunting mirror that hung in silent mockery of your depression that had been dragging you down for days. 

You didn't have long to pull off your plan, the boys would be home soon, and if they caught you, they would surely stop you, and you couldn't have that. 

You were nothing but another liability, someone else that Dean had to take care of when he already had so much on his plate. You proved that when you fucked up on that Vamp hunt down in Indiana last week, and Sam nearly got turned. 

They would be better off with you gone. They would be better off with you not around to fuck up on hunts, and you would be one less person to have to watch out for when shit went sideways like it so often did.  So with that in mind, you decided to take yourself out of the picture. You were tired of all the fighting anyways.

Grabbing your favorite gun that you had gifted to Dean in your goodbye letter because you knew he always liked it, and your journal for Sam, because he always had his nose in a book of some sort, and there was a lot of past hunts and encounters written down in there, you make your way towards the war room. 

Taking one last look at the bunker you called home, you make your way towards the cast-iron stairs. Laying the things you left for the boys on the map table as you went, and never looking back. 

Your plan was to climb up to the top of the bunker, then jump off. It would be a quick end. One final fall, one final disappointment, one final let down and this would all be over. Then maybe… Just maybe… You could finally get some peace. Whatever was waiting over there had to be better than what you had waiting for you here.

You had just finished your trip to the top of the bunker when you realized you were too late, a squeaky car door slamming, and the sound of Dean’s deep voice screaming your name broke through the blinding tears that were streaming down your face, and even cut through the voices that were screaming so loud you thought for sure they’d be the last thing you ever heard. You never thought Dean would find you still alive.

Before you even had time to react Dean had scrambled his way up to the top of the bunker and was pulling you away from the edge, his strong arms wrapped around you, and you were powerless to fight against him. You were just too tired.

“Dammit Sweetheart, what the fuck were you doing?” Dean said, and you didn’t have time to answer before Sam met the two of you at the top of the roof, your note in hand, and an ashen face in fear he was too late to catch you.

The realization hit Dean like a freight train. He didn’t say anything at that moment, just picked you up in his strong arms as if you weighed nothing at all, and carried you down, and back inside the bunker with little effort. Sam stayed quiet, and only opened the door to Dean’s room where he was taking you, but didn’t intrude. 

That was Sam. He knew Dean better than anyone, and he knew Dean wanted to take care of this alone. He would be there if he was needed, and always in earshot if need be, but this is something Dean could fix, and he knew that. 

Dean laid you down on the soft memory foam covered mattress of his bed, before stripping his jacket from his well-toned body, and laying down next to you, pulling you into his arms, the steady drum of his heartbeat steading your own as you buried your head into his chest. Letting his scent surround you, comfort you. 

“Why?” Dean said, his voice thick as tears streamed down his perfect face. 

This wasn’t what you wanted, you never wanted to hurt Dean, you wanted to take the hurt away from Dean, not add to it. You never knew he’d care if you were gone? Why was he so upset now? 

“Why were you going to do it, Y/N?”

Your mind was reeling, and everything was overwhelming, but Dean deserved an answer, so you took a deep, shaky breath, and tried to swallow past the lump of nothing that seemed to be blocking your throat. 

“Because I’m nothing but another problem for you Dean, another fuck up, another mouth to feed, and another person you have to take care of. You would be better off if I wasn’t here anymore.” 

Dean lifted your chin so that you were looking up at him, his piercing green eyes wet, and sad as he stared down at you. Hurt set deep in his God-like features that hunted your dreams from the moment you laid eyes on him.

“No, no Y/N, you’re so fucking wrong, you are NOT a liability to me, your not just another mouth to feed, your not someone else I have to take care of, your everything thing to me. Do you not see that? I know I suck at words baby girl, but I’m crazy about you, and you leaving me that way is not something I can live through. I’m in love with you, Y/N. I can’t live in a world where you don’t exist.” 

You sat there with your jaw hanging open, staring back into his eye as if you blinked, you’d wake up from whatever dream this must be. Because Dean Winchester said he didn’t fall in love, Dean Winchester said that he didn’t do relationships because he was poison, Dean Winchester would never be able to love someone as broken and fucked up as you were. This had to be a mistake, a dream.

“Dean.. I…” 

Dean pressed his lips to yours with enough force to knock you breathless, throwing all the emotions he had in them, and it didn’t take you long to respond to him. Your lips move with his as he kissed you drunk, and when he finally pulled away your heart was pounding so hard you were sure he could hear it.

“How long have you been feeling this way?” he asked you, keeping his arms wrapped tightly around you. 

“Since Sam’s almost accident, that was totally my fault,” you said, looking down at your hands that were now linked together. Your mind still reeling over his little confession that had slipped past his lips, and you were sure that he hadn’t even realized that he said them, which made you think he was just in the moment and didn’t mean them at all.

“Y/N, accidents happen, this line of work that we do, baby it comes with risk.” Reaching down and brushing his hands through your hair. “You can’t blame yourself for a mistake that any one of us could have made. That doesn’t make you a liability. Hell, I fucked that werewolf hunt, and you got hurt, and I walked and kicked my own ass for a day! I didn’t decide to check out early! Baby when you're feeling this way you can’t shut us out, you have to tell me!” 

You could see it in his eyes, the hurt that you almost caused him, the trembling that was in his hands as he held you close to him. Maybe he did mean it, maybe he did really love you.

“Promise me something, sweetheart, I know you probably don’t feel the way I feel about you, but please promise me that you will come to me next time you're feeling this way! Don’t try and leave me!”

It clicked then. This wasn’t the way to fix things. To check out early may have removed the pain from you, but it placed it on someone else. Someone who already had too much on his shoulders, and someone who had lost so much. Someone that really did love you. Deep down that’s something you had always wanted, but thought you could never have. Someone to love you.

Your mind raced back with things that Dean had done since you moved into the bunker, and God if you didn't feel like an idiot for not seeing it. He really did care, he was trying to tell you all along. 

The late-night movie nights, bringing you food and coffee to your room every morning, taking care of you when you got sick, he never left your side when that werewolf almost gutted you, he set up all night long with you when you had a nightmare about the night your parents died. He was always there, putting you before himself or anyone else. He really did love you and was trying to show you the whole time.

In a fit of boldness, you had no idea where it came from, you brought your hand up to the side of his face, his stubble rough against your hand. You promised yourself then and there that no matter how bad it got in your head that you would never leave him again.

“Dean I promise you, I’ll never try and check out early again, I love you too much to leave you like this.” 

And you did, and you always would, because now that you knew you weren’t alone, you had a reason to fight!

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

Tag List: @lyarr24​ @amandamdiehl​ @love-jackles-37-blog​ @miraclesoflove​ @deanwanddamons​ @imabitch4jensen​ @rvgrsbrns​ @bi-danvers0​ @onethirstyunicorn​ @i-love-superhero​ @akshi8278​ @lyss-dw79​ @magssteenkamp​ @lemondropirwin​ @squirrelnotsam​ @hobby27​ @spnbaby-67​ @mrsjenniferwinchester​ @defenderrosetyler​ @screechingartisancashbailiff​ @thecreatiivecorner​  @aflamboyanceofgays @vicmc624​ @busy-bee-angel-misska​ @justanotherwinchester​ @brilovesdeanwinchester​ @idksupernatural​

[thelittlestcheshire]

Self Para 008: I Don’t Pretend to Know the Challenges You’re Facing Word Count: 2024 words When: July 2020, in the early hours of July 19th during Ches’s birthday trip Note: I decided I’m going to queue up and post one of the old self paras I never posted, Feel free to skip it, since it’s a past event and stuff. TWs: Rape (mentioned / discussed), Anxiety Attacks, Alcoholism / Drinking, Hangovers, Vomitting, Death, suicide (not exactly but there’s a definite apathy towards the idea of death this as well so better safe than sorry), murder (her mother)

There was a loud thud as a purse landed on the suite’s floor as Ches stumbled through the front door. She knew she shouldn’t have gone to galaxy edge before closing for drinks, but she was desperate to feel good. Yet, no matter how much she drank today, she didn’t feel the happiness that tended to run through her veins. She felt worse and worse. Even the sight of the balloons in the living room from Emmett and his girlfriend didn’t bring any sort of joy.

It was her fault her mother died; she should have been here instead of Ches. And the more gifts she received, the more she thought back to why her mother was dead. If she hadn’t gone to get gifts for Jonah... it felt like the room was spinning as the thought came back. Wait, no, the room was definitely spinning.

“Hey Ches, sorry I needed to- fuck.” Zander had just come out from the living room, likely taking her up on his offer to hide, but his attempt to avoid people is forgotten by the time he reaches her. “Come on, let’s get you to bed.” There were two of him by the time he wraps an arm around her to support her. “It’s been a long night.” He starts to lead her to her bedroom, and it’s hard to keep her feet under her as they walk. But he saves her from crashing to the floor and manages to get her on the bed.

“It wasn’t a night.” She slurs at him as she rests her head against her pillow. “Sky and I, you know. Club 33.” She knew the look on his faces even through the intoxicated haze. She knew he wasn’t happy about this. “I’m okay.” She informs him, starting to sit up. The room begins to move again, and for a moment, she feels like she might just be sick. She moves quickly, barely making it to the toilet before she vomits. Zander quickly behind her to hold back her hair. “See, fine.” She gets out weakly as she flushes the toilet.

“Definitely not fine.” He disagrees as he smooths out her hair. “I’m staying with you tonight, at least until you feel better.” It’s obvious she had no say in the matter, and she doesn’t waste the energy to protest. She slowly gets up, nearly falling face-first as she attempts to reach the bathroom sink to brush her teeth. He’s there in an instant to keep her from tumbling. Perhaps he had a point. She accepts the assistance as she brushes her teeth and doesn’t fight him as he leads her back to the bed and messes with all her pillows to ensure she’s propped up on her side.

“I hate you.”  

The words just slip off her tongue. Not how she genuinely felt in the slightest. Zander doesn’t seem to take offense. However, he just runs his fingers through her hair. “I know, I know. I’m the worst. Time for you to sleep.” He whispers back to her. She frowns, but she shuts her eyes, anyway. She’s not sure how long it takes: perhaps it’s minutes, maybe it was hours, but eventually she falls asleep.

—

Opening her eyes felt like literally crawling out of a grave when she finally does wake up, the only light shining was from a phone beside her. “Turn that damn thing off. It hurts,” Ches grumbles, the man beside her laying on top of her blankets complies. “What time is it anyway?”

“4 am, give or take.”

Zander’s answer only causes her to groan as she fixes her pillows the way she likes them. “Shit. No wonder I feel like I was run over by a freight train.” She continues to adjust her pillows, settling into a comfortable spot as she rolls over onto her back.

“No, I think that’s thanks to Club 33.” Zander gives her a pointed look. How did he even know she’d gone drinking there? That she had a membership at all for that matter. “I could pay for the entirety of my college tuition with how much you’ve spent on this trip. Couldn’t I?” There was something about his tone that feels off, that despite his words, it wasn’t the Disneyland trip he was frustrated with at the moment. “You’re spiraling again. The fancy trip, the mass text about Leo, the drinking. Fuck, everything that’s occurred since you came back to Luxor. Spring break, prom, open house. What’s going on?” Of course, he’d notice things weren’t right. Her luck couldn’t get any worse, could it?

“It’s the tenth anniversary of my mother’s death.” The excuse slides off her tongue quickly. But even in the dark, she could make out the look on his face. He knew she was lying, and yet she didn’t change her tune. She couldn’t. After what happened with Lucy, she wasn’t going to tell anyone about that ever again. “Zander, that’s all there is to everything. Drop it.”

He opens his mouth as if he had something to say, but he quickly shuts up. After a few seconds where it looks like he’s not going to push, she takes a breath. But her relief is short-lived when he finally speaks. “Has anyone ever mentioned you crinkle your nose when you lie?”

“I do not!” She protests immediately. Did she really have such an obvious tell? “I’m not lying. That’s really all there is to it. Please.” The word sounds like a plea, and as she hears it, she can’t help but dread him picking up on it. She didn’t need to give him more to question when he was already treading into territory she couldn’t stand to think about. How could she discuss it again? She barely got through it with Lucy.

“Okay, I just have one more question then. Why is your father spending so much money on you lately? Taking the entire school to Disneyland, a suite just for you to hide in, him showing up to graduation. Your Club 33 membership cost could be a household’s entire annual salary, There has to be a reason he’s tossing money at you so aggressively.”

The question causes her blood to run cold. What was she supposed to say? That his father suddenly saw the error of his ways became invested in her life. The lie didn’t even seem plausible, let alone believable. The entire truth hurt too much to think about; she didn’t want to get into the reasons. The best she could offer was the truth, without any details. “He feels guilty.”

“About your mom?” Zander’s voice is so soft, and as the slight hint of guilt starts to leak into it, she can feel her heart starting to break. He was too good to her, too safe, and he doesn’t even hesitate as she moves closer to him on the bed and tries to crawl into his arms. As she starts to sob, he just accepts that right now she needed someone to hold her. “I’m sorry, Chessie. I-”

“It’s not about maman, Zan. When I was home I had to attend his dinner parties, and his VP, he-” She can’t even finish getting the words out as she starts to sob, as the panic sets in and she clings tighter to him. The thought of that evening made her wish she could carve off her skin as if it’d erase the memories of that night from her mind. The more she remembers, the harder it feels to gasp for air, and the faster she breathes as her eyes rapidly search for the nearest escape route.

“Ches, hey. It’s okay, you’re okay.” His voice is gentle as he starts stroking her hair again. For a moment, she goes completely still as she tries to remind herself this was Zander. “You’re safe, I promise. Nobody’s going to hurt you here.” She focuses on the sound of his voice as he tries to comfort her, and slowly, but surely, oxygen is easier to catch. The fear was still lingering; the urge to flee and never look back was overwhelming. “You don’t have to say anything, okay.”

“Look where not saying anything got me, Zander.” She snaps at him, the words just coming out suddenly. “He fucking raped me, and I have to- no, I’m expected to just stay quiet and move past it. Sometimes I’m not sure if the money is because my dad is upset it happened or to keep my mouth shut. You know, he was the one who made me drop the charges.” She still could remember that talk with her father. She could shut her eyes and picture it as if it was five minutes ago still, her father pacing around the living room in their penthouse looking almost as disheveled as he had at her mother’s funeral, practically begging her to let him handle this behind closed doors because he didn’t think she’d survive a trial. “Said he thought I’d kill myself if we went to trials, he handled it behind the scenes.”

“It’s out of love, either way, I think,” Zander says gently as if he’s not sure he’s supposed to speak at all. Honestly, Ches isn’t sure she wants him to talk either. The last time she’d discussed it, she hadn’t felt any better. In ways, she felt worse - guilty for burdening Lucy with something so heavy she couldn’t explain to anyone else.

“I know.”

The words are hard for her to get out, even if it’s the truth. She knew that her father loved her, even when it sometimes felt like he didn’t care nearly enough. Perhaps, in its own fucked up way, this was his way of showing he cared. Her father’s actions weren’t out of ill intent.

“I’m sorry that you’re going through this, you had a horrible year.” He wasn’t wrong about that, the more she thought about it, the more she realized seventeen had truly sucked. “But, you can’t destroy yourself in your attempts to cope. I can’t figure out how you got back without hurting yourself. That’s an issue.”

“It’s not a deal-breaker.” As Ches continues to calm down slowly, the realization she’s trembling begins to dawn on her. “I don’t care if I die, you know.”

“Well I do. Lucy and Avery do, and Elliot would be devastated, so that’s not an option, for starters. So this shit needs to stop.” Zander’s voice is firm, almost like when Logan had no other choice but to scold them. “I can’t imagine what you’re going through, but this isn’t the answer, Hailey.”

For a brief moment, she considers saying something about her first name, but she doesn’t. She was too drained to fight with him over it. The use could be tolerated for one night. “You can’t tell anyone, Zander. The only person who knows is Lucy.” She says instead as she pulls herself out of his arms to lay in bed again.

“And your therapist?”

“Doesn’t know anything either.” She shuts her eyes as she says the word. Of course, she didn’t go to her therapist about this; it felt too painful to revisit, too heavy to bring words to at times. “Just promise me, Zander.”

“I promise I won’t tell anyone.” She can feel him moving on the bed beside her to start to get up as he says the words, her arm quickly reaching out to stop him. “But, I think you need to talk to your therapist. And-”

“Okay.” She agrees. “But, can you stay? I don’t want- I can’t be alone right now. Please?” The boy stops trying to move at her confession, the admittance she needed someone there. “I think being alone is a bad idea, and I don’t think I can ask Elli to-”

“I’ll stay, as long you need me to.”

She doesn’t say anything as she moves her arm back to her side of the bed. For a moment, she wonders if he’ll question it, but soon the only noise is the sound of his phone unlocking as the two settle into a comfortable silence.

[jovialjudgebonkalmond]

Inevitable, Ch 2

Once again, obvious disclaimer, I don’t own the characters or universe in which the story takes place - yes internet I am that old, thank you.

Summary: Monty is alive, in jail. A recounting of his experiences and memories and basically all those flashbacks we weren’t given in season 4 that I am butthurt about. It is AU in the sense that he is still alive whilst Clay & Co are attempting to frame him for Bryce’s murder. Obvious spoiler alerts if you haven’t seen season 4.

Pairings will be Monty x Winston mainly. So far this is all from Monty’s POV but that may change down the line.

Warnings include violence, sex, drug use, rape, murder, and basically everything graphic and bad you can imagine. Will absolutely contain smut. Oh, and swearing. This chapter has the added benefit of mention’s of suicide (but given the show’s content I’m sure you saw this coming?), and also domestic abuse/child abuse. Oh and homophobic slurs.

Obligatory reminder: This is from Monty’s point of view. Clearly he didn’t view his actions with the totality of how devastatingly monsterous they were. I condemn his actions, he’s a rapist and deserved jail time. As we saw in s3 and in snippets of s4 he didn’t share that point of view. I think Monty is a dynamic character that’s interesting and I relate a lot to his back story. That’s why I was motivated to write this.

Ch 2 word count: 5,554 words (sorry not sorry guys)

Monty braced his hands on the edges of the tiny stainless steel sink, squinting as he gazed into the grimy sheet of metal bolted to the wall that was supposed to function as a mirror. He could see a blur of his skin, and the orange of his  shirt...and that was it. His face was throbbing and he couldn't eat his breakfast. "Fuck." He muttered to himself, inhaling deeply and closing his eyes. He held his breath, his aching ribs adding to the cacophony of pain of his head and hand. His hand was swollen across his knuckles and stiff, the muscles in his right arm trembling just with the effort of hanging on to the sink. He reached up with his left hand and ran it over his jaw. It, too, was swollen. He opened his mouth as wide as he could, gripping his molars with his fingers and placing his thumbs at the base of his jaw. His body shuddered and his stomach growled loudly.

I know, we're gonna fix this.

He jerked his jaw down, over, and then up in a swift, fluid motion. It made a sickeningly loud pop and Monty held back a retch, his body going from hot to cold as he felt his adrenaline pounding through his veins uncontrolled. He took a few choking, deep breaths and began to pace in a small circle, breathing hard through his nose. He dropped to the floor gracefully into a plank position as he had a thousand times for football drills, braced himself on his hands while his broken knuckles screamed at him. He lowered himself to the floor and sucked in a deep breath, his nose almost grazing the concrete. He exhaled and pushed up, hearing his ribs crack loudly as they shifted. They felt wrong inside of him, like they didn't fit where they belonged and it made it hard to breathe. He inhaled and lowered himself again, pushing through the pain. He felt powerless. He carried on, not counting reps as he picked up a smooth and even pace.  He was lost inside himself, no concept of time passing. There were no clocks, save for the one on the microwave in the common room and he wasn't there right now. 

"Your mother, she hasn't stopped crying since they pick you up." His father stated with a heavy accent.He felt a pang of shame in his chest and closed his eyes for a moment, the shackles hanging like a dead weight off his wrists. He swallowed hard, his throat feeling suddenly dry and tight.

"I'm sorry." he said thickly, his back stiff. His fear felt alive inside of him, like it had a mind of its own. He avoided eye contact with his father. He could feel the rage radiating off of him and he felt the all too familiar dread sinking in.

"I bust my ass for this family, and this is what you do?" His father continued, leaning forward. Monty hazarded a glance at him from the corner of his eye, not daring to breathe. He blinked, feeling his mind beginning to reel.

"Answer me!"

Monty jumped and blinked again, feeling stupid and cornered. His heart was racing.

"What? What answer do you want?" He hated hearing the sound of his own desperation in his voice, the way it broke at the end.

"Is it true? What they're saying?"

Monty felt his body stiffen even more, if that was at all possible. He tried to shrug it off, blinking again.

"What are- what are they saying?" He stammered. It felt as though there was a fist clamped around his throat.

"You damn well know."

Monty stared straight ahead of him, feeling the all too familiar sensation of  his blood pounding in his ears and through his veins. He clenched his jaw and stayed silent.

"They're saying that you assaulted a kid. That you sexually assaulted a kid. A boy! That true?" He couldn't help but notice the tone his father's voice took on at the word 'boy'.

"It wasn't sexual assault. I was just...messin' with him." Monty said, shifting his shoulders as though his shuffling could make his actions go away, like an irritating fly tickling his skin.

"You were messing with him?" His dad blinked, his eyes darkening, "The way they said? Why would you do that shit? To a boy? Are you some kind of faggot?!" The disgust in his voice was palpable, but it wasn't the fact that he was being charged with sexual assault that disgusted him so, that much was glaringly clear.

Monty's body felt hot all over, his eyes beginning to well with tears. He clenched his jaw again and stole his resolve.

"What if I was dad? What if I was?" He locked his gaze on his father's dark, furious eyes. The rage and contempt the look he was met with took his breath away.

"You're going to prison. You know what they do to guys like you in there?" He scanned him up and down quickly, as though sizing him up.

"And what do they do? Describe it." He mumbled defiantly, squaring his chin.

"You're going to get beat to shit. At the minimum. They will beat you down."

Monty leaned back, unable to stop himself. What the fuck did it matter now anyway.

"Yeah, well, at least none of them will be my dad."

He could see the storm in his father's eyes, and he was suddenly grateful he was in jail. The chair scraped on the concrete as his dad stood, towering over him with the blackest eyes he had ever seen. Mr. de la Cruz was staring at him as though he had known it all along.

"Are you a faggot?" He asked, with a tone that suggested he already had the answer.

Fuck it, he thought, and fuck you.

He looked up and locked eyes with the man whom he had feared, loathed, worshiped... his whole life.

"Sure."

The moment could have lasted an eternity. His father stared at him in disgusted silence before spitting in his face and walking out, leaving him sitting there alone in his shackles. It hurt more than a fist. He closed his eyes, feeling as though his heart was shattering in his chest. The spit was hot and sticky, burning his left eye it landed on. He clenched his jaw again, his eyebrows furrowing as he fought back his tears. He tried to wipe the spit off of his face but his shackles stopped him from being able to reach. He rubbed the side of his face on his shoulder as though he could wipe away his shame with it, his breathing ragged.

"Hey inmate."

Monty jumped, the voice knocking him back to reality. He stood carefully, his body aching at his lack of forgiveness to it, and looked at the C.O.

"Yes sir?"

"You have an appointment with your lawyer. Come on."

He blinked slowly, following the guard out of his cell. I don't have a lawyer..? 

The guard marched him to a set of doors where he was pat down and shackled once more. They took him down a hallway he had never been down before, the shackles making his strides short and awkward, forcing him to hunch forward. It made him look small. The hall had rooms with windows that opened to the hallway. The guard opened one of the doors and Monty followed him inside.

There was a woman sitting at a large table with several file folders. Her black hair was up in a bun and she was wearing a pantsuit with a blouse. It was jarring, seeing someone outside of uniform or the orange jumpsuit. He shuffled toward the table and she glanced up at him, surveying him quietly with blue eyes he couldn't read. He sat down across from her and tried to shuffle his chair closer to the table with little success.

 The guard stepped in and closed the door. The woman turned her attention from him to the guard.

"You can wait outside." She dismissed him. He looked as though he was going to argue with her but then thought better of it and left. Monty could see him watching them through the glass.

"Hello Mr. de la Cruz." She said, opening one of the files and glancing at it before looking back at him. "I am Eva Guerrero. I am a defense attorney and I work for a non-profit organization, and we were forwarded your case and I am here to offer you legal representation for your trial, if you choose to have one. I have spent some time reviewing your case and I have a few thoughts, and a few questions."

Monty sat there, staring at her for awhile. He blinked while he waited for his brain to catch up. It didn't.

"Okay." He said curtly, instantly on the defensive.

"You presently have two charges filed against you. That is correct? The sexual assault of Tyler Down and the murder of Bryce Walker..?"

Monty stood in the dim light of his bedroom, one of the bulbs in the ceiling was burnt out. It cast long shadows up the dark beige walls. It made the hole he punched in his white door look cavernous. He gazed at his reflection in the mirror, his breathing steady and calm...resolute. Tears trickled silently down his face, pooling on the wooden surface of his dresser. They slipped off the chips and dings in the surface and flowed off of the edge. His arm trembled as it held the cold steel of the gun, pressing into the side of his temple. His finger curled around the trigger, his other hand pressed on the top of the dresser to brace himself. There was only one bullet in the chamber, but he only needed one.

"Where are you, you son of a bitch!" His father roared, bursting into the room and yanking him from his thoughts. His blood pounded in his ears and he rounded on the taller man, not even feeling human anymore.

"You wanna go old man?!" Monty yelled, taking the gun away from his own face and leveling it at the chest of his father, finger still poised on the trigger. The man staggered back, clearly intoxicated. His face flashed shock for a moment before he began to laugh, contempt replacing his former fearful expression as though it had never existed. Monty's heart was hammering in his chest like it was going to explode. His body was moving outside of his control, his desperation having a mind of its own and an appetite for destruction.

"You going to shoot me?" The older man laughed again and muttered derisively in Spanish before closing the space between them, leaning into the gun. "Do it then. You're the man now."

Monty locked eyes with his monster, his boogeyman, and felt his resolve begin to crumble just as he always crumbled under his father's fists and rage. He lowered the gun and made to shove passed him to get through the door but his dad grabbed him roughly around his abdomen and chucked him into it. He heard it crack under his weight and his lungs strained as the wind was knocked out of him. He choked and gasped for a moment, in a heap on the ground still holding the gun.

"You're just a coward." His dad hissed, booting him hard in the ribs. He hated himself for not being able to hold back his whimper at the pain. "Were you fucking crying? Crying like a lady-boy? Like a faggot?!"

He sucked in a ragged breath and dragged himself to his feet, running haphazardly  through the hallway. He needed to get the fuck out of here before this ended in regret. His dad pursued him, hot on his tail, stopping momentarily to grab a bottle of liquor off of the counter.

"Where the fuck do you think you're going you little shit?!"

"I'm getting the fuck out of here!" Monty yelled, opening the front door. His dad grabbed him by the scruff of his shirt and yanked him backwards, slamming him against the wall and backhanded him. He tasted blood. He shoved his dad as hard as he could, away from him and ran out the door without looking back. His dad staggered drunkenly and fell over. It didn't stop him for long, just slowed him down momentarily, Monty heard his drunken shuffling footsteps chasing him out the door.

"Come back here you coward!" He yelled, chucking the bottle at Monty. It shattered beside his feet and he stepped on the glass. It crunched under the soles of his shoes, gritty on the gravel driveway. The alcohol splashed up his pants, staining and stinking. He fumbled for his keys, hands shaking and jerking as adrenaline sent his nerves haywire. He popped the safety back on the gun and tossed it in the back storage compartment. He started the Jeep and threw it in reverse, slamming his foot on the gas and gunning it down the driveway. His tires screeched shrilly on the pavement and the SUV lurched with his sudden movements.

He put the Jeep into drive and stomped on the gas, not knowing where he was going. There was nothing but the sound of his engine, the tires rumbling on the pavement noisily and his suspension rattling every so often as he went over a bump or pothole in the road. And his seemingly-endless-blood pounding in his ears-level rage. His vision blurred with tears, the road and lights melted blurs whipping passed him with no recognition. He sobbed, unable to catch his breath. His chest felt empty, like a gaping wound raw and shredded on the edges. Minutes turned into hours and became nothing. Eventually he had no energy left to sob, no tears left to cry.

He eased off of the gas pedal and soaked in the emptiness that consumed him. The air around him was cold and light, the stars dancing above him and the moon hung over it all like a fucking spotlight for his shit show.

He slowed and stopped, realizing he recognized the house he was in front of. His heart skipped a beat. He shouldn't be here. He put the Jeep in park and pushed the door open, stepping out of the vehicle. He left the door open as he walked ponderously along the curb. The house was like a mansion, towering on top of a small expensively landscaped hill. With a huge, wall-like cement fence with wrought iron details on top. Four pillars boarded each edge of the horse-shoe shaped driveway, one of those fancy ones that you can drive in and out of in a  half circle. The pillars had lamps on top made out of matching wrought iron that bathed him in golden light, like a caricature of an angel.

He didn't belong here.

He stood at the mouth of the driveway, his arms hanging limply at his sides. He sighed, turning to go when he saw a figure approaching him. The tall, slender, dark haired young man stepped into the light. His dark, brown eyes were muddied with confusion. He wore a light coat thrown over a grey cable knit sweater and olive coloured slacks, lacking his usual carefully chosen attire. It was evident he just threw it on in a hurry to run outside. His heavy brows furrowed, his expression flipping rapidly from confusion to concern.

"Monty- what are you doing here? My parents are actually home...you probably don't want to- why are you bleeding? Are you ok?!" He stumbled his words in a rush.

Monty stood there with his arms limp at his side for a few moments, trying to feel anything other than the brokenness that consumed him. He knew the desperation showed on his face like an open book and he loathed himself for it. He could never hide it, not in front of Winston. The other boy had a way of running his fingers over his spine and cracking him open like a dam waiting to flood the world. And tonight, he was nothing if not an open wound.

"Monty?!" Winston insisted, taking another step towards him.

"Bryce is dead." He said hollowly.

Winston blinked, glancing back to the house and then back to Monty. He closed the space between them, Monty's heart leaping into his throat. Winston took his hand and ran his fingers over his knuckles and palm with an aching tenderness.

"Okay, let's get out of here then." He said calmly. Damn him. Winston gave his hand a gentle squeeze and tilted his face to lock his warm eyes with Monty's avoidant gaze. Monty looked back at him knowing he wasn't able to hide his pain behind his mask anymore. He returned the gentle squeeze before walking back to the Jeep and climbing in, his heart racing once more. Winston climbed in the passenger seat, doing a double take at the gun in the back.

"Is that a gun?! What are you doing with a gun?! How did you even get a gun?!?!"

Monty clenched his jaw, starting the Jeep with a stuttering rumble. It was an old Jeep, and its age was showing. Monty couldn't help but feel uncomfortable having the boy who was used to so much luxury in his piece of shit SUV. 

Although if Winston had any opinions, he kept them to himself. Monty glanced at the gun in the corner of his eye, barely tilting his face before looking at Winston for a moment and putting the vehicle in drive.

"It was a gift." He muttered, nonchalantly. Winston looked taken aback but didn't ask anymore questions as Monty drove off. Monty turned up the music, indicating he didn't want to talk anymore. Winston reached over and  held Monty's hand that was resting in his lap. Monty didn't fight it or pull away, allowing the other boy to gently stroke his fingers. He felt the pounding rage and anxiety, poised for the attack, slowly recede under Winston's unfairly soft touch.

"They found him in the water...by the docks." Monty said thickly, the dam threatening to break again. "They say he was shot...he was murdered."

"Murdered?! Holy fuck..." Winston gasped, sucking in a quick breath. It was clear he was rattled. "Who would do that?"

"Oh I think I know." Monty said, a clearly menacing tone to his voice. "Cops hauled me in for questioning. Cuffed me and chucked my ass in the back seat and everything. What a fucking show."

Winston looked taken aback.

"But Bryce was your friend?! Why would they think you killed him?!" Winston asked, despite the gun sitting in the back of the Jeep like a verifiable elephant in the room.

"We had a fight before he was killed." Monty grumbled, stepping on the gas a little. "He was killed homecoming night."

Winston took a deep breath, surveying Monty carefully.

"While you were with me?"

"If I was fuckin' there he wouldn't be fuckin' dead right now!" Monty yelled. "I should have been there. I could have stopped it. Someone beat the shit out of him and shot him and threw him in the fuckin' water and I was off getting laid!"

Winston stayed silent for a few moments, gazing at the scenery as it whipped by. If his outburst or speeding bothered him, Monty couldn't tell. He seemed surprisingly unruffled by his rage. After more time passed Monty's resolve and anger subsided, having nothing to feed off of. He took a deep, tremulous breath.

"I'm sorry." He muttered, "I don't blame you. It wasn't your fault I wasn't there for him. It's mine-"

"Monty, don't blame yourself for this either." Winston cut him off. "There was nothing you could have done. You couldn't have known that would have happened and if you had tried to stop it they very likely would have killed you too. It would have taken someone incredibly dangerous to have done this. I didn't know Bryce very well, but he wouldn't have gone down without a fight."

Monty flinched, gripping the steering wheel tightly with one hand and his other hand trembled in Winston's. He drew in a shivering breath and shook his head, his brows furrowing deeply.

"If I had died too so be it. I should have been there, protecting him. I always protected him... he died alone."

His lip quivered as his eyes welled with tears once more. He wanted to punch himself in his own god damned face. He blinked rapidly, pushing his emotions back down and swallowed hard, flipping his turn signal on.

"That's not a road?" Winston said in confusion.

"That's the point." Monty said, his words catching when the Jeep thumped in and out of a rut jerking both boys around inside.

"I've never done this before." Winston said with a small laugh, "Gone off roading."

"What?! Are you fucking kidding me?!" Monty shook his head, putting the Jeep into 4x4 and glancing at the other boy. "Rich kids." He muttered incredulously. Winston shrugged and flopped around, his shoulder bumping into Monty's as the Jeep thrashed from side to side over the uneven ground. He laughed helplessly, shaking his head. He was knocked backwards as the SUV lurched upwards and then once again bumped into Monty and then the side of the door as it landed roughly, the suspension audibly creaking.

"Jesus can this thing even handle this?!" Winston wondered.

"It was built for this." Monty chuckled, easily matching his body's movements with the jerking of the Jeep, "How about you, pretty boy, can you handle it?" He almost purred, quirking an eyebrow teasingly. Winston shot him a half exasperated dirty look and shifted his weight surreptitiously and then he smirked, meeting the other boy's challenge.

"I think we both know I like being tossed around a little."

Monty responded by gunning the SUV over a ditch in the dirt road, and Winston grabbed the handle over his head to maintain his balance and ride out the bucking of the vehicle. The two shared a look and Monty grinned devilishly. He pressed the accelerator down slowly and evenly, the Jeep's tires kicking up sand that billowed around them like an angry cloud. He adjusted the steering wheel and pulled the SUV into a tight turn, the force tossing Winston to one side as he held the tires in a rotation. He sped up as the Jeep spun in a circle, the sand flying around them like debris in an explosion. The lights of the city and the moon over the ocean melted together, becoming a ribbon of colours swirling dizzyingly around them.

Monty wasn't watching where the Jeep was going, he didn't have to. He had perfect control of the vehicle's movements, he had done this countless times with the guys. He was watching Winston, couldn't take his eyes off of him if he had even tried. He watched the way his chest moved when he breathed, the way his expressions changed and the way his eyes were just so damned alive. Monty loved the way he would laugh or yelp, and knew exactly how to get each reaction. The thrill of it made his face feel flushed, his blood pounding for an altogether different reason. He bit his lip and closed his eyes for a moment before pulling the Jeep out of the doughnut turn and slamming on the brakes. Winston let out a little shriek as he was once again tossed from side to side, and then also back and forth with his long legs tangling like a clumsy giraffe.

"If I knew it was that easy to make you scream I would have done this a long time ago." Monty laughed, cutting the engine and smirking at Winston, his heart fluttering in his chest. Winston glanced at him through the dark lengths of his eyelashes and moistened his lips. His cheeks were flushed and his breathing was a little ragged after being thrashed around like a rag-doll mercilessly for the last god-only-knows how long.

"I could think of a few other ways you could make me scream." He said breathily. 

Monty yanked his seat belt off and practically dove at him, his hands grabbing the other boy's wavy hair as their lips crashed together. Monty had one leg on his centre console, the other was in between Winston's legs. Winston's fingertips dug into his back as he kissed back, his bruising lips meeting Monty's furious hunger with a relishing eagerness. Monty kissed him and pawed at him like he wanted to devour him and Winston's hands flew to his pants and popped the button with ease and unzipped them, running his hand over the other boy's obvious erection. He wanted to be devoured, consumed, destroyed. Monty gasped and made a soft, strangled sound as he broke their kiss.

"Fucking hell." He hissed grinding his hips into Winston's hand, "I want you." he added, his voice catching. And I shouldn't, he thought, I can't... this is going to be the death of me.

Winston laughed lowly, continuing to run his hand up and down Monty's rock hard length. He kissed him again, biting his bottom lip lightly as he pulled away.

"Take me home." He said flatly, his hand still rubbing Monty's achingly hard cock. 

Monty blinked rapidly, his train of thought thrashing around not unlike Winston was being thrashed around moments ago.

"W...what?" He stuttered, gasping quietly and suppressing a moan with limited success.

"Take me home, Montgomery," Winston said, staring into Monty's eyes as he massaged his balls, "And fuck me properly."

"I don't think I can drive like this." Monty groaned as Winston's hand slipped away, tucking his throbbing cock back into his pants and zipping them back up with some difficulty.

"You're going to." Winston smirked, kissing him deeply and then pushing him away as he adjusted his own bulge in his pants.

Monty swallowed and looked at the lawyer before him. He had declined the legal aide appointed by the court, and he had assumed it was left at that. That he'd be deemed guilty and just rot or die where he fucking belonged.

"I didn't kill Bryce." He said coldly.

"I am aware. We've been contacted by someone who has compelling evidence for your innocence."

"Charlie?" Monty asked, meeting her eyes carefully. He already knew the answer to that question he realized with sickening dread.

"No, Charlie went to the police shortly after you were apprehended and confessed to lying to them to cover for you and that he had no idea of your true whereabouts that night. A boy named Winston Williams... contacted us seeking legal aide on your behalf," The lawyer said, reaching for one of the folders. "He can place you at his house at the time of the murder. He said you made some texts and the cell phone towers would be able to confirm your location which would be quite far from the location where Bryce was killed. He also has an article of your clothing that would possibly be useful, if people can confirm you wore it that night and haven't since."

Monty swallowed hard  against the lump in his throat, willing his face to remain stagnant and leaned back, shaking his head. The betrayal by Charlie stung like the weight of a sword to the hilt of his spine. And then there was the Winston of it all.

"He just doesn't fucking give up, does he?" He muttered with an agonized hitch in his voice despite his best efforts.

"I mean, if I knew someone was innocent of a crime, I would want to speak out."

"Did he tell you I beat the shit out of him the night we met and I called him a fucking faggot?" Monty lashed out, he would have crossed his arms but his shackles prevented him from doing it so he just squared his shoulders and jaw and stared coldly at the woman in front of him who only wanted to help him. But he didn't want her fucking help, or Winston's for that matter.

The woman held his gaze, completely unfazed by his demeanor.

"He did, in fact, tell me that." She said with a quirked eyebrow. Monty was taken aback but tried to do his best not to let that show.

"So why the fuck would he want to help me." He said hollowly. The lawyer shrugged.

"Does that really matter? You're looking at life in jail or worse, right now with these charges."

"Maybe I fuckin' deserve it." Monty said, tilting his head challengingly.

"Maybe you do." She agreed calmly. "But I don't think you do. I think that's an easy way out. I think you're fucking giving up, throwing it away because its easier than facing the person you are and the problems you have. Its easier than admitting your life isn't going where you wanted it to, and that you regret the things you've done." 

She tossed a file in his direction.

"I think life has been unreasonably hard on you, Montgomery, and I think the people and systems that were supposed to protect you and keep you safe didn't. I think you had a violent upbringing, and that you survived for a long time by yourself. I think the fact that you'd rather go to jail for a crime you didn't commit than willingly admit out loud that you spent the night with a boy who's only crime was maybe to love you enough to want to save you is cowardly. I think you feel like you don't deserve his concern, or his love for that matter, so you're running scared from that too. I think you've been scared for your whole life. And I think its time you fucking let that go. Because the people who've helped you become the young man standing before me would love to see you sitting here wallowing in your self pity. They'd love to see you disappear like another fucking statistic. I would like to think that someone who has survived as long as you have, someone who's fought as hard as you have would take all that anger and tell them to fuck themselves and build a real life for himself, and be fucking happy to spite them, in spite of them."

Monty felt his pulse tick in his neck and looked away before fixing her with a glare. That hit a nerve.

"I think you fucking think too much." He snarked, and smirked with a cocky lift of his eyebrow. "What would you know about it anyway."

She smiled calmly, and met his arrogance with her own ego.

"I had a bad childhood." She said flatly, not knowing she was using his own words against him, "I did eight years in federal for armed carjacking."

Monty sat there numbly, dumbfounded for a moment.

"And they let you be a lawyer?" He asked incredulously, "That explains a lot..."

"It wasn't easy, Montgomery, it took me almost twelve years after my sentence to even begin rebuilding my life. They said I would never amount to more than my crime. But I fucking did it and they can suck my dick." She began to collect the folders he hadn't even looked at yet, leaving one in front of him as she stood up.

"You're a lawyer, you're not supposed to talk like that." He mumbled, feeling panic flutter in his chest as his lifeline was packing up and leaving and it was all his own fault for pushing her away.

"Not in front of a judge anyway." She countered, snapping her briefcase shut. 

"Think about what I said. I won't close your case yet, but don't waste anymore of my fucking time. Keep that, and read it." She warned as she walked away. She opened the door where the guard was waiting and he heard the sound of his boots as he came to fetch him.

His mind was reeling, spinning out of control as he shuffled behind the C.O. awkwardly holding his file.

"You have some mail." The C.O. said offhandedly. Monty blinked, wondering what it was. Was it a court summons? Was it Winston? Was it his family..? They stopped at the doors and the man uncuffed him around the wrists and ankles. 

He handed Monty the letter, his expression unreadable.

"It came in awhile ago...but sometimes things here get lost on purpose."

"Why are you being nice to me?" Monty asked, suspicious as he took the letter.

"You're a human being. And I'd like to believe we can help people in here... sometimes."

"You must be new." Monty sighed. He walked back to his cell without a backwards glance. None of the other three inmates he shared a cell had returned yet, they must be at lunch. Monty's stomach growled insistently but he ripped open the letter instead, wanting the privacy to absorb the blow that was about to come. The paper was a file printed from the jails website, someone was requesting the right to visit him and it required his approval or denial.

Charles St. George.

[i-think-i-luv-ya]

Gunshot - KARD M/V Review Rant

I’m at it again with another so called review, when in reality its just a whole essay on my thoughts of my favorite artist’s comebacks, aka a rant lol. If you haven’t seen Gunshot, GO WATCH IT! I promise it’s amazing and this is one of their best songs/videos/comebacks etc. I have attached the video so no excuses! Also this is a lot of spoilers so don’t read this first it will ruin the shock and awe that is this video. And putting the “keep reading” to contain said spoilers and so ya’ll who don’t wanna read this don’t have to scroll endlessly to reach the end of my rambling.

Hi! Hello! Thank you for continuing reading! Lolol my Taemin 2KIDZ review actually got notes which was surprising, so hope you guys like this. I have a lot to say so here we go...

So first I wanna start on the meaning of the song. On his VLIVE BM said the song is about verbal abuse and how detrimental it can be to your mental health. Considering many pop songs, especially kpop, are all very cheery and upbeat I applaud them for covering such a serious topic in a way that’s not sad and slow. PLUS BM is creating new merch called healers where everything will be donated to an organization that fights against bullying (including homophobia and racism) which is incredible so be sure to check that out when it’s dropped. 

So on that note I wanna get into the song itself. Let’s start with lyrics. The song starts with the words “LOVE damn 4 letters” like what a perfect way to start a song. Also the way they blend a lot more English into this song is something I love as a non-Korean speaker. Plus the parts in English are so powerful? Well so are the Korean lyrics. Like KARD you guys just went hard with this whole song. The chorus is literally “You words are like a gunshot, I’m bleeding love”. Just wow. That definitely describes verbal abuse perfectly, especially coming from those you love because it’s those cruel words from loved ones that hurt the most. I mean “the words you spit out kill me like bullets”, how else is there to describe that pain because it fucking sucks. Other lyrics that just show the words are coming from the one you love: “As long as you love me, the good or the ugly, everything is okay” as well as “I won’t surrender my darling”.  And this relationship is obviously toxic with words like “Selfish I will never be enough even when I pour out all of myself” and “It’s like you control me, without you I’m lonely” and “So far you’ve concealed the true color” and “Without you dying slowly”. And they clearly have had enough with this abuse with lyrics like “Need to drag myself out of there, remove you from my life, take off the tag you” and “They hit me like a gunshot, I’ve bled enough”. 

Now into the sound of the song. It has all the classic KARD elements: it has a powerful sound with the instrumentals, it’s faced paced, it’s something you can dance to, and it has that chorus that slows down then just picks up again. But this song just sounds very different than anything they’ve released before? Not in a bad way, since this is probably one of their best songs. Between the lyrics, the vocals, and the overall sound where the music just doesn’t completely take over like in some of their other songs. Don’t get me wrong I love songs like BOMB BOMB, but it was very loud and a lot happening in the song at once. Which isn’t a bad thing, cuz that’s like the perfect club song. But with this song (and the whole album really) it shows them refining their sound. Also they had a lot more involvement with this song, especially BM who did everything from lyrics to producing which probably has a lot to do with it. The music itself just goes perfectly with the vocals. Just the flow is really nice, and the beat is fun, and them gun shots really just add to it. And can we talk about that breakdown when BM is like “1 shot, 2 shot, 3 shot, 4″? Like what??!! Those sirens and everything just ramps up just before it ends, like yaasssss. 

Now the music video! It starts with Jiwoo zipping up a body bag...which just sets the tone for the video cuz it’s like ok this is how it starts lets see how tf we got here. Then you find out at the end it Jiwoo zipping up the body bag of...well Jiwoo lol like WHAT THE FUCK?! (I’ll get into this here in a sec). Anyway in terms of the video it also has some classic KARD elements like the choreography that’s very intense and dramatic, the bright colors, the flashes and lasers, some crazy stuff happening, and some really cool props and visuals (not just the members lol). Other common stuff is the piles of technology surrounding them, especially J.seph. Like in Red Moon, there’s cameras and old televisions around them. This time the video starts with them being surrounded by cameras and J.seph has a pile of old computer monitors. There may be some meaning with this, but I don’t get it but think it’s an interesting theme. Perhaps its an analogy for them being constantly watched and put on every screen, like showing a darker side of being a celebrity (also will get into this in a minute when I talk about interesting interpretations and theories). 

Also this video gave me suicide squad vibes. Like Jiwoo with them pony tails and the way her makeup was done resembled Harley Quinn. And idk BM gave me Joker vibes (may be due to the coloring of his teeth), BUT he also gave me Harley vibes with the blue and pink coloring of his blonde hair (which is just an amazing look for him). Then BM was just covering everything in black, Jiwoo is just fucking shit up, Somin is ready to cut a bitch, and J.seph is burning shit up as usual (just like BOMB BOMB, so another parallel). Everyone looked good in this video...like they are all such great visuals. Somin looked like a queen as always with the jewelry and everything (they always do that and she looks stunning). Jiwoo pulls of that outfit with those threads everywhere, like that would drive me crazy yet she looks amazing. Blonde BM is truly a look. And J.seph? I think this was the best he’s looked in any video...maybe its the dark hair and clothes paired with those light contacts that just make his eyes stand out. Idk but looks good, all of them! Even with all those slashes to their faces! Also this video is a lot less sexualized, especially with the girls but that’s a whole other topic for another day.

So we know this song is about verbal abuse. I talked about how it could be from someone you love. Obviously the cuts on their faces are caused by the words and pain inflicted on them, until eventually its more than just lashes but a full on gunshot killing them completely. An interesting theory I read is this is a song to their fans, or really people just leaving hate comments. Again you can draw from the cameras and screens how their whole life is recorded, and how they are trying their best pouring their heart and soul into their music when they get all this hate and criticism. So these “shots” hurt the most when it comes from their fans. Also going with this concept, Jiwoo shooting herself could be killing who she is to be who they want her to be. Although there’s so many interpretations, especially to the ending. Like it could be her killing the weaker and darker part of herself (like the part of herself willing to put up with the abuse out of love), so by killing that part of her she is free. BUT, could this “winner” be that dark part of herself killing who she used to be? This could also be killing that pain, but by embracing it and letting it morph you into something darker like a person embracing that evil and using it to make themselves stronger and protect themselves. OR she is causing this pain on herself, it’s her own words are the insecurities and lack of love to herself that is affecting her until she ends up just killing herself (not literally but figuratively). Idk so many ideas and interpretations to the ending alone. Plus we have them all just spreading this darkness and anger (like BM literally painting everything black, which is symbolic into spreading darkness). But ya this video was amazing, the visuals were stunning and the song is just great.

The rest of the album (all 2 songs...hope they release more) was just as incredible. Hold On is a farewell to J.seph who will be enlisting soon, and omg that made me cry. So J.seph you better keep your promise and return soon because we’ll be holding on and waiting for you babe! This song was also really slow (at least for a KARD song) which just shows you they can be diverse in their music. Plus just the contrast of the verses (which are just super powerful) with the chorus (which is very melodic) was great. And with AH EE YAH, like that was so nice to listen to and its a cool mix between old music with that beat it starts with, to newer music especially with the way they rap. So, shows they have a lot of influences and it also shows a different side to KARD. 

Overall I think it’s a great comeback (idk what else they have planned but hoping for some new stuff because I’ve missed them so much). Please go show support and stream Gunshot and listen to the mini album! They are so talented and deserve so much more recognition. They have such hope with this comeback, but yet they still are like “we’re never gonna be number 1″ and that just breaks my heart. So show your support, hopefully they can get a win this year or just something big happen for them because they deserve it!! So that is the end of my rant...back to watching this video for the 100th time we go!! 

[drabblesanddreams]

hey, idk if you’re currently accepting requests but imma try anyway. can u do a scenario with chuuya and his fem!s/o where mori had assigned her to a mission that requires her to stay at the ADA for a while. most prolly bc a new mutual enemy showed up in yokohama. chuuya is agitated and scared bc his gf and dazai had a long history together and they havent had a closure yet and its clear that dazai still loves her. so chuuya would have to ask for assurance from his gf. make it extra angsty! 😂

omg hi!! I loved writing this request so much so tysm for sending it in! Though im not sure its the kind of angst you were thinking of i hope you enjoy it regardless! Also super sorry for finishing it super late, hope yall enjoy!

My kofi link if you wish to support!

TW: just arguing tbh 

Word count: 1.5k

Summary: What happens when you are sent off to work beside a certain ex-mafia member who you share an unresolved history with but your currently with chuuya?

“Hat…check…gun…check…” you mutter to yourself as you recount each of the objects that you had packed for your latest mission. “So, what exactly am I missing, then?” you still feel like something was off however, like you forgot something important. You scrunch your eyebrows together in deep thought as you tried to pinpoint what exactly you were missing. You couldn’t afford to forget anything that might come of use, for this upcoming mission was of high importance.

A new group had recently arrived in Yokohama, threatening the dual existence of the ADA as well as the Port Mafia. This shared threat meant that both organizations had to work together, at least until the threat had been wiped out.

That was where you came in, you had a certain history with one of the members, a history that painted you in a good light which was exactly what the Port Mafia needed in order to establish a functioning alliance.

On the other hand, both you and Mori-san weren’t foolish enough to think that this history meant Dazai trusted you, per se. He was a complicated man with an even more complicated way of thinking who was smart enough to know that trusting someone was one of the most foolish things you could do.

But the fluttering feeling you felt in your stomach was a strong indication of just how nervous you were to be working alongside the handsome brunet once more. You knew how sly he could be with his words, how he could get deep under your skin and make you question things you were so sure about before. You wanted to bury your past in the deep end of your mind, to never resurface again and haunt you. Regardless, your fling with Dazai ended a long time ago and you were now with-

“Hey,” the sudden sound of another individuals voice breaks you out of your deep thought and you blink haphazardly. You straighten up from looking over your backpack to see Chuuya standing by the door, hand seemingly hesitantly placed on the frame, gripping it a little too tightly. He stares at you solemnly, a man just as caught in the spirals of his mind as you were.

“Hey,” your mouth curves into a smile, happy to see your boyfriend before you were due to head off, “What are you doing here?” Chuuya was required for a different part of this mission, and though you were confused to see him you wouldn’t say that you weren’t happy.

“Got you somethin’” You watch as he pulls a bouquet of red roses from behind his back. You smiled warmly at him before accepting the flowers and burying your face slightly in order to inhale their sweet scent.

“You didn’t have to,” you comment, though very much happy as you temporarily place the bouquet on your bed so that you can later place them in a vase. Every day without fail he presented you with a big, bouquet of red roses. The colour as rich and passionate as the foundations of your relationship with the ginger mafia member. It was sweet, really, and never failed to make your insides flutter with affection.

“But what are you doing here? Aren’t you supposed to already be gone?�� you question, turning around as he pulls you into his arms, holding you tightly and burying his face in your neck.

“What?” he snorts before planting soft kisses onto your neck, “I can’t see my beautiful girlfriend before she leaves me for another man?” you roll your eyes at his comment, moving back to slap his chest lightly, “Haha, very funny Chuuya.”

He returns to your neck and you’re distracted momentarily as he continues his previous actions. Light sucking, sensual kissing, tender licking, pleasure fills you as you flutter your eyes shut and loll your head back, letting him have even more access to your neck.

“Say it to me then,” he murmurs, and you hum, still too lost with how good his mouth feels on your neck and how his hand was gripping your hip.

“Say what,” you whisper back, and he stops his mission of decorating the skin of your neck with his loving kisses.

“That you don’t still love him,”

You huff, “Love who?” wishing he would just go back to making you feel good.

“Dazai.”

This catches your attention and you open your eyes, moving your head back to look at him in his eyes. Even now up close, the blue of his eyes is breathtaking to you, though they are now set hard with something you can’t quite identify.

Anger? Frustration? You have no idea what it is but its setting you off slightly.

The two of you never mentioned his name, not when it included the context of your previous relationship with said man. Later in the day, you would wish that you did, after all, maybe it wouldn’t have led to the conversation that the two of you were having now.

“What?” you ask, forehead creasing in a state of confusion.

“C’mon (Y/n), I think we both know what’s going to happen when you leave,” he states icily and you blink, shaking your head as you move backwards, sneering ever so slightly, “And exactly what’s going to happen?”

He rolls his ocean blue eyes at you and you cross your arms as you wait for his answer, “I seriously have to spell it out of you? It’s not cute playing dumb anymore doll,” your eyes narrow at his words.

“What the hell’s your problem?” you asked, confused and a tad hurt by his passive behaviour. You had no idea why he was acting like this; you watch monetarily as he strides further into the room and turns away from you. You have the faintest clue though, “Is this seriously over him? How many times are you going to keep bringing this up?!” you ask in indignation

His nostrils flare as he spins back around to face you, “Yes,” he confirms and you throw your hands up in frustration, “We both know that you’re still in love with the suicidal basted.” You wince at his words, you never thought that he would throw the fact right in your face. But his next words shamelessly cause your heart to skip a beat.

“And we both know he’s still in love with you.”

“Jesus fucking Christ Chuuya, unresolved history doesn’t mean that I’m still fucking in love with him!” you exclaim in pure frustration throwing your hands around as you turn away from him and sit back down to your bags on the ground.

“It does though!” he claims, jaw clenching as his voice raises to a shout, “You can honestly tell me that you feel absolutely nothing?” he snarls following you so that he can meet your scowling face. You almost want to shy away from his blazing fury. Chuuya has always been a hot-headed fool, but to take it on you over some insecurity…

“Well, what the fuck do you want me to do Chuuya?!?” you yell, throwing a piece of clothing at him as you stand back up, “What, do you want me to just quit the mission? Maybe move to another city so I never have to see him?” your eyes spark with fury as you continue, “O-or no, you know what? Why don’t I just move to another fucking planet huh?!” you scream.

“I knew I it, I knew you still had feelings,” he shouts back, knocking back his hat slightly so that he can run his hands through the orange strands. You shake your head in disbelief, “But I’m with you because I love you!” you cry out and he stares at you from underneath a heated gaze.

“You seriously have no trust in me? After everything?” you ask, as you stared at him in confusion. You didn’t understand how he could react to you in that way, how he could question everything the both of you went through.

A moment of silence finally overtakes the both of you and you stare at him, breathing heavily as you try to catch your breath.

His gaze darkens, his voice dropping to a low tone, “Yes.”

You flinch at that, eyes welling up pitifully as if he physically assaulted you. You try blinking it away to no avail and instead glare at him hatefully, letting the tears well up as the hot white-anger fill you to the core. All you want is to claw at him, to see him bleed and wail as pitifully as you feel right now.

The only sign betraying the resolute anger you felt was the quiver in your bottom lip. Your breath hitches as you slightly nod in resolution, “Get out,” you whisper.

He stays put, however, and instead fixes you with a hard glare.

“Get out!” You shout furiously, reaching for the bouquet of flowers on the bed and hurling them in his direction, the tears finally spilling down your face, “And take your stupid flowers with you!”

And he did. Leaving you behind with a broken heart and a hollow feeling that you haven’t felt in a long time.

[writingandsins]

The Prize Pt. 1

A/N: This is an Red Dead Online oc x oc platonic fiction, a gift for the wonderful @verai-marcel who has been so kind to me and is generous enough to let me use her OC Verai Marcel.  I also apologize in advance, I suck at fight scenes lmao. 

This wasn’t how it was supposed to turn out. She expected to pass through unseen, a non-existent bystander that was curious of the artifact on display in the traveling emporium. 

But, somehow she had made a rather grievous error and was now in the middle of a rather sticky situation. Now, she was hiding. As those who worked for owner of the emporium along with the police were hunting her down. 

She had stolen something of theirs, something of tremendous value. But, it was something that did not belong to them anyways. It was stolen and she was tasked to steal it back. 

Eleanor clutched said precious item to her chest, her back flat against the side of the building. Letting the heavy rain drench her, the clouds would provide some better cover for her, allowing her to slip away into the shadows unseen. 

But a city such as Saint Denis was rather intricate, many places to hide but also a little harder to escape. She had to make her escape quickly, the owners of said item would not be in the area for long. 

The item in question was long and on the heavier side, she wrapped it up in a thick cloth to protect and obstruct it from prying eyes. This item was certainly incredibly rare in these parts, anyone of a right mind would see its incredible value. 

Making sure to keep it close, she navigated the maze in between the buildings, passing by locals and giving friendly smiles as she walked to help dissuade any suspicion. But she kept her stride quiet and careful, she wanted to be ready to run if she was spotted. 

Her beloved horse, Freyja, was close by and would come at her whistle. But she wouldn't be able to escape with those goons scouring the city, especially if they alerted the police. 

The train tracks would be her final exit if she managed to slip away unnoticed, she would take the long road to make sure she was not followed before she returned the artifact to its rightful owner. 

~~~~~~~~~~~

Verai Marcel was in Saint Denis to find work, she was away from her gang and she needed to stock up on some cash before she returned to her beloved family. 

She happened to be perusing the traveling emporium, observing the strange and weird knick knacks that were on sale. Why anyone would buy these things was beyond her, but it helped pass the time until she was ready to move on to something else for the day.

She had noticed a commotion, voices shouting at each other as a man in a velvet suit was screaming at his employees, he was almost purple in the face. 

“Find me that thief!” he shouted angrily, thrashing his arms like a child. Verai rolled her eyes and she continued to move about the emporium.

“You there!” the same voice shouted but in her direction, she looked up to meet the eyes of the man, walking his way towards her in a furious stride 

“I see a gun at your hip, are you interested in some work?”  

Verai straightened, her eyes focused on the man as she placed her hands on her hips. “I might be.” she answered curtly. 

The owner didn’t heed to her tone, instead he stopped just before her. “I need someone swift and cunning, I have a thief that stole one of my best and rarest items. I need it back for auction tonight, there's money in it for you.” 

Verai crossed her arms, “How much?” 

The man rolled his eyes with great annoyance, she could see his cheek grow darker until he appeared almost purple. 

“Good money you silly woman,” he snapped “do you want the job or not?” 

Verai pondered it for a moment, she needed the money and she didn’t have anything else to do. Catching a thief was easy enough. 

“Fine.” she agreed, “did you see the thief?” 

“A red headed woman, wearing pants just like you.” The owner described, not in the greatest detail that she would prefer but she was confident enough to find a woman of her appearance easy enough to find. 

With that in her back pocket, she set out to find the thief in the maze of Saint Denis. 

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

Damn.

Eleanor had found herself in a courtyard of sorts, fortunately there wasn’t anyone around that would recognize her. She took a deep breath, she surveyed the area for the safest exit.

Saint Denis was not familiar to her, which was proving to be a disadvantage. Finding herself getting lost to avoid being seen by her hunters, she felt that she was traveling further into the city instead of out. 

Keeping her guard up, she quietly moved forward, making sure to keep her eyes and ears trained for any movement. The moment she would be spotted, she told herself to make a run for it. 

She didn’t want to walk out into the streets, it would leave her open. But climbing along the rooftops would make anyone suspicious as well, the last thing she wanted was a gun fight. 

This item she carried was precious and she was determined to get the job done, she wanted to avoid bloodshed but she felt that it was going to have to be necessary.

The splash of a puddle alerted her, she had been so focused on finding an exit that she had let her guard down. Quickly, she took cover behind a pillar, watching from the shadows to see who was coming. 

A woman appeared, dressed in trousers like herself and armed to the teeth. A feeling passed through Eleanor's gut, this woman was different from the ones chasing her, she was dangerous and looking for her. 

She was of Asian descent but strikingly beautiful, with fair skin and full lips. But her eyes searched the courtyard like a predator, searching for her prey. 

Eleanor suspected this woman knew she was here, probably caught some sound of her steps. She cursed herself for being so sloppy, she hated this kind of work but she needed the money. The person in need of their heirloom back was willing to pay any price.

Holding her breath, she watched the woman move slowly into the courtyard. Blocking one of the exits, the other two would definitely alert her presence and ignite a chase.

A rather suicidal idea touched her mind, she could meet this woman head on and fight her way out. 

~~~~~~

Verai was always once to follow her gut, somehow she felt the need to navigate to courtyards at the goons who worked for that Emporium searched the streets.

She hadn’t paid attention as she moved quietly through the corridors and made a rather loud splash in a puddle. Alerting her presence, she could hear movement in the courtyard beyond, quickly she raced to the area to only find it empty. 

A slight feeling of confusion crossed her mind, she would have been able to see the thief run through the corridor on the other side. However, a realization quickly struck her, this thief was hiding and was watching her. 

The rain continued to pour as she visually searched the area. There were not many places to hide since it was an open courtyard, but this thief was an expert, admittedly she couldn’t help but feel a little impressed.

Verai knew that she needed to lure the thief out somehow, she began to think of how as she explored the courtyard in slow steps. If she was able to catch them off guard, she would have the advantage. 

The heavy rain was making things a little difficult to see, she was drenched to her skin and she felt her mood darken. She was beginning to feel that this job would be a waste of time, why would anyone go through so much trouble to steal something from a traveling Emporium? 

A sudden and strong hold was wrapped around her neck, the back her body was pressed against someone’s  front that they locked her in a headlock. She gasped for air, instinctively her elbows began to beat back into the person's gut to break free. It took five tries, the voice of a woman grunting in her ear before they let her go. Verai whipped around to face her attacker, who was catching her breath from her blows to the gut.

Met with a woman of fiery red hair and striking green eyes, she wore pants and something long was strapped to her back, identity covered in cloth. She had not fallen over but instead was close in a defensive position with a fierce expression on her face. This was the thief she was looking for. 

“There you are!” Verai snarled, she didn’t mind hand to hand combat, in fact it was something she was better trained than most at. She would easily beat this woman and get her prize. 

~~~~~~

Eleanor watched her opponent as she took a defensive stance, staring each other down. Her gut was still aching from the blow she withstood but she pushed it to the back of her mind, she would not show any pain.

The woman before her was admittedly beautiful but she didn’t give herself to take her beauty in. The woman had struck, like a snake striking its prey. Eleanor quickly dodged, making sure to keep out of reach before finding an opening. 

This woman was skilled, very skilled. While Eleanor was good at close combat, she was not as offensive as this woman was. When the woman struck again, she had moved quickly and gracefully, Eleanor barely had any time to block. 

She stumbled to the side, almost colliding into the fountain statue in the heart of the courtyard. Her opponent attacked again, this time Eleanor was able to brush it aside and land a hit against her temple with a loud cry. 

The woman jumped back, stumbling slightly, Eleanor had managed to disorient her for only a moment. Her dark eyes met her own, Eleanor now knew this woman was angry and she didn’t have time to back away, the woman before her launched, Eleanor tried to prepare but she found herself slammed violently against the wall, their hands at each other’s throat in a struggle. Eleanor tried to elbow or kick her way out, but this woman was proving to be stronger than she appeared. 

She had noticed the woman’s eyes flick over to the spot just over her shoulder. The item she was trying to smuggle away to safety was only a grasp away, Eleanor summoned all of her strength and bashed her forehead against her opponents. 

It had worked, they broke apart and stumbled away from each other. Eleanor felt something warm trickle down the front of her face, she touched it and with slightly hazy vision she was able to see that it was blood. 

Just as her bearings were coming back, she noticed movement coming towards her. She lurched back, her hand reaching behind her back. 

There was a metallic ring in the air, for whatever reason her body instinctively reached for it. Pointed towards the woman who was trying to take it from her. A weapon with a long blade, a sword to be exact. 

“This Katana rightful belongs to Mr. Masamune, the man who hired you stole it from him to make money for his pathetic emporium.” Eleanor found herself explaining, her gaze unwavering to the woman before her.

“I won’t let you do this.” 

~~~~~

Verai had managed to recover from the head bash, seeing the thief was open for attack, she took her opportunity. But the woman had noticed and responded, and in the blurr of motions she found herself stopping just a couple inches away from a weapon she didn’t expect.

A sword, long but on the narrow side. The blade was elegantly curved with an angled point, the steel shone brightly in the light of the rain clouds, raindrops dripping off its deadly edges. She could see a circular hilt, and at the base of the blade of a symbol she had recognized. It was the Chinese symbol of Honor. 

She looked to the woman wielding it and had listened to her words. Blood trickling down her freckled face and her breaths heavy. Verai knew that this fight was over, she could wield her gun and shoot her and retrieve the stolen sword, but with how close the Katana was, the woman would easily slice her down. 

But something told her not too, instead she stayed still as her eyes went back to the mesmerizing weapon. 

But she was determined to get her payout, it didn’t matter to her that this was stolen from its rightful owner. While she respected the woman for doing something so noble, it didn’t really apply to her.

“I will get my money.” Verai warned coldly. 

The red headed woman's eyes narrowed even further, a moment of silence passed and the woman spoke again.

“Let me pay you then.” She said, lowering the Katana slightly. “I may have an idea that may get us both what we want.” 

Intrigued, Verai relaxed her shoulders a little as she pondered the idea. She had offered to pay her, she needed the money anyways and if she had some clever idea up her sleeve, maybe they can both come out of this peacefully.

“I’m listening.” She agreed, she was in fact curious as to what kind of offer a thief could offer her. 

[they-call-me-peaches]

The Devil I Know

Pairing(s): Roger Taylor x f!Reader // Ben Hardy!Roger Taylor x f!Reader

Summary: you can’t quit him, and you’re gonna regret it

A/N: This fic was inspired by the song “Quit” by Cashmere Cat and Ariana Grande, but also @astroherogirl, whose post got me out of my minor writer’s block haha. enjoy!

Word Count: 5,058 

Warning(s): angst, light smut, light fluff, brief mention of suicidal thoughts, swearing

It didn’t matter what anyone else said about your relationship, their opinions were bullshit anyway. You knew in your soul that Roger really did love you, despite the mess he made of your thoughts and emotions. Anyone else would’ve believed that you were just another one of Roger Taylor’s numerous groupies, but you were nothing like those other women because they never got his call a few days later. He never asked them out to lavish dates or brought them back to his bed more than once a month. You weren’t his groupie, you were his secret.

August 19, 1972

The smell of sweat, smoke, cheap beer was familiar to you: the bars where Queen performed were always filled to the brim with heavy partiers. You had been following the band for weeks, desperately trying to get the attention of any of its members. It didn’t really matter who, just as long as you had a story to tell the next time your mates when out clubbing. Brian had come close to acknowledging you one gig, after you two locked eyes for a few moments before he went into his solo, but he quickly forgot you.

Rolling your eyes at the memory, you attempted to pull your shirt lower again so that your chest would be shown off nicely. You scanned the stage as the concert slowly started to begin, making the assessment that John and Roger would be your targets tonight. You had a near-perfect vision of Roger through the gaps in his drum set, and Deaky was hovering close to your section. As the songs began lighting up the bar, you swayed to the music and began your attempts to seduce at least one of the boys.

As one song melted into another, then another, you began to feel the sinking feeling in your stomach once again that a hookup was just not meant to happen. The alcohol helped to numb the pain, but you couldn’t deny how exhausted you were of failure. You began to just stare at the man raging behind the drum set, praying that your intense glare would somehow cause him to throw you a glance. And it did. His piercing eyes locked onto your gaze, and the corner of his mouth rose into a knowing smirk. Electricity jolted through your veins at the thought of Roger taking you to bed later that night, at it only encouraged you to keep dancing.

The gig simply couldn’t be over fast enough for the two of you. Roger was visibly antsy on stage, practically jumping out of his seat the second Freddie finally finished hanking the crowd for another amazing concert. You shoved your way through the drunken crowd, desperate to find Roger and finish what you started by the side of the stage. Watching as strangers came and went from the hallway leading backstage, you finally spotted a mop of blonde hair bouncing into the bar. The number of girls that had already swarmed around Roger was almost unbelievable, but you elbowed your way through and eventually landed right next to him.

His arm instinctively began to coil itself around your waist once he had realized who was pressed into his side. A lopsided smirk drew warmth into veins, and you could feel the icy stares from the other girls surrounding you. You faintly heard him mumble something about buying you a drink before you felt his grip dragging you towards the bar. A stool quickly made itself available once the other patrons realized who was approaching, and Roger pulled you to sit in his lap without hesitation. The sensation of his hot breath against your ear was making your head spin, and you could hardly remember your name when he asked for it.

After three rounds of shots, Roger’s hands began to feel like flames, licking your skin as he moved them up and down your body. The longer the two of you spoke, the more comfortable you got; your hand began sliding down his partially exposed chest and lingered dangerously close to the band of his jeans. His voice sounded like the growl of a tiger getting ready to pounce, and God you could not wait any longer for him to ravish you. He apparently couldn’t stand the teasing much longer either, and he hastily swept you towards the door. As you slipped out of the back exit of the pub, the warm summer night air enveloped the two of you.

Moments began to blur as Roger signaled down a free taxi, hastily jumping inside and drawing you near. He mumbled his address to the driver and made quick work of your exposed neck. His tongue glided along the delicate skin and was overwhelmed by the musky scent of your sweat mixing with your sweet perfume. He left a trail of faint purple bruises in a trail towards your cleavage, occasionally traveling up again to nip at previous marks. Your hands buried themselves in his golden hair, which was knotted and greasy from his industrious performance. Silent moans fell from your lips, and you almost felt ashamed that you were subjecting the poor lift driver to this display. Almost.

You were so absorbed in the pleasure he was drawing from you that you barely registered him leading you out of the cab and up towards his flat. His hands never left your figure, although he occasionally had to pause his feverish kissing to guide you in the right direction. As soon as the door to his apartment had been shut and locked, clothes began to shed at lightning's pace. You could have sworn you heard the sound of fabric tearing as he tore off your skirt. Roger briefly paused to drink in your body once he had managed to get you in just your bra and panties.

His stuttered breath as he stared gave you a boost of confidence, and you pushed him back into the couch a few feet away from the entrance where you were standing. Your thighs straddled his, and you ground your core into the thin material of his underwear. His fingers clutched onto your hips for dear life, feverishly grinding you against his growing erection. Roger continued his path of bruises down your bosom from before until he reached the lacy material of your bra. You quickly undid the clasp behind your back and threw the garment somewhere behind the couch: you couldn’t care less about anything except his mouth right now. Lips trailed down your chest until he reached the hard bud on your right breast. You watched as Roger swiftly brought the nipple into his mouth, sucking and licking until you threw your head back and released a blissful moan of his name. “God, Rog! Fuck- need... More..”

“Such a needy little minx, need my fucking cock that bad you little slut?” his tone was so desperate that you thought your orgasm may just hit you right there, but you simply whimpered in response before yanking his head up towards your own. As you passionately began kissing him, you felt his hands slide from your hips to beneath your thighs, lifting you up to head towards his bed. You almost couldn’t believe you were finally about to fuck one of the men you had spent so long lusting after.

The bright sunlight trickling through Roger’s curtains woke you up the next morning, and it only made your pounding headache feel that much worse. The sensation of warm skin under your hands brought the memories of last night soaring back to you. You had never had a partner quite like Roger, all your past lovers paled in comparison to the blond coiled around your naked body. He laid flat on his back and he slept, with you draped across his chest and trapped in his embrace. You gently moved closer to him, nestling your face into the crook of his neck and smelling the sweet scent of menthol and pine: probably from his cologne. Peppering featherlight kisses along his jaw, you nearly felt guilty about waking him until you heard his breathing become uneven. His usually bright eyes were clouded with sleep as he slowly woke up, but he became much more alert at the presence of you beside him. A faint smile played on his lips, and he leaned down to press a sweet peck onto your forehead.

You let yourself imagine what it would be like to wake up next to this man every morning, but waved the thought as reality reminded you that this affair was just one night of fun and that he would likely forget it before the week was up. The two of you gradually made your way out of bed in between sweet pecks and small talk of the night before.

“I’d be shocked if I don’t end up dealing with at least a handful of noise complaints after you leave, love.” he teased as he began making his way out of the bedroom.

“Oh please, Taylor, you could hardly count yourself as being quiet!” you yelled as you followed him into the living room, picking up the trail of clothes left behind last night. As you started to messily dress, Roger snuck up behind your and gently wrapped his arms around your waist. You instinctively leaned back into his touch and felt weak as his warm breath ghosted over your neck and shoulder.

“You better be planning on leaving your number behind Y/N, I thought I might have gone to heaven last night you were so wonderful,” he mumbled into your skin. You sighed as you reached up to run a hand through his messy locks. “‘Course Rog, you better be planning on calling me though, or I may just end up in a living hell,” you whispered back.

The two of you stayed that way for a few more moments in a comfortable silence. After you scribbled your number onto some random crumbled paper laying on his counter, you both delayed your departure for as long as possible. But your roommate would begin to worry if you didn’t return soon, so you regrettably made your way out between soft kisses and promises of another meeting.

As the door shut behind you however, small cracks began piercing your heart. The pain worsened the further you went from his flat, and hot tears began to leak from the corners of your eyes. You never meant to get attached to the man you were leaving behind, he was only meant to be a fun story to tell to your friends, about how you slept with a rockstar. Roger had made his mark on your soul, however, and you had finally let the reality of your situation into the forefront of your mind. He would never call you, he would stare at you again with the hungry gaze you had grown fond of. One night with him had ruined your life, and you felt the sinking feeling that you were going to regret ever meeting him.

October 2, 1972

The clock’s endless chimes had begun to cloud your conscience with doubt. It was nearing one in the morning and you hadn’t left your position on the loveseat near the phone in almost two hours. Roger was supposed to ring you at eleven, but the receiver hadn’t let out a single noise since you had arrived home from work. He had called you a few nights after your first encounter to invite you back to his apartment, and the two of you had been meeting every Friday night since. You knew it was only a casual fling, and still fairly new, but you couldn’t help but be disappointed that you wouldn’t see him tonight.

Just as you had finally begun to drift off on the arm of the couch, the phone blared its ringtone throughout your small flat. Only one person would be calling so late into the night, so you quickly willed your drowsiness away and picked up the call.

“Hello?” You asked out of habit, and the greeting was met with a soft chuckle from the other end. “Hi Y/N, how’ve you been?”

“Well, my week was going wonderfully until some bloke decided to leave me waiting all night for his bloody call.” Huffing as you waited for his excuse, you listened to his quiet sigh before he began his explanation.

“Figured you’d be a tad angry about that, but I really didn’t mean to love. I was about to call when Josephine showed up from her business trip early and-“ the blood in your veins started to boil as you cut off his last sentence. “I’m sorry, who showed up at your flat?”

“Josephine, she’s my, um, girlfriend.” He mumbled in response. You suddenly felt like a million bricks had settled into the pit of your stomach due to the guilt you felt. “Roger, how could you? I can’t believe that you wouldn’t tell me you were seeing someone, that I’ve been your fucking mistress for two months!” The tears pricked at the edges of your eyes, and the feeling of betrayal overwhelmed you.

“Y/N please hear me out, I’m begging you to listen,” he pleaded, “I’ve been meaning to break things off for a while now, but I just can’t yet. She’s Chrissy’s best mate and Brian will have my head if I break her heart. She’s going through some shit right now though and I have to wait, but I promise you’re the only one I want to be with right now.”

The line went silent as you absorbed this new information. Did he really not love her anymore? You couldn’t deny the fluttering feeling in your heart as you heard Roger confess his feelings for you. If what he’s saying is true, then a few more weeks of waiting for him to commit fully to you wouldn’t be so bad, right?

“Okay.” You said quietly into the receiver. “Okay?” He asked, his voice flooded with relief with your reaction.

“Okay, Rog. I believe you, but promise that you’ll break up with her soon though. I don’t think I can live with this guilty conscience forever, alright?”

“I promise Y/N, just give me some time to let her down easy. How about lunch tomorrow? Jo is going to visit her parents for the day out in the country and we can spend the whole afternoon together.” He sounded genuinely excited to take you out, and you could hardly deny him the pleasure. That and, of course, you became giddy with the thought of your relationship evolving into more than just weekly hookups.

“That’d be lovely, babe. Call me tomorrow with the time and place after she leaves, yeah?” You bit your lip in anticipation. “Of course, can’t wait to see you again. I gotta go, but get a good night's rest alright?” Roger said in a borderline whisper.

“I will. Goodnight Rog.”

“Goodnight Y/N”

The sound of the phone latching onto the receiver brought you back to reality. You never imagined yourself to be the kind of girl to sneak around with another woman’s boyfriend, but Roger was everything you had ever wanted in a man. Plus, he’s already planning on breaking it off with her, you just had to wait it out a little while longer. It felt as though you were floating when you walked across your home towards your bed, the guilt already beginning to slip from your mind as you drifted off to sleep.

February 14, 1973

The scalding water which filled the bathtub felt as though it was burning through every layer of your skin, but it was nothing compared to the pain Roger had caused. You had given him four months already to call it quits with his lousy girlfriend, but still, nothing. It honestly felt as though he was never really planning on ever leaving her in the first place. The further you sank into this pit of depression, the further you allowed your body to slip into the blisteringly hot bath.

The telephone had been ringing nonstop since you had bolted home hours ago. You were itching to just jump out of the tub and rush to his call, to hear his voice drip from the handset like sweet honey as he professed his apologies. Instead, you kept a death grip on the bathtubs walls, willing yourself to stay strong and burn the scene you had witnessed earlier from your memory.

During your lunch breaks, you often just took a prepared meal from home rather than make a fuss about going out to eat. But due to a romantic dinner with Roger last night, you didn’t have any time to prep your meals. The cafe where you and Roger usually ate after a late night was right down the street from your office, so you decided to pop in and grab your usual. What you hadn’t anticipated was Roger also being there when you arrived. A grin spread across your cheeks as you approached him, but you stopped once you realized he had another girl wrapped in his arms. They were sitting on the same side of a window booth; she was practically on his lap as he buried his head into her neck and hair. You could see her giggling and whispering to him, and he had the same look of love on his face as he did when he spent time with you.

Josephine, your mind reminded you. In a flash, there were hot tears trailing down your cheeks, and you placed a hand over your mouth to prevent letting out any pained noises. You spun on your heel and sprinted from the cafe, passing by the window where Roger was cuddled with her. He almost certainly saw you pass by, but you honestly couldn’t give a shit about what he saw. Let him get one last look at you because you swore you would never let him anywhere near you again after leading you on for all those months.

You spent the rest of the walk to your office attempting to make yourself look somewhat presentable, but despite looking put together you were falling apart inside. After telling your boss you were feeling ill, you took the rest of the day off and quickly left the building. Somehow you managed to keep yourself composed enough to make the drive home safely, but you were inconsolable the second you entered your flat. Loud sobs wrecked your body as you sunk to the cold hardwood floor, a harsh contrast to your heated body. You didn’t move for nearly half an hour until you had shed every single tear in your body. Slowly, you pulled yourself up and into the kitchen, filling a kettle with water and setting it carelessly on your stove. You almost forgot to turn on the burner because of how fogged up your mind was.

You had just sat down with your mug of chamomile tea when the first phone call came through. Your mind felt numb as you glared at the landline, wondering if it always rung so long or if it was just because Roger was on the other line. A minute passed once it had finished, but then the incessant ringing picked up once again. Allowing it to be the background noise to sounds of you preparing your bath, you nearly forgot that the receiver was making noise at all.

Once the bath was properly set up however, you decided to bring your record player into the bathroom from the living room so that you could drown your heartbreak with some depressing albums. On your way to grab the machine, you tried to make your way past the bloody telephone, but stopped in your tracks. You bit your lip as you watched the phone rumble on the stand, begging to be picked up. Your curiosity got the best of you and you finally allowed yourself to answer his calls.

“What?” you hissed into the transmitter, already regretting your decision.

“Jesus Y/N, what’s gotten into you? I was just calling to ask if you were feeling any better since you left work so early?” you quickly recognized the soft, feminine voice to be Amy, one of your coworkers and a dear friend.

The sound of her caring tone brought all of the pain back to the forefront of your mind, and so the waterworks began again. You confessed your affair to Amy; about how you carelessly allowed yourself to sleep with Roger Taylor and let yourself get attached, and how you kept sneaking around with him even after he let it slip that he had a girlfriend. You confessed how he had slowly slithered his way into your heart, and now you couldn’t give him up.

“I wish you would have told me sooner Y/N, you know I would have been there for you so you wouldn’t have had to go through this alone.” her sympathetic words provided a small sliver of comfort to your aching heart, but you still felt so awful.

“I’m not sure what to do Amy, He’s been calling the house nonstop since I caught him. I was prepared to talk to him, but when I finally gave in and went to pick up it was you on the other side. I’m still not even sure how you managed to get your call in between all of his.” You weakly laughed, but Amy didn’t seem to find the situation very amusing.

“I’m going to be bluntly honest here Y/N,” she stated, “It’s crazy to me how the two of you have lasted this long. He’s suffocating you from moving on with your life, and I think this is the best opportunity you will get to leave him.”

“But I don’t know how, that’s my problem. Every time I start to drift away from him, he tells me he loves me and lures me back in. I can’t quit him even if I wanted to. Especially when he won’t stop phoning me twenty-four seven. I need help.” you were exasperated at this point, and you had no idea what your next move should be.

“Well, you haven’t answered him yet, right? Then don’t pick up the phone, let him think there’s nobody home. Deal with this at your own pace and don’t let him force you into making any snap decisions.” you slowly nodded your head at her words, and thanked her profusely before wishing each other a good night. Almost immediately after you set the handset down, it resumed its endless ringing. Feeling a bit more confident than before, you made a beeline for the record player and rushed back to the bathroom to set it up.

Now here you were, burning your skin in lavender scented bathwater while allowing the dark thoughts to creep back into the forefront of your mind. Amy had kept them at bay for a short while, but now, in the crushing loneliness of your bathroom, they returned with a vengeance. Your eyes drifted around the dim room, seeking out any form of distraction from your own mind when you spotted the calendar. It was February 14. It was Valentines Day. How ironic that Roger tore your fucking heart to shreds on the most love-centric day of the year.

At this point, you wanted to stop existing. It would only take a moment to slip your head beneath the water’s surface, to stay there until all the pain had slipped away. Your nose had just touched the water when a harsh banging erupted from the hallway outside your flat. Quickly resurfacing, you listened closer and realized that the telephone was no longer ringing. How long ago it had stopped, you had no idea, but the incessant pounding at your door suggested that it was however much time it took for Roger to drive here.

You jumped out of the tub and quickly wrapped your plush red robe around you, which thankfully reached down to your mid-calf. The less temptation either of you had, the better. Creeping through the hallway into your living room, you stared at the shuddering door frame and wondered whether calling the police would be a better choice than letting him in. you didn’t even give yourself the time to debate the choice, seeing as your feet instinctively led you towards him, and your hand slowly turned the lock and loosened the deadbolt.

His eyes were the first thing that you noticed when you finally came face to face. They were severely bloodshot and looked like glass due to the tears which poured from them. The ice blue of his irises created a contrast which was almost beautiful in a sick, twisted way. His usual smell of pine and menthol was replaced by the burning stench of hard liquor as if he had poured the entire bottle of whiskey over his body instead of actually drinking it. His slumping posture straightened out once he finally grasped that you had opened the door, and he engulfed you in a suffocating hug.

As tempting as his touch was, you forcefully pushed your hands against his chest, struggling to rip his strong body away from your own. The voice in the back of your mind screamed to get away, but with the feeling of his heart beat against your chest, you could barely hear it. You needed space, desperately; because every second that you spent wrapped in his arms made it harder to keep your head on straight, to remind yourself of the real reason you were both in such pitiful states of being.

Finally, you were able to pry him off your body, and he stumbled back into the wall. Roger was so hammered he could hardly stand up straight, and how he even managed to find his way here you had no clue. You marched across the living room in an attempt to get as far from him as possible; when you once again turned to face him, a lump formed in your throat at the sight of his doe-like eyes. For almost a minute, both of you stood there staring, daring the other to make the first move. Roger’s voice eventually broke the deafening silence.

“You know none of that meant anything to me, darling, you’re overreacting.” His excuse held no emotion; he sounded just like a robot. His nonchalance about the whole scenario only made your fury stronger. You balled your fists and stormed over to the asshole, ready to give him hell.

“I cannot believe you have the nerve to come into my home and tell me that I’m overreacting! After all the shit you’ve pulled on me? Why don’t you go back to your whore of a girlfriend, huh? I’m done with your shit Roger; the sneaking around, the lies, everything.” He opened his mouth to comment, but you quickly cut him off.

“Get out Roger, now,” you demanded through gritted teeth. He took a large step towards you and crossed his arms over his chest. “No.”

“Excuse me? The last time I checked this was my apartment, not yours, and I told you to get the hell out of here.”

“I’m not leaving you Y/N, I’m not quitting you. After you ran, Jo turned on me. Asked me all about what the hell had just happened and I was forced to tell her everything. She’s gone now, and this time I mean it. I need you, love, please give me another chance.”

His words conflicted your judgment. You wanted to hate him so badly, to curse his name and throw him out of your life; but the fuzzy feeling in your chest betrayed your mind. It was as if your body was under his spell, slowly inching your way across the room until you stood right next to him. Roger’s fingers twitched, itching to reach out and pull you flush against him and never let go. He inhaled deeply before speaking again, this time his voice came out in a low mumble.

“Please, baby, just say something. Anything.” he pleaded, and before you could process your actions you were pressing your lips against his own. The kiss was brief, but enough to spur a spark of lust between the two of you. Roger bent his head down and took your bottom lip between his teeth, firmly biting until you let out a desperate moan. Smirking, he whispered a final sentiment in your ear, and it was all it took to make your dam break.

“I love you, just lay me down and we’ll fuck the pain away, darling. There’s no one else I want but you beside me; better the devil I know, right?”

As you impatiently dragged him to the bedroom, your mind couldn’t stop screaming at itself to put an end to this relationship, that you were going to regret this. Your body refused to listen though, because how could something that feels so right be wrong? The feeling of his hands on your skin felt so familiar, as did the burning desire they left in their path. And while Roger may have been too intoxicated to recite the alphabet, he knew exactly what to do to turn you to putty in his grasp.

February 15, 1973

You didn’t dream last night. It was unclear if that was a bad omen or not, but all you knew as you awoke in Roger’s arms was you felt mind felt numb. You were nowhere near forgiving him yet, but you couldn’t bring yourself to truly hate him anymore. Now that she was out of the picture, however, your heart told you to let him in again. Despite the hell he put you through, the man was heaven personified in your mind. He even looked like a cherub for Christ’s sake, with those baby blue eyes and his soft golden hair.

Roger stirred behind you, tightening his grip around your waist. He nuzzled his face into your messy hair, leaving tender kisses at the nape of your neck. The domesticity of the moment melted your heart, and you knew in your soul you would never be able to quit him.

Gonna regret it,

Yeah, I’m gonna regret it...

thanks so much for reading this far, any support/feedback is appreciated! xxx

[fortunatelylori]

Why the Jon/D*any romance doesn’t work (Part 5)

Hey, guys! This last part of my “Why the Jon/Dany romance doesn’t work” series was taken down in the great Tumblr purge and I am now reuploading it. I got a few messages from people wanting to read it and I’m really sorry it’s taken this long to get it back up again. But here it is! :)

This is actually the second part of the “More than 2 is a crowd” section of the series but since it got very, very long I split it up.

Welcome to Days of GOT, the soap-opera where your captor turns into your lover only to turn into your aunt:

The “we’re fucked but not in a good way” scene

As a general rule, I’ve decided not to take into consideration what any of the people involved in this TV show say in interviews or behind the scenes. They very willingly and intentionally mislead the audience and lie to our faces. I don’t hold it against them but I’m not going to spend my time analyzing and commenting on something that may very well be the writers screwing with me.

However, I find it very interesting that Kit Harrington said that he thought this was the scene where Jon and Dany started liking each other. Because this is, by far, the nicest, friendliest conversation they’ve ever had. It’s almost, dare I say it, human-esque.

Here, I’ll even give you some examples:

Jon: No one is less happy about this than I am.

Dany: I know. I respect what you did. Wish you hadn’t done it but I respect it.

Wow! Appreciation and respect … where have you two been for the duration of this plot?

Dany: […] We weren’t extraordinary without them (dragons). We were just like everyone else.

Jon: You’re not like everyone else.

Hello, validation! Nice to see you again, old friend.

See? Even I’ve been generalized into submission. He’s lucky he’s cute. That’s all I got to say.

Dany: I can’t have children.

Jon: Who told you that?

Dany: The witch who murdered my husband.

Jon: Has it occurred to you she might not have been a reliable source of information?

Dany, you lucky girl! You’ve just been struck by the ever elusive Jon Snow joke! Revel in it for it only comes out to play once a season.

So, all of this is very touching … I mean, I say very …. Mildly, in the near vicinity of touching. It would have been even better had this happened earlier and not in their last private conversation but at this point, beggars can’t be choosers.

However, once you strip away this veneer of friendliness, you do find some quite troubling things in this scene.

Firstly, there’s the main issue they are discussing:

Dany: This place was the beginning of the end for my family. […] A dragon is not a slave. They were terrifying, extraordinary. They filled people with wonder and awe and we locked them in here. They wasted away. They grew small and we grew small as well.

The problem with this speech is that it creates a conundrum for both the audience and Jon. Because Jon’s already heard the flip side of this particular coin, directly from his BFF, Jorah:

Missandei: Why did they build it? (the Dragonpit)

Jorah: Dragons don’t understand the difference between what is theirs and what isn’t. Land, livestock, children … Letting them roam free around the city was a problem.

So how does Jon resolve this issue? He doesn’t. He simply listens to Dany, looks around the Dragonpit and keeps his mouth shut.

Are we to understand that Jon Snow simply doesn’t care about children being burned alive because he wants Dany and her dragons to be as terrifying and awe inspiring as possible?

Isn’t it more likely to assume that Jon simply does what he’s always done in conversations with Dany, essentially keep his thoughts to himself and allow her to think whatever she wants? Which can only mean that despite their pleasantries, their dynamic is essentially the same it’s been since the cave scene. Which, by extension, means we’re just going round and round in ever increasingly polite circles.

Great! I got all excited with no rose petal covered way to go.

Then there’s this:

Dany: You were right from the beginning. If I trusted you, everything would be different.

Jon: So what now?

Dany: I can’t forget what I saw North of the wall. And I can’t pretend Cersei won’t take back half the country the moment I march North.

Remember when I said that Jon had no reason to bend the knee because Dany had already promised to help him defeat the Night King?

Tin foil hat: You know nothing, fortunatelylori!

Shut up, you!

Yes, Jon! You heard that right! A near death experience by either zombification or drowning, a dead uncle and a bent knee later and all you have to show for it is a better placement on Dany’s list of priorities. It used to be -100 before but now the goddamn apocalypse is neck and neck with Dany and Cersei’s competition for a piece of furniture. Enjoy!

The “what is fear of assassination anyway when my hormones are out of wack” scene

I could analyze every line in this scene but I prefer to cut through all the boring travel arrangements that no one paid attention to and cut to the chase:

Jorah: My queen, love of my life, end all be all of my existence, your safety is paramount to me. Please fly to Winterfell and not risk getting blood all over your pretty blond wig.

Jon: Aaa ... I mean it’s your choice, obviously, but ... would you rather fly and be safe or get on a boat and possibly have sex with me?

Dany: Sex with Jon  on a boat, definitely.

However, I will say this is a very interesting line:

Jon: It’s your decision, your Grace. But if we’re going to be allies in this war, it’s important for the Northerners to see us as allies.

It sort of feels like Jon is not giving Dany a choice at all. It’s more of a “my way or the highway” type of proposition but again Dany’s too far down the rabbit hole to notice the difference.

The “this better be good, guys! The whole of Westeros is watching” scene

I’d love to link to b0atbang here but Tumblr hates that scene as much as we do. So for your convenience, I have decided to put my considerable artistic talents to good use and I have drawn what I believe is almost an exact representation of it:

Guys, I spent almost 30 seconds in Paint doing this so please show me some love. Tread carefully, Tumblr, for you are treading on my dreams!

We started this section of the series talking about the “more than 2 is a crowd” rule so it seems only fitting that we should end with this: the most crowded sex scene since whatever porno film you watched last night.

There are 6 people involved in this scene and that’s excluding the actual two people that are having sex! Six people, most of them related to one or both Jon and Dany.

We have Jon’s mother but also Dany’s sister in law, Jon’s uncle but also adoptive father, Jon’s real father but also Dany’s brother, Jon’s brother who is actually his cousin, Jon’s best friend and also family member to the victims of Dany’s latest dracarys incident and lastly Dany’s closest adviser and also ex-husband to Jon’s sister/cousin/the current possessor of a “part of him”. This is Days of our Lives gone terribly, terribly wrong.

I don’t think I have to explain why this is romantic plot suicide. A sex scene between a romantic couple is supposed to be intimate, tender, sometimes steamy. It not supposed to be the smallest part of an elaborate montage designed to tell us that the people currently engaged in the devil’s mambo number 5, are actually related as well as de facto rivals for the Iron Throne.

A lot of people have commented on the inherent issues with the set-up of this scene, from the lack of a first kiss (an absolutely crucial part of any romantic pairing), to the lack of conversation before or after , to the horrible transition from a dying, blood soaked Lyanna to Jon and Dany in the midst of physical abandon and up to Jon’s strange expression:

Jon: I don’t think Tinder is working out for me.

What I would like to do instead is show you a scene that has quite a similar setup to this: it starts off in a bed and also includes the dreaded body flip. This is incidentally one of my favorite sex scenes. I am, of course, talking about the sex scene between Achillies and Brisies in 2004’s Troy. When I uploaded this the first time, @lostlittlesatellites  mentioned in the comments section that this film was actually written by David Benioff, which I had forgotten. So not only did the D reuse this set-up for the Jon/Dany scene but actually is well aware of the salient differences between the two scenes, since, you know, he was involved in writing both of them. Another nail in the “Ds suck at their job which is why they couldn’t write a better romance” coffin, I guess.

I would love to put this scene up here in all its glory. However, since Tumblr is a prude that can’t handle the gorgeous physique of one Brad Pitt, I can’t. Just type Achillies and Brisies into youtube because it’s a more liberated platform, incidentally with far fewer Nazis lurking around. Also here is a pic of Brad’s gorgeous abs. Tumblr, eat your heart out!

The body flip:

The body flip in the Brisies/Achilles is counterbalanced by the knife. These kinds of flips are awkward when filmed in a wide shot but the fact that she’s holding a sharp object to Achilles’ throat moves our focus towards the character’s faces and not the awkward body movement.

Focus on details:

When you watch this scene, you’ll notice that a large portion of it is Achilles pulling up her dress and slipping his hand underneath the material. That becomes a very intimate movement that, in turn, creates expectation … And expectation creates interest. It has a much slower build-up than what we get with Jon/Dany and it’s that prolonged moment that makes it sexier.

It tells a story:

This is very important. Words in scenes aren’t there just to make the writer feel important. They set the tone, the level of intensity and make the audience feel like they’re a part of it, instead of being kept at arm’s length because they don’t have access to the character’s thoughts.

The Troy sex scene is a whole story in itself: We start with Brisies trying to kill Achilles but hesitating. We have Achilles admitting he will kill more men and daring her to go through with her plan. We have him flipping her and then tentatively kiss her as she finally gives up and drops the knife to the floor. This is an intimate, character driven scene that marks the transition of these two from enemies to lovers.

That’s not to say that Jon and Dany’s scene isn’t telling a story. The difference is that the story it tells is plot driven, not character driven. What makes their scene inherently interesting are the revelations we receive about Jon and how that will affect the plot moving forward. In that sense they become secondary characters in their own sex scene, just gilded cogs in a much larger plot wheel and far from breaking it, their sex scene is advancing it. To what end, I guess we’ll find out in season 8.  

 And that’s it, you guys! Hope you enjoyed this series. I do have a few ideas on what to write next but if there’s something in particular you’d like me to cover, let me know.

In case you haven’t read the other 3 parts of the series, you can find them linked below:

Part 1: Are D&D really idiots?

Part 2: Repetition and generalization are the death of romance

Part 3: When everyone and their mother has a different take on the same line of text

Part 4: More than 2 is a crowd

PS: none of the artwork in this meta belongs to me. Except for b0atbang which is the only piece of art worth mentioning anyway and which shall be hanging in a museum near you very, very soon.

[virmillion]

Ibytm - T minus 15 seconds

Masterpost - Previous Chapter - Next Chapter - ao3

Words: 1,357

Logan furrows his brow and stares daggers at his computer, willing the trembling stacks of lines and curves to organize themselves into something intelligible. The towers of letters and numbers collapse, as does his head into his hands.

“Hey, spaceman, how much longer you gonna be here?” Roman asks, appearing behind Logan’s chair.

Logan buries his fingernails in his hair, massaging them toward the back of his head and playing with the arms of his glasses. “Ages, probably, and why ‘spaceman?’ Hardly a creative nickname for people working in a minor NASA offshoot. Couldn’t you do any better? It’s not like I’m the only one here wanting to be an astronaut.”

“Yeah, but you’re the only one here that’s so ridiculously dedicated to it. I mean, even Katie-Lee went home already, and she’s pretty much, like, head honcho or something.”

“You say that like I’m a new intern in need of exposition, rather than an employee who’s been well aware of her position for years. And it’s Miss Katie-Lee, which you’ll do well to remember.”

Roman drapes himself over Logan’s shoulder, stretching his arms over his head and blocking Logan’s view of the screen. “I don’t think I’ll be remembering that any time soon, but I suppose this is the part where I thank you for the suggestion.”

“Kindly remove yourself from my person. Unlike some people around here, I actually have important work to do.”

“Seriously? What is it, balancing more equations? Can’t you put that through google or something?”

“Google isn’t going to tell me in a clean five page report the exact moral conflicts related to launching a person into space and knowing their mission will take too long to survive a return trip, much less the mathematics required for them to build a system to get home on its own autopilot to pass along information they acquire at the destination that they can’t give directly from that long of a travel away. That’s not even taking into account the weight we need to factor in for the additional materials, or the mental toll we’ll be forcing on the traveler—we can’t exactly send someone with a terminal illness or someone on death row, since they certainly won’t be in the peak mental or physical condition necessary for the job, and you can get back to me whenever on how we break the news that we only want to give them a salary for the several limited months it’ll take to train them, before they get launched on what everyone knows to be a suicide mission. Everyone will know they’re doomed. Everyone.”

Barely even breathing, Roman slowly straightens. Well, it sounds like he’s barely breathing. Or, er, it doesn’t sound like that. All Logan can say for certain is that there’s an immense ringing in his ears that drowns out pretty much everything else. He drops his head to his desk.

“Are they actually planning a mission like that?”

“They want to be prepared for the unfortunately possible eventuality in which we might have to do that sort of thing. ‘We’ll have to make some sacrifices at one point or another,’ they say, as if I don’t already know that. As if I’m not already painfully aware of that. As if we don’t come into work every day knowing damn well that we’re all working ourselves to an early grave, because there’s virtually no way to expand our extraterrestrial horizons without losing a few lives along the way.” Logan winces at a sharp stab of pain against his temple. Another headache, no doubt.

“Even if it’s only a theoretical hypothetical, they wouldn’t have you working on it if they didn’t think it was a legitimate possibility.” Logan grunts a wordless confirmation at having heard the worry in Roman’s voice, but says nothing. Roman pulls out his phone and starts typing, only eliciting a response from Logan when whatever he’s doing flashes a bright light in Logan’s peripheral vision.

“What are you doing.” It’s not a question. It’s barely even an acknowledgement.

“Texting your husband proof that you need a vacation.”

“I don’t take vacations.”

“Duh, obviously I know that. If you took vacations, maybe you could be gone on an actual honeymoon.”

“Honeymoons are the free market’s way of draining more money from newlyweds who are too high on emotions to realize how much money they’re constantly flushing down the—”

“Yeah, I get it, communism for the win.”

“Socialism.”

“Same difference.”

“Not really.”

“Anyway, just go home and talk to Virgil. You need a vacation, and I told him that’s his new top priority.”

“As if he’d take orders from you.”

“He would if he knew his husband looked like such a hot mess-ra.” Roman flips the phone around, and Logan squints back against the brightness of the picture. Yeah, no, certainly not a pretty sight. Maybe he should start working out more. “Come to think of it, he does know you look like this, since I just sent it to him. So get a move on.”

“But I haven’t finished my—”

“And you won’t finish it if you don’t learn to take breaks between work sprints.”

“But I have a presentation on—”

“I do not care. Go home.” Roman leans forward and punches the power button on Logan’s monitor, clicking the screen into a peaceful abyss of black. “Go home. Please?”

Logan waffles between turning his screen back on (Roman only put it in sleep mode, after all) and slugging him for possibly damaging a solid couple hour’s worth of work, but a surprise third contender takes the lead for his attention. He shrugs his jacket on and rises, plucking a pen from behind his ear and dropping it in his pen cup. Roman gives a sigh of relief, and Logan wonders whether it was that obvious that he wanted to punch him.

“I hope you know how little I—”

“Yeah, yeah, everything sucks and you want to finish your work, I get it. Go home , Mr. Sanders.”

It is of this stern farewell that Logan is reminded as he tugs the front door shut behind him and steps into the apartment.

“You’re home.” Virgil sounds surprised, and Logan wonders exactly how guilty he should feel that Virgil would never expect him home in time for dinner. He also wonders whether this would be a good time to bring up how Virgril is always home, never getting an education or a real job or pursuing any passions, but Virgil never seems to be in the mood for that particular conversation. Logan is starting to suspect they’ll never realize that internal disparity.

Oh, right, he’s supposed to say something now.

“I’m home.” A very clever response, if Logan does say so himself. (He does not.)

“Why are you home so early?”

“Why do you assume I’d be late?”

“Because you’re always late.”

“I am early to every appointment and engagement I schedule.”

“Yeah, and you stay there late, which makes you late when you get to non-work things. Like when you get home late. Again.”

Logan hangs his jacket on the door and nods. “Right. Sorry.” He doesn’t really know what it is that he’s apologizing for, but he certainly isn’t about to admit as much.

“It’s fine.” Virgil’s tone makes it painfully clear that it is not, in fact, ‘fine,’ and Logan has no idea what to do about it. “Roman says you need a vacation.”

“Yes. Well, er, long day, y’know?”

“Right.”

“So I’ll just head off to bed early, then.”

“Sure. Set out some extra clothes, I guess. Maybe we can drive up north to see the leaves changing this weekend if you get out early enough. You probably won’t, but it’s worth a shot.”

Logan bites his tongue and heads into the bedroom. Why did Virgil get so mad about something so inconsequential as unpenalized punctuality? It’s not as if Logan getting home early (well, more like ‘just past on time’) should be seen as a bad thing—Virgil should’ve been happy at the surprise of being able to spend more time together. Maybe Logan should’ve just stayed at work.

[turtle-steverogers]

titanium- 2

whoaihfslkjfl heres chap 2

chap one is on my masterlist under #masterlist or under #titanium,,,somewhere

warnings: mentions of suicide, implied past abuse, pain, violence,,,tread lightly

editing: noooo and its vvvv obvi sorry

ship: eventual ralbert

Race held up a hand, wincing as Albert’s words echoed in his brain, causing a sharp pain to shoot through his skull and down his neck.  He lowered himself shakily to the pavement, overexertion causing the familiar soreness of fatigue to spread through his body.  He wasn’t used to being this out of control.  Usually, he could reign in his abilities, focusing them on a singular point and never allowing them to get to the point of danger.  

Queso nudged his nose under his arm, resting his chin on Race’s shoulder and licking his neck soothingly as he reached up to rub at his temples, willing the pressure to go away.  He was aware that his nose was bleeding heavier still, which wasn’t helping his case in the slightest, but he didn’t have the means nor the energy to try to stop it.  

“Queso, c’mere boy,” Albert coaxed, his voice still shaking with fear, “Get away from him.”

He reached out to grab his collar, but Queso turned his head and growled, nipping at his hand.  Albert pulled his hand away abruptly, frowning when Queso resumed his position on Race’s shoulder, continuing to nuzzle into him as he regained command over his mind.  

Police sirens wailed in the distance and Race lifted his head, a familiar wave of anxiety washing over him.  

“Shit, fuck,” Albert hissed, head also turned in the direction of the sirens, “Fuck, shit, fuck, shit, uhh-” he pulled off his hat, raking a hand through his hair and glancing nervously down at Race and Queso, “Are you good to stand?” he asked Race.

Race nodded sluggishly, using the wall behind him to push himself into a standing position.  The world tilted violently and he pitched forward, stumbling into Albert’s arms.  Albert’s eyes widened and he straightened Race up, leaning him on the wall before taking a step backwards.

“Just,” Race closed his eyes, head lolling lazily, “Gimme a minute.”

He mindlessly dug into his back pocket, extracting his pack of cigarettes and pulling one out.  He sighed in relief as he lit it, allowing the smoke to fill his lungs and calm him down.  The pressure that had remained constant in his head all day eased up slightly and the nausea seeped out of him in waves.  Queso had resumed licking behind his ear and he sighed, feeling calmer than he’d felt all day.

“Can you,” Albert’s voice wavered and Race looked up to see him standing even further away than before, arms wrapped defensively around his stomach as he eyed Race, “Can you...not do that.”

“What?” Race frowned, taking another drag and Albert flinched, involuntary tears filling his eyes, which he hastily wiped away.

“That,” Albert pointed a shaking hand at the cigarette in Race’s hand, “Please stop.”

With a jolt, Race remembered the burn scars that covered Albert’s arms and he threw down his cigarette, bending his leg awkwardly in front of him to stomp it out.

“Lord, I’m sorry,” Race said as Queso paced away from him, crossing to Albert, who had knelt down next to the wall, right hand pressed against his eyes as he attempted to regulate his breathing.  

Queso sniffed at him a bit before shoving his nose underneath Albert’s armpit.  Albert chuckled breathlessly, pulling his hand away from his face and scratching under Queso’s chin.  

“That’s okay,” Albert shook his head, “But seriously,” he fixed Race with a confused and almost pleading look, “What the fuck happened back there?”

“I, uh,” Race bowed his head, “I’m…” He trailed off, trying to think of how to explain himself.

“Fuck, Jesus!” Albert squeaked and Race lifted his head to see miscellaneous pieces of trash floating around them,.

“Sorry, fuck, sorry,” Race said, willing the trash to move away from them, “I’m stressed.”  

Albert watched with wide eyes as the trash floated to a nearby dumpster, depositing itself in next to various trash bags, “Whoa,” he breathed, “So you’re psychic?”

“Um, no,” Race stood, tilting his head and wincing when he heard it crack, “That’s like, mind-reading and shit.  I guess I’m technically, like, telekinetic?”

“Whoa,” Albert repeated, “That’s fucking awesome.”

Race shrugged one shoulder, eyes darting to the mouth of the alleyway as shouts echoed outside of it, “Not really.  Kinda sucks if I’m being honest.”

“Oh,” Albert bit his lip, “How long’ve-”

“Can we talk about this somewhere else?” Race asked, a panicked edge to his voice as Queso started barking at something in the distance, “I’m incredibly fucked right now.”

“I don’t know where else we can go,” Albert said, a defensive lilt to his tone, “I don’t got no safe space either.”

“Yeah, okay,” Race scrunched up his nose, considering their options.  If he wasn’t being targeted before, the police were definitely after him now.  

The distant sounds of the city washed over him.  Cars honked from the street, dogs barked loudly as people shouted to one another.  Everything seemed so uniformly hectic, that Race cursed himself for not being able to find a solution within the confines of this goddamn place.  

He tried to focus, zoning out Albert’s frantic questions and Queso’s insistent barking as he stared at the street.  Car after car passed through his vision, but the world seemed to whiten as a taxi zoomed past and he gasped, new options lighting the way for him.

“I got it,” He breathed, turning to Albert, who shut his mouth.

“Got what?” Albert frowned, cocking his head slightly.

“A taxi,” Race said, a giddy grin spreading across his face as his plan solidified in his mind.  He didn’t wait for Albert’s answer as he rushed out of the alleyway, Queso on his heels.  

He tried to relax being back out in the open.  Being on edge would only draw unwanted attention to him and he couldn’t afford that.

He waved his hand, hoping to flag down one of the many taxi drivers that sped by him.  Albert was pulling on his sleeve, trying to get his attention, but he shook him off.

“Trust me,” he murmured as a taxi pulled up, “I know what I’m doing.”

Albert raised his eyebrows as Race opened the backdoor, allowing Queso to hop in before sliding in himself.

“You coming?” Race leaned sideways in his seat, staring at Albert who was still standing nervously outside of the taxi.

“Isn’t this risky?” Albert asked, bending down so that their conversation was kept somewhat private.

“Yes, but I’ve got an idea,” Race peered at him with pleading eyes, “Trust me?”

“Not really,” Albert deadpanned.

“I’ve got your dog.”

Albert squinted at him, shifting his jaw as his gaze traveled to Queso, who was now lying in Race’s lap, “You got me there,” he swooped down to enter the vehicle, “Scoot over.”

“Where am I takin’ ya?” The taxi driver asked, not bothering to look back at them, much to Race’s relief.  

“Towards Jersey,” Race said.  It was a vague answer, but the taxi driver seemed to take it as he sped away from the curb.

Race and Albert waited with baited breath as they drove through the city.  Traffic wasn’t particularly bad that day, but it wasn’t fast moving either and they were caught up at different intersections more often than not.  Every time a police car passed, Race ducked his head reflexively and Queso would give him a comforting lick.  

Albert was gripping the seat in front of him as if it were a lifeline.  All things considered, he was calm, but it was evident that he hadn’t yet processed the events of that day.  His tongue was poking between his teeth, as if he were physically restraining himself from talking and Race could imagine the questions he was going to be bombarded with once they reached solitude.

The George Washington Bridge loomed closely in the distance and Race’s chest bubbled in anticipation as he called for the taxi driver to pull over next to a mostly remote bodega.  

“I’m gonna need your help,” Race muttered, leaning a little closer to Albert as the taxi slowed to a stop.

Albert glanced at him, alarmed, “With what?”

“Hang tight,” As soon as the taxi driver put the car in park, Race closed his eyes, willing for his subconscious to focus in on the image of the driver in his mind.  He clenched his jaw as energy sparked in his gut, travelling up to his brain and enveloping his entire being.  He squeezed his hands into fists, blood rushing loudly in his ears as he felt the tips of his fingers heat up.  

Opening his eyes, he reached forward, zeroing in on the back of the driver’s head as he pressed his left pointer and middle finger to his ear.  The driver’s eyes wided momentarily before he slumped forward, mouth hanging open as his forehead rested on the steering wheel.

“Oh my fuck,” Albert jumped, sliding away from Race and pressing himself to the window, “Did you just-”

Race shook his head, “He’s not dead,” he assured Albert, diving uncoordinatedly into the front seat and digging through the driver’s pockets, “And that wasn’t my best work, so he’s gonna wake up soon,” he let out a little triumphant hum when he found a wallet in one of the driver’s pockets.

“Are you gonna steal that?” Albert asked warily.

“I don’t got no money,” Race said, avoiding Albert’s gaze as he rifled through the wallet, pleased to find a fair amount of cash, as well as several credit cards in it, “And neither, it seems, do you, sooo…” he trailed off, fixing Albert with a pointed look as he shoved the wallet in his own back pocket, behind his pack of cigarettes.

“Help me get this guy into that alley,” Race jerked his head to the alley next to the bodega outside the car and climbed back into the backseat, holding Queso by the collar as he opened the door.

Albert blinked at him, dumbfounded, before following.  He was tense as he helped Race drag the taxi driver’s body out of the front seat, glancing around nervously as they set him down against the wall of the alley.

“Anyway,” Race exclaimed, wiping his hands on his jeans as they trekked back towards the taxi, “Let’s get out of here.”

Albert huffed out a disbelieving laugh, “Your plan was to steal a taxi?”

Race nodded as he made to climb into the driver’s seat, “Essentially.”

“Oh, hey, no,” Albert rushed forward, yanking Race away from the door, “You are not driving this thing.”

Race scowled, “Why not?”

“I don’t want none of your,” He gestured wildly at Race, face rumpling as he tried to find the words for it, “Blam blam shit to crash the car.”

“Blam blam shit?” Race quirked an amused eyebrow.

“Superpowers, telekinesis, whatever!” Albert exclaimed, pushing past Race and climbing into the driver’s seat, “Just get in.”

Race laughed as he circled around the car, ducking into the passenger’s seat and buckling himself in.  Albert adjusted the mirrors, grinning at Queso resting in the backseat as he pulled back onto the street.

“So, where are we headed?” he asked, casting Race an apprehensive glance.

Race gave a noncommittal grunt as he stared out the window, resting his chin on his palm, “Anywhere.”

XXX

“Tell me about your shit,” Albert turned off the radio, breaking the silence between him and Race.  They’d been driving for close to an hour, taking aimless turns and avoiding police cars when needed.  They didn’t really have a destination, both boys desperate for an escape from different persecutors.  

Race could only assume what exactly Albert had left behind, but if it was enough for him to leave with nothing but his dog, then it couldn’t have been remotely good.  He wanted to ask, but he figured that he’d let Albert tell him if he wanted to.  He didn’t want to overwhelm him more than he already had.  Besides, if someone was going to answer questions first, it would be him.

“What do you want to know?” Race sighed, lifting his head off the cool glass of the window and fixing his stare out the windshield.  The sun had long since set, leaving the two boys to navigate through the nighttime traffic.  

Race had always found driving at night to be peaceful.  The real world seemed so distant as the lights from cars passed through his line of sight.  Almost everyone driving at night had a destination far from where they began.  It was as if the roads were paved for thousands of escapees, all of whom drank in the aesthetic of a long winding path, leading them to where they were meant to go.

“I don’t know,” Albert sounded slightly hysterical as he rubbed his hands up and down the steering wheel, “Anything.  Just, like, tell me about it.”

“Well,” Race scrubbed a hand down his face, “It started I think when I was, what, 13?  So, like, my brain’s always been really whack.  Like, smart whack, I guess, and I was always really ahead of my grade.  Anyway, so, I thought that was the extent of it, but then one day, my dad came home high again and he and my mom got in a really big fight.  Screaming, cussing, the whole nine yards, and I was really freaked out,” He hesitated, words catching in his throat as he became acutely aware of how much he was sharing.  He shook his head, regaining confidence.  He was too far in now, “So I, uh, I locked myself in my room and was like crying and shit next to my bed and I looked up at one point and my desk and shit were floating.”

“Damn,” Albert murmured, eyes still trained on the road.

“Yeah,” Race chuckled, “Imagine my surprise.  Anyway, from there I learned that I could control certain aspects of it if I concentrated hard enough, but there are still times when I slip.”

“What makes you slip?” Albert asked, fascination laced in his words.

“The worst I slip is when I’m overwhelmed or scared or shit,” Race answered, “Like back in the restaurant, you saw.  But, really, any really strong emotion can be dangerous with this shit.”

“Ah,” Albert nodded, “And the nosebleeds?”

“Yeah, brain strain and all that jazz.”

They fell back into an awkward quietude and Race floundered for something to say.  He really didn’t want to overstep into Albert’s business, but there seemed so much hidden in Albert’s scars and his debilitating thirst for answers was nagging at his mind.

“My mom died when I was fourteen,” Race startled as Albert spoke softly.  He tensed up at the words, but remained silent as Albert relieved him of his internal predicament of deciding whether or not to question him.

“She’d always struggled with mental health, but I guess her depression got the best of her.  Lost her battle to a bottle of pills.  Left me and my brothers alone with my dad,” He was speaking in a monotonous voice, but Race could sense the mournfulness that stayed carefully veiled underneath his mask, “Dad changed after that.  Got drunk a lot,” he paused, sparing a peek at Race, who was looking at him with expectant sorrow, “You said your dad was a druggie?”

Race furrowed his eyebrows, thinking back to his own narrative, “Oh, I guess I did mention that, yeah.”

“Did he ever hit ya while he was high?”

Race shook his head, “Not me, no.”

“But he did get violent?”

“Yeah.  Hit my mom a few times.  That’s actually what made me snap this morning.”

Albert took a deep breath, adjusting so that he was holding the steering wheel with one hand and the gear shift with the other, “Yeah, so my dad got violent, too.”

“So he’s the one that did…” Race motioned to Albert’s various visible injuries, “that?”

“Better me than my brothers.”

“So why’d you run then?”

Albert winced, “We all have our breaking points.”

“Yeah,” Race agreed, feeling the sense of understanding that he’d felt in the alleyway when they’d originally met return.  Albert seemed to be reverting back into his head, hands turning white as his grip intensified.

“What are your brothers like?” Race asked, hoping to bring him down from whatever he was working himself into.

Albert’s eyes lit up almost imperceptibly, “Yeah, so there’s Thomas who’s 14 right now.  Total jock, but real good kid,” his lips twitched into a ghost of a fond smile, “And then there’s Elijah.  He’s nine and a genius,” he paused, “wonder if he’ll turn out telekinetic, too,” he joked.

Race smiled faintly as he watched Albert get lost in thoughts about his brothers, but a daunting concept entered his mind, causing his stomach to turn, “Are they safe?” He asked, before he could stop himself.  He recoiled slightly, internally cursing himself for asking that right now.  It was a valid question, but Albert had obviously just gone through something brutal.  He didn’t need any guilt.

Albert’s face fell, “I don’t know,” He croaked, voice catching, “I just left, I had to.”

“Hey,” Race said, “It’s alright.  You did what you had to do.”

Albert’s expression had hardened and he set his jaw, abruptly pulling into a random 7/11 parking lot.

“Albert, what,” Race watched as Albert got out of the car and walked towards the entrance, stopping halfway and turning back to the car.

“Can I have the wallet?”

“Uh,” Race fumbled for a moment before handing him the wallet, “What are you-”

“I want a slurpee.  You want one?”

Race blinked at him, “Uh, yeah, cherry coke?”

“Sure,” Albert turned on his heel and stalked into the 7/11, shoulders shrugged somewhat defensively.

Race felt a pang of guilt for bringing up the prospect of Albert’s brothers being in danger.  It was probably something he’d thought about, but he didn’t seem ready to face the reality of his situation and Race couldn’t blame him.

Albert returned a moment later with two large slurpee cups and a plastic shopping bag.  He slid back into driver’s seat and handed Race one of the cups, then placed his own into the cupholder before extracting the contents of the bag and unwrapping it.  Race realized immediately that it was a large dog bone and he watched as Albert tossed it back to Queso, who perked up and gleefully began gnawing at it.  

“It’s getting late,” Albert commented, looking at the digital clock on the dash.  It was nearing 1:00 am and Race yawned as he became acutely aware of how tired he was.  

“Wanna stop at a motel or something?” Albert asked, eyes scanning the various exit signs for a possible rest stop.

“You don’t think people will recognize me?” Race asked, his nerves flaring up at the prospect of being sought out.

“Shit,” Albert tapped his fingers against the steering wheel in thought, “I mean, we’re pretty far from the city at this point?  Plus, I doubt dingy motel owners are paying too much attention to the news.”

“If I’m even on the news yet,” Race could hear the uncertainty in his voice, but he shook it off, “Yeah, we can try.”

“Bet,” Albert pulled off the next exit and they drove for a couple more miles before parking the taxi in the parking lot of a sketchy looking motel.  The rooms were spread out in pairs, circling the main building of the establishment.  The paint was chipping on the outside of the buildings and the doors all looked damaged in some respect, but the place as a whole seemed generally safe and inconspicuous.

“They ain’t gonna find you here,” Albert said as he unbuckled his seatbelt.

“Knock on wood,” Race mumbled.

“I’ll go check us in,” Albert said, “Will you watch Queso?”

Race nodded, turning around in his seat and reaching out to scratch Queso’s curly fur.  He was sleeping soundly, stretched out unceremoniously across the backseat.

Race smiled as he opened an eye, peeping up at him, “Hey, boy,” Race cooed, “You’re a good little man, huh?” He giggled as Queso lifted his head to lick at Race’s face, “You could tell I needed help, couldn’t ya?”

Queso whimpered happily and Race kissed his head, “Thank you.”

The room Albert had gotten them was decently big considering how much they paid for it.  There were two beds and a clean bathroom, which was more than either boy could have hoped for.  They showered quickly, relieved to rid themselves of the leftover dust and dirt from Race’s outburst earlier that day, and settled into each of the beds.  Queso rested himself at Albert’s feet, curling in on himself and falling back asleep almost instantly.  It wasn’t long until Albert’s snores intermixed with Queso’s and Race rolled over, pressing a pillow over his head to drown out the noise.

He laid awake, eyes frozen on the wall opposite of him.  His entire world had been turned upside down in the span of twelve hours.  He hadn’t meant to hurt his dad like that, but he didn’t have a choice.  His mother would have died if his father had continued to choke her as violently as he had.  Race had just intended to give him a taste of his own medicine.  It had been like that for years.  Race coming home to find his father fucked up in some way, hurting his mom or passed out on the couch, drooling and spluttering like a child.  His mother had become the shell of the person she once was during his father’s slow descent to addiction, leaving Race to care for himself.  But he’d stuck around.  Too scared of the outside world.  Too scared of what would become of them if he left.  Too scared of himself.  But now he’d gone and he’d probably never see them again.  He didn’t want to think of what that meant for his mother; being alone with his father.  She’d lost something that morning, too.  Her protector, her last tie to sanity in a world that had fucked her over so badly.  And it was his fault.

He pressed the pillow harder to his temples, willing the tears that had formed in his eyes to go away.  He couldn’t get worked up here.  He couldn’t cause anymore destruction than he already had.

Queso must have sensed his change in mood, because he’d leapt up onto the bed behind Race, curling into a lying position behind him.  Race let out a watery sigh, allowing Queso’s presence to calm him.  He rolled over, tucking an arm over the dog and pressed his nose into his fur, pressing a soft kiss to his back.

He wasn’t sure what stars had aligned to allow him to meet Queso and Albert, but he thanked them with every ounce of gratitude that his heart could offer as he drifted into a heavy sleep.

-

yikes that wasnt v good

anyway, fugitives coming soon i hope

thanks for reading, chiefs

hmu to be added to my tag

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[doppelgangerjoelle]

Part 2 of Last Train Home, a prompt request from @ikiyou! 

tw: suicide mention (Dazai is here though so that’s pretty normal) Technically I could end it here and leave an open ending but... maybe one more???

Read on AO3!

Tonight was going to be a long night.

I had that feeling as soon as I entered the train car and there were only three people on it. Especially when two of them got off at the next stop, leaving only me and other person. I say person, but it absolutely was not. Or it used to be.

A few minutes after the people left the third one stood and sat across from me. My usual tactic of putting headphones in and staring at my phone didn’t see to work for this one. I could feel its eyes on me. My skin felt like it was on fire. It was so tempting to look up, see what it was doing, but I knew better. Out of my peripheral I could see that it was fully formed, not very distorted, so either it was a human or so it’s face had to be. Those ones usually looked the most frightening.

I pulled my phone closer to my face and concentrated really hard on this gatcha game that I would never admit I spent real money on. I must have gotten a little too focused while trying to pull a certain character because I jumped when I heard a chuckle almost directly in my ear.

The person had sat next to me and I didn’t even notice. I didn’t hear or see it move so it must have been a ghost. What was even worse was that it was leaning close and looking at my phone. I saw it’s reflection in my phone as the loading screen went dark. He was smiling.

“Wow, your luck really sucks.” They spoke in a condescending tone. “Not even a single SSR event character in all those pulls.”

I shook slightly. Not even out of fear but out of pure rage. How fucking dare a ghost insult me! I had been trying for days to pull that character and gotten nothing but trash. It was the last night! I knew ghosts could be rude but that was just petty. I had to bite my tongue in order to not snap back. I’ve been through this before. Ghosts taunt to get a reaction, make you slip up. I just continued playing the game. I needed more gems anyway. I wasn’t about to let this ghost see my card information. The last thing I needed was spiritual credit theft.

I heard a whine from my right side. I could see that he was squirming like a child having a fit. Was he annoyed that I wasn’t paying attention to him? Or was he annoyed by my playing? He better not insult my team set up. These were the strongest characters!

After the round was finished I heard a loud sigh and a heavy weight on my shoulder. I instantly froze. Ghosts had never been able to touch me before. They usually walked right through me, which always made me feel sick. Was this actually a human? If so they had even worse social skills than I did.

“I know you’re pretty but you don’t have to be rude.” He whined and sighed again directly in my ear. I couldn’t help myself from whipping my head to the side with a confused expression. As soon as I did I knew I made a mistake. As soon as we made eye contact he made a devilish grin. “Gotcha.”

“Fuck...” I muttered as sweat dripped down my forehead. I was shocked to see a normal face staring back at me. In fact everything about this person looked completely human, but the aura surrounding them felt terrifying.

“Finally!” He threw his hands in the air as he stood and did a little dance. “I finally found someone that can see me!” 

My hands dropped into my lap and I almost dropped my phone as I tilted my head and stared. From everything I knew about ghosts they were evil and tried to steal your soul. Well, mostly. Some of them didn’t really bother me. I didn’t really know much about ghosts. Maybe some of them were friendly. Or just annoying but benign.

He turned to me with a big grin on his face. I finally had time to take in what he looked like. He was a bit of a bean pole. He had messy short brown hair and ill-fitting clothing with bandages peeking out from underneath. Even with the smile his eyes looked hollow and empty, sunken in like someone sleep deprived. Pretty ironic for someone who took the big sleep.

He leaned over in front of me and grabbed my face in his hands, squishing my cheeks and shaking my head slightly. I could only sit there, stunned and unable to move.

“I’ve been so alone! Wandering the city, unable to talk to anyone.” He finally let go to run his hands through his hair before dragging them down his face. “I threw myself in the fucking river and woke up on the shore! Had I know this was going to happen I wouldn’t have done it! I wanted to LEAVE this world not get stuck in an even worse version of it!”

“Hah?” Was all I could manage. My brain was still trying to process the fact that a ghost even touched me. It was going to take a while to catch up to the fact that he died from suicide. That definitely would explain why he couldn’t move on, and perhaps even why he looked so normal. Come to think of it... he looked kind of familiar but I couldn’t quite place it.

“If you can see me does that mean you know what’s going on? I know I have to be dead.” He sat down across from me again as I picked my jaw up off the floor. I tucked my phone into my pocket and straightened up, my brain finally caught up to the conversation. “I’ve seen... things. Crazy monster things. They lurk around, follow living people. Sometimes I hear them say things like how delicious I must be so I stay away.”

“Do other ghosts try to eat you?” Somehow that was the only part of what he said that got processed. I could almost feel the gears turning in my head.

“So those are ghosts? I thought they were like demons or monsters or whatever.” He crossed his legs and proceeded to rest his elbow on his knee and his chin on his hand. He made the loudest sigh yet as he stared at the floor. “Is that what happens to us? We turn into monsters?”

“I... I don’t know.” I admitted. I’ve never asked a ghost if they were always like that. This is the first time I’d talked to a ghost since I was a kid. “I don’t know how any of this works. I just know I can see ghosts.”

“Ghosts...” He said it like he was testing the word in his mouth. Feeling to see if it really fit him. After a moment looking extremely serious he made a loud exasperated noise as he threw his hands and legs out and flopped back in the seat. “Man, this sucks.”

In the middle of his grumbling I heard the intercom announce that my stop was coming next so I stood and headed for the door.

“Well... good luck with... being dead.” I said as I gripped the pole next to the door. He stood up in a panic and followed.

“Wait! You can’t just leave me here! I’ve been so borrreeedd!” He made another exaggerated show of being pitiful and annoying. He must have been real popular when he was alive. “It took so long to find even one person that could see me! I’ll never find someone else!”

When the doors open I almost jumped onto the platform. The ghost was quick to follow behind.

“Look, I can’t be seen with a ghost! What if you attract other ghosts?! I can’t help you! Go try to find a way to move on or something.” I pulled my hood over my head and walked as fast as I could. Unfortunately the ghost was tall and his long legs kept up with me.

“Come oonnnn! You seem fun!” He end up ahead and stopped in front of me. “Besides, don’t you think I’ve tried? I’m stuck here.”

“You’re not going to stop following me are you?” I rolled my eyes as I tried to step around him. He grinned again and shook his head as he continued following.

“Nope!” He chuckled. “Not that you’re hard to follow. You’re quite slow, like a slug.”

He was really getting on my nerves.

“Well at least I’m not like some dead fish flopping around out of the water, you mackerel!” I growled and looked surprised. It took me a moment to realize he had committed suicide by drowning and I quickly blurted out an apology.

I expected him to be upset or even offended but instead he just burst out laughing. He held his stomach as he doubled over, laughing until tears fell from his eyes. Somehow that just pissed me off even more.

“I knew I was going to like you.” He said as he wiped away his tears as he started walking ahead of me. “Aren’t you coming, slug?”

I stomped ahead, shoving my hands in my pockets and on the way home I contemplated the morality of strangling a ghost. 

If he couldn’t die maybe I could even get away with kicking his ass over and over.

The night was just growing even longer.

[ephemerational]

Pillow Grave (VIII)

The ground is still a long ways off, hidden away beyond the impenetrable darkness. 

If there even is one. 

I suspect that there is. 

Supposing that I'm correct, it's a little bit closer now. 

I must have fallen from somewhere, a cliff or building or other structure, which has to stand on something, so there necessarily has to be a ground. 

But I don't remember. 

I can't always have fallen. 

If I did, could it really be called falling, technically?

Doesn't feel right. 

A little closer yet. 

I look up into the void, or down, I can't tell, and through the clouds of now vaguely materializing forms, the letter "L" looks back at me. 

Less than an inch away from my retina. Some more letters dig themselves into my cheekbones, creating a sharp pain all over the right half of my face. 

I lift my head off the keyboard. 

Not yet sufficiently sober, my body sways from side to side, forcing my center of mass beyond the chair's edge. 

Figures. 

I haven't stopped falling. 

Thud. 

Face to carpet, back to darkness.

I awaken to the high-pitched voice of my younger brother and a light tap on the shoulder.

“Hey, I thought you were gonna show me the around the school today.”

The young boy in front of me is beaming from cheek to cheek.

“Yeah, definitely, I was just… waiting here for you.”

“I dunno Vi, it kind of looked like you were sleeping.”

“Sleeping? In class?”

I smile widely and blow out some air through my nose in hopes of making the act more convincing. “How dare you accuse your brother of such delinquency?”

“If you say so. We did homeroom-introductions with miss Wagner today, everyone seems really nice!”

“Wagner? You lucked out then, her classes are pretty low-effort. You didn’t talk to anyone, did you?”

“Of course I talked to them, duh. They’re my new classmates, and I told you they’re nice.”

“Any word you speak to those vultures is ammunition against you. Just wait until they find their first target and you’ll see. I’ve done school for a bit now and the best way of being ignored is ignoring them. They’re boring as shit anyways.”

Was I still being sincere when I said that? Was I sincere at any point? When did it all get so twisted, so dark and callous? Why did I feel like I had to experiment with him? Why did I poke everything until it broke?

“I am no longer him!”

“No longer who?” 

Lloyd responds in the muffled, barely understandable tone of a man mumbling into his pillow.

“Don’t even worry about it… I need to take a shower”

“Woah, what kind of epiphany has led to taking action as drastic as basic hygiene?

“yeah, yeah, whatever.”

Even as warm water beats against my face and layers upon layers of filth and dead skin are stripped from my body, the thoughts won’t go away. I can’t live like this. I need absolution. Just some, just a little bit, not actually from the good one himself though. That’s worthless, he’ll forgive anyone. He already forgave me for fuck’s sake. How much could that possibly mean. I open my mouth and take in the jet of disgusting, metal-tasting water, in hopes that it will drown me before I can bring this particular train of thought to conclusion. My half assed attempt at suicide proves unsuccessful. There has to be a place for this kind of forgiveness. Fuck talking to some religious dipshit, but sad, directionless teenagers playing psychoanalyst for each other, so they don��t have to deal with the reality of their own misery for a bit? Now that’s something I can get behind. And forums like that ought to exist everywhere.

A few google searches and DMs to angsty teenagers in Lo’s comments lead me to just the place I was looking for: “The darkness glows”. A wall of absurdly pretentious confessionals, ten times the wordcount they would require, were the people responsible even remotely as interested in conveying their actual issues as they are in convincing readers of their depth, stretches down farther than any reasonable human would ever dare to scroll.

The site was apparently created by a lifestyle blogger named Veronica Heine, who became somewhat famous amongst the goth-adjacent two years ago after unexpectedly killing herself and leaving multiple novels worth of purple-prose as her suicide note. Further digging into her uncovered this site, which she assumably set up in order to help herself, but which didn’t gain any traction until the connection to the now dead pseudo-e-celeb had been was revealed. That is to say: quite a bit too late. The girl however succeeded in becoming a messianic figure for depressed assholes who think that she somehow sacrificed herself to bring them this site and therefore save their lives, miraculously unaware of the existence of suicide hotlines.

I guess I shouldn’t be too cynical of the whole matter, seeing how this is exactly what I needed.

Thanks Veronica.

For a moment I consider contemplating how incredibly macabre and creepy that thought was but decide against it.

Instead I start reading a post.

“There is no out. There can’t be. The thing we want to escape from once simplified to its most basic, nuanceless core is reality itself, or rather the human experience that is the lens through which we conceptualize it. How could there possibly be anything outside that except death? Anything that seems like an out is just another in, a pathway to another corner of the same shitty old building where the only way to escape is jumping out the 21st floor window. It still sucks, wherever your path leads, but at least it sucks in a way that’s new, refreshing almost for a while. It puts past shit into perspective despite not being an exit and becomes the new, interesting shit, which might just be enough? As long as one keeps taking the “out”s that aren’t really and continuously turns the old shit into the new shit, the grind stays interesting enough to be worth it, maybe. Maybe that’s the point of it all.”

“If you’re still looking for the point, you have already missed it, because there is none and that is the point.”

“Wouldn’t that mean that there is one? Isn’t that just a “the path is the goal”-type twisting of words, that denies the initial discernibility of a thing’s nature, but not the verisimilitude of its existence. That’s even kind of the thing I described above.”

“It would be, if I, like you apparently do, operated on the assumption that “points” or any comprehensibility-serving abstraction of physical reality is an inherent property of it, rather than a foundationless attribution made by flawed human minds.”

“In that case you’re just being needlessly obtuse by referring once to the point of existence and once to your point about existence with the same word in the same sentence.

Being hard to understand doesn’t make you profound, you know?”

“Well what’s profound?”

“Anything that makes people go “oh, I get it, the world’s like THAT” in the form of a very neat, memetic sentiment. No more than a paragraph. The kind of shit middle aged women go nuts for.

didn’t miss that you changed the topic btw.”

The commenter didn’t respond to this.

What IS profound? THAT, yes, sure, but also more, right? There has to be more. It’s not satisfying like this. There has to be a more profound explanation of profundity. Did THEY, the commenter,  find it satisfactory, of did they just not reply because their ego had been bruised?

I come to the realization that that becoming cognizant, not knowing, but actually becoming cognizant of the fact that other people do exist and have thoughts is genuinely the worst feeling imaginable.

I take a large gulp of rum straight from the bottle and the burning sensation in my throat distracts me from the terrifying thought that some guy on the internet had maybe been given a glimpse at the true nature of things that simply doesn’t do it for me.

Why did I go here?

Where did the rum come from for that matter? Sometimes it seems like alcohol just appears around me. Wait, right. This was about Lo. It’s hard not to feel pathetic in this situation, despite the overwhelming work I put into cleansing myself from such feelings forever. The space girl would surely have a blast observing and commenting upon my fucked-up coping mechanisms, but then again, there are few pathological behaviors with which she doesn’t have a field day, this tendency of hers very much included.

[wbwest]

New Post has been published on WilliamBruceWest.com

New Post has been published on http://www.williambrucewest.com/2017/08/25/west-week-ever-pop-culture-review-82517/

West Week Ever: Pop Culture In Review - 8/25/17

  In movie news, there was quite the controversial casting this week, as the color lines blurred for some comic book adaptations. First up, it was announced that English actor Ed Skrein would be portraying Japanese character Ben Daimio in the upcoming Hellboy reboot. Now, according to what I’ve read, Daimio’s Japanese heritage heavily influences the character, so this whitewashing of the character doesn’t seem to be in the best interest of the character. I mean, after the problems with whitewashing in Doctor Strange, Ghost in the Shell, Aloha, The Great Wall, and Ni’ihau, you’d think Hollywood would avoid shit like this. Yes, movies are made to make money, but it’s not like Skrein is a bankable star worth slotting into the role, so it doesn’t make a lot of sense. Usually this is done for the film’s STARS. Damon, Johansson, Stone. This is a secondary character, so it really wouldn’t have hurt them to seek out an Asian actor. Normally I’m just like “Well, Hollywood’s gonna Hollywood”, but this decision just doesn’t make a ton of sense.

Next up, 24: Legacy’s Anna Diop has been cast as Starfire in Warner Bros’ Titans series, slated to air on DC’s upcoming digital service. Some folks are saying they should’ve cast a Latina, but she’s gonna either be painted or CGied in orange, so it’s not like it’s gonna matter at the end of the day. Personally, if they wanted authenticity, I think they should’ve cast an actual orange alien princess. Right now there are just too many unknowns for me to get excited about this. I mean, DC announced the digital service without a lot of information. What’s gonna be on it? What will it cost? How much of the DC library will be available to be housed on it? As for Titans, this is the show TNT passed on. Ya know, the home of such illustrious shows as The Librarians and The Last Ship. I mean, they’re basically just about a notch up from what we got in the 90s from Universal’s Action Pack lineup. If Titans couldn’t fit anywhere on that schedule, then it probably just isn’t “ready for primetime” yet.

Speaking of aimless Warner Bros decisions, they announced 2 different Joker movies this week. First up is an origin tale, directed by Todd Phillips of Old School fame, and produced by Martin Scorsese. Hmm, one of those things is not like the other. I mean, why would Scorsese touch something helmed by the dude who gave us Road Trip? And who even WANTS a Joker origin story? First of all, it’s reportedly not even going to be part of the DCEU, so why confuse the audience with a story that won’t even really “count” in the grand scheme of things? Nobody needs a standalone origin of a take on a character they’ll likely never see again. This is just as foolish as Sony’s Don’t-Look-For-Spider-Man-To-Appear Venom movie. Next, the guys behind This Is Us (SO hot right now!) and Crazy, Stupid, Love are working on a Bonnie & Clyde-style Joker and Harley film, with Jared Leto and Margot Robbie reprising their roles from Suicide Squad. Since this would sort of negate the empowerment that Harley gained by the end of Squad, it’s believed that this actually means that the planned Gotham City Sirens film, also slated to star Robbie, is now dead. Honestly, I could do without either of these movies. I found Leto’s take on Joker to be…interesting, but Less is More with that character. Plus, I don’t really think the DCEU would be strengthened by this sort of movie. It’s not the world-building they need to be doing right now, as they haven’t even figured out the core of their star characters like Batman and Superman yet.

In TV news, Christopher Sebela’s comic Heartthrob has been optioned as a TV series by Felix Culpa – a production company launched by actress/Elvis’s granddaughter Riley Keough. Now, comics are optioned every day, and the final product never comes to fruition, but I hope this series sees the light of day. I’m actually a big fan of the comic, which is published by Oni Press. Set in the late 70s, it focuses on Callie, who’s received a heart transplant while the process is still in its infancy. Given a new lease on life, but still told she’s basically living on borrowed time, she decides to change her life when she meets Mercer, a charming guy with a shady side. She immediately falls for him, and he teaches her how to be bad, like rob banks and commit other crimes. She gets off on the rush. Pretty soon, however, she realizes that Mercer isn’t real. No, he’s actually the ghost of the guy whose heart is now in Callie. So, it’s a Bonnie & Clyde story where Clyde’s calling the shots from the afterlife. The book is published in “seasons”, so the first 5-issue miniseries wrapped up back in early 2016, while season 2 is hitting stores now. If you’re looking for a new comic not from the Big Two, I highly recommend it.

In music news, Taylor Swift did a whole social blitz to announce that her next album would be called Reputation, and would be released Nov 10th. On top of that, the first single was released last night, with rumors that the video will premiere at Sunday’s MTV Video Music Awards. Ya know, the same awards hosted my Taylor’s enemy Katy Perry. Yeah, that should be pretty interesting to watch. Anyway, the new song is called “Look What You Made Me Do”, and I’m not too impressed. It lacks a real hook, while the chorus itself is basically spoken. I feel like it has all the ingredients for a great song, but it’s not living up to its full potential. If this is an indicator of what to expect on Reputation, though, I’ll admit I’m curious. It can’t be worse than Perry’s Witness.

Speaking of Katy Perry, we got the premiere of her video for “Swish Swish”, which was reportedly her diss track against Taylor Swift. After a lot of backtracking and sucking up, though, it seems Katy wants to put that feud behind her. That’s why this horrible video does everything it can to take the bite out of a song that was never really that biting to begin with. I mean, just look at it – Molly Shannon? Terry Crews? Even Nicki Minaj was clearly CGied in, as I’m sure she didn’t wanna be anywhere near this shitshow. The sad thing about the Perry/Swift feud is that Katy bailed on it the minute she realized the Swifties were a more powerful lobby than she had thought. Nobody was feeling her SNL performances, and Witness didn’t exactly fly off the shelves. She realized that she can’t really survive by making enemies, so suddenly she became conciliatory to save her ass. Plus, it’s kinda lame that this blood feud started just because Taylor stole a few of Katy’s dancers for her tour. Anyway, you’ll never get those 6 minutes back. You’re welcome.

I had the pleasure of joining my buddy Zac for his new podcast, The Zac Shipley Show. He’s treating these first few episodes as pilots for ideas he’s wanted to try, so our ep was called Streaming Pile, where we talked about the worst things we could find on streaming services. I talked about a Star Trek: Voyager episode where formerly perky pixie Kes returns all middle-aged and bitter. You should check it out, and give a listen to his other episodes while you’re there!

Song of the Week

I’ve been a big Maren Morris fan since she released “My Church”, and I was really into her next single, “80s Mercedes”. With this song she continues not to disappoint, as I love the groove on this thing. Listen to the bassline. It’s not a dance song, yet you can do a MEAN two-step to it. Hell, I think you could even do a casual version of The Hustle to it. This will definitely go to #1 given time.

Things You Might Have Missed This Week

NBC’s planned reboot of Xena: Warrior Princess – which would’ve featured a full-on lesbian relationship between her and Gabrielle – is officially dead, as they said “it didn’t warrant a reboot”. Man, if only other studios would realize this about some of their projects…

Director James Gunn mentioned in a Q & A session that the 3rd Guardians of the Galaxy film would set up the next 10-20 years of the Marvel Cinematic Universe. Yup, you’re just now realizing your own mortality. I’ll give you a minute to deal with that.

Speaking of Gunn, he’s attached to write the pilot for (and possibly direct) a reboot of 70s series Starsky & Hutch. This adaptation is supposed to be similar in tone to CBS’s upcoming S.W.A.T. and not comedic in tone like the 2004 Ben Stiller & Owen Wilson movie.

Surprising every critic in Hollywood, Netflix has renewed the maligned comedy Friends From College for a second season.

Known for controversial publicity stunts, Alamo Drafthouse is reportedly organizing a Clowns Only screening of the new adaptation of Stephen King’s It.

We got a new poster for Thor: Ragnarok. So many colors!

Michael K. Williams has reportedly been cut from the Star Wars Han Solo film, as Ron Howard’s reshoot schedule conflicted with another role that Williams had accepted.

There are, like, 8 different Knight Rider reboot treatments floating around Hollywood, but the latest rumor is that one of those productions is looking at John Cena as Michael Knight, with Kevin Hart as the voice of K.I.T.T. Of course, it would be a comedic adaptation, a la the popular Jump Street franchise.

Super Troopers 2, the sequel to one of the most overrated films I’ve ever seen, will hit theaters April 20th, 2018.

Anne Hathaway and Rebel Wilson will star in Nasty Women, which is a female-led reboot of the Michael Caine/Steve Martin classic Dirty Rotten Scoundrels.

Independence Day: Resurgence‘s Jessie T Usher will star in Son of Shaft, with Samuel L. Jackson potentially reprising his role as John Shaft (from the 2000 reboot film), the nephew of the original John Shaft, played by Richard Roundtree, who is also in talks to join the movie. Man, that gave me a headache.

Always on the cutting edge, here’s Sesame Street’s parody of 2017’s song of the summer, “Despacito”

According to the creators, the Netflix series Stranger Things will most likely end after its fourth season

The actress formerly known as “Andrea Zuckerman”, Gabrielle Carteris, has been re-elected to a 2-year term as the President of the Screen Actors Guild-American Federation of Television and Radio Artists (SAG-AFTRA)

Ryan Gosling will host the season premiere of Saturday Night Live, with musical guest Jay-Z, on Sept 30th.

Jamie Bell is developing a Jumper TV series, based on the 2008 film about teleporters

Suicide Squad 2 is reportedly being fast tracked, but I hope they fast track it right into the garbage. I mean, I enjoyed the first one, but I don’t need a sequel.

I like Nick Kroll, even though I never saw even a second of Kroll Show. Anyway, he’s got a new animated series about puberty called Big Mouth coming to Netflix and after watching this teaser I am ON BOARD!

We’re a month away from the premiere of Star Trek: Discovery, and it was revealed that it will be rated TV-MA, for Mature Audiences. Now, it doesn’t mean there’ll be tits and phasers, but it does mean they can tell more complex stories. That said, I still feel like they don’t truly understand the source material.

After a scathing essay from his ex-wife went public, accusing him of adultery and other generally shitty behavior to women, Joss Whedon went underground and the fan site, Whedonesque, shut down after 15 years.

We got a new teaser for Netflix’s The Punisher. With the rate I’m getting through these Marvel shows, I’ll probably get to it just before Evie goes off to Hogwarts.

There was a national solar eclipse this week, which was the first occurrence since 1918. I’m sure you might’ve heard something about it. It was kind of a big deal. Folks were pimping out special cardboard glasses on Craigslist for insane amounts of money, and the American President made news by looking directly into it. It seems that it had a strange effect on different folks. For example, Netflix viewership went down 10% as people went outside to view the phenomenon. Not everyone understood what was going on, bless their hearts. At work, a frantic parent called in and said “Y’all watching the news? You hear about this eclipse? Is it serious?!” Apparently she thought it posed some sort of danger to her kids and the school. No, ma’am. It’s just a beautiful sky ballet. Anyway, the eclipse was EVERYWHERE. I didn’t get to see totality, but it was still nice to stand outside for a bit on a nice day. What am I saying? I hate the outdoors! Well, it was nice to not have to work for a few minutes. You couldn’t escape the Eclipse Fever at the start of the week, so that’s why the Solar Eclipse of 2017 had the West Week Ever.

[feynites]

♜ for stronk muscle warrior lavellan getting a massage from solas! (In cannon or the mit au???)

Life for the Dalish isn’t always what people imagine it to be, she knows.

Clans, after all, have children, and elderly, and sick, and disabled people - just like communities everywhere do. There are holidays. Rest days. When times are good, and hunting grounds are plentiful, and foraging is rich - when there’s trade to be had, even, with other clans, or with friendlier human settlements - she would venture to say that it’s a much more pleasant life than that of a peasant farmer, who works field after field and sees most of their gains vanish in taxes and tithes to their local lord. 

Dalish do not have lords. When things are hoarded, it’s because they’re being stored away for the clan’s future. 

But. That doesn’t mean it’s a life without considerable strain, especially for those who are strong enough to bear it. She’s no stranger to gruelling days. And nights. Working from sunup ‘til sundown. The Inquisition is more mercurial in its demands than the clan. She’s more apt to get back to camp, or to Skyhold, only to find that she has to turn around and march right back out again. And if there’s one thing she’s learned to hate about Ferelden and Orlais alike, it’s mud.

Especially in Ferelden. Thick, clinging, stinking mud that cakes on and sinks in, that makes roads into swamps, and turns considerable areas of terrain into sinkholes and traps. Scout Harding tells her that the mud worsened, after the Blight. A lot of forest had to be burned down, and plant life cleared out, to try and stop the spread of blighted flora and fauna. Even after the darkspawn had been driven out. With no trees to shield huge segments of soil from rainfall, or roots to block off flooding rivers, mudslides became a much more common hazard of northern Ferelden. It’s one reason why she tries to avoid any treks out to Denerim, wherever possible. 

Mud makes for hard work on the road, especially when it strikes where least expected. They’re a week out from Skyhold when a nug dashes across the road, and spooks the horse pulling their supply cart; and the animal bolts, and between one thing and another, the cart and most of its supplies end up stuck in a veritable river of roadside mud.

As Inquisitor, she’s gathered, she’d be within her rights to just let the troops and some of her party handle it. And this time, she’s almost tempted to.

But she dismounts, anyway, because she’s strong and unlike some of the troops in their party, she managed to sleep through the windstorm last night. There are biting insects, and the mud is - to be honest - probably full of horseshit, too, and all of it sucks and stinks and fights their best efforts to get the cart out. Even Solas’ attempt at levitating the thing only lifts it up just enough for them to start hauling the back wheels free, before he has to relent to the tenacity of the earth. 

It takes them three hours to get the cart unstuck, and to load up all the crates full of keep supplies that fell off of it. Nothing broke, at least; the mud made for a soft landing point, she will grant it that much. Then they have to resume their trip, with the insects following along. They have no hope of bathing, so the only thing for it is to let the mud dry - itching and hot - and then scrape it off.

An hour after that, they find out that their Inquisition banner got left behind in the muck when a group of bandits decide that they look for easy targets. Tired, covered in enough muck to dull even the brightest shine of armour, and clearly loaded down with goods.

It’s not a pleasant fight.

She’ll leave it at that.

In the end, the delays pile up, and they don’t make it to their set rendezvous point in time. She sends a few scouts ahead, to let the group they were supposed to meet with know about the delay, and the rest of them set up camp with the only piece of good fortune being that they manage to find a decent-sized stream before they do. Fit enough for some of them to finish getting the worst of the mud off of them, although the water is ice cold, and it’s still tough work; scrubbing skin and armour, standing in the riverbed, with the wind whipping around and the water freezing her ankles.

She feels like one entire bruise by they time she settles in front of the roaring fire which, she thinks, looks most definitely magical.

“Thank you,” she tells Solas. 

He inclines his head.

“You over-exerted yourself,” he notes, settling next to her at the fire.

She supposes it’s a little obvious, now. Even cold as she still is, she hadn’t had the energy to pull on much more than her spare tunic and an untied pair of breeches, before slumping in front of the fire.

“I wouldn’t have, if I’d known we’d be fighting suicidal bandits very shortly after pulling everything out of the mud,” she assures him. She knows her limits. Life just seems very set on testing them, of late.

“Going into the water was unwise,” Solas proceeds to opine, and she glances sideways at him.

“Trying to sleep while every crease of me felt caked with shit would have been worse,” she assures him. “I know what you mean, though. I’m going to be stiff in the morning.”

She stares into the fire, resigned to her fate; and then the sound of something clinking, slightly, draws her attention.

Solas settles an unfamiliar tin onto the ground next to her knee.

“I may be able to help, if you are willing,” he says.

She raises an eyebrow.

“With a spell?”

He chuckles, just a little.

“I was thinking more along the lines of a salve and a backrub,” he admits.

For a brief moment, then, all she can do is envision Solas’ hands on her skin. His very lovely, very fine hands, which seem to have been pleasantly warmed by the fire, and which put decidedly warm thoughts into her, too. She clears her throat, and in an effort to keep from making a fool out of herself, picks up the tin he placed next to her. The contents look creamy, and smell a little odd. But not unpleasant. She thinks she’s seen some of Cullen’s troops using something similar, though it’s not much like Deshanna’s concoctions.

She glances at Solas, and hands the tin back to him.

“That would be very kind,” she says.

He inclines his head.

“I confess, I feel a moderate amount of guilt for not wading in with you,” he tells her, as he shifts around towards her back. She swallows, and tries not to think too many inappropriate thoughts, as she slides the back of her tunic up.

“You shouldn’t,” she tells him. “You wouldn’t have been much help if you were standing knee-deep in it and couldn’t actually move enough to cast a spell.”

“I am fit enough. I could have helped in other ways, if I had chosen to,” Solas tells her. She hears him rub his hands together, and smells the salve; and lets out a slight breath when he touches her. His hands are, as expected, warm, and the salve warms easily, too. Solas’ touch is very deft, and he seems to know what he’s doing as he pinpoints the most strained spots along her shoulders and spine, and begins to work them over.

“Magic is helpful,” she assures him, a little more breathlessly than she means to.

“It is,” he agrees. “And I do not have your musculature, that is for certain. You are very... well-built.”

She raises an eyebrow - that he can’t see - and a snort of amusement escapes her.

“Flattery?” she asks, and then gasps as his thumbs find a knot, and press it in just the right way to make it ache tellingly.

“Once again, I am only declaring verifiable facts,” he assures her. “Though if you find my facts flattering, I will not object.” His thumbs roll over the knot, digits smoothly working it out, until she feels a rush of relief that tingles all the way up to her neck.

“And if I begin to find you charming?” she wonders.

His hands pause, just for a moment.

“I would hardly object to that, either, I suppose,” he permits, though his tone changes. Getting a little more deliberate, maybe.

She lets out a breath.

It’s a lie anyway, of course. She’s found him charming for quite some time now. The ship has sailed, as it were. The aravels are on the trail. Solas continues to rub at her back, moving along up to her shoulders. She can’t bite back the occasional groan of appreciation, as he manages to ease aches she hadn’t been wholly aware of, and untangle muscles that loosen whole other ones in the process. Eventually he even ventures his touch to her arms, running his palms across her aching biceps, and shifting in place a little as she begins to sag.

She imagines what it would be like if he did this for her legs, too, but she stops that train of thought quickly enough. Massages are tiring work for the masseur, and his day has been long, too, and she won’t presume upon him anyway. This is nice enough; and it will keep her limber enough for tomorrow, as well.

Still, she can’t quite resist the urge to capture one of his hands, when he finally pulls back.

“Thank you,” she says, curling her fingers around his own.

Solas stares at her for a moment, his gaze unreadable. And then he inclines his head.

“It was no trouble,” he assures her. Courteous, and nothing more. This kind of interaction wasn’t uncommon among her clan, for that matter. It’s just practical not to let the people whose strength you’re relying on run themselves ragged, or risk needless injuries.

She should just leave it at face value, she supposes. For the kindness that it is, and not for the other kind of warmth that his touch has inspired in her. And that’s what she’ll do.

That’s what she does.

She finds it takes a moment of effort to relinquish his hand back to him, even so.