#kind of wondering if the basement flooded at some point & then the water just had nowhere to go & was trapped under the vinyl? idk

[winter-hoof]

Basement floor update! The tiles are gone from half of the floor but now there’s still asbestos mastic left :/ so once this is done we have to seal over it and paint the floor

[slashersins-abandoned]

tw : noncon

bubba sawyer x reader

The smell of death seems almost normal now . Stale air that keeps the metallic tang of blood hangs hot and musty in the basement where you sway on the meat hook . A few days ago it made you gag , now it clings to the sweat and dirt on your skin that seems to build up in layers , and you’ve come to accept it .

The sound of the metal door screeching and creaking open catches your attention . A chilling fear corses down you and makes the Texas heat a distance memory . Would you be next ? Slaughtered and cut up by the brutal butcher wearing a dead man’s face ? Somehow you muster the strength to try and escape , but with your wrist bound and caught between a hook , and your toes barely scrapping the concrete below it’s nearly impossible . The only thing you can end up doing for yourself is sway more in a mockery of how you’d been strung up .

Heavy footsteps sound the unavoidable arrival of the man you least want to see . And soon his large frame comes into view , his shadow engulfing you . He’s filthy . But then again , you both are right now . It makes you wonder if he ever knew what being clean was ? Maybe . His somewhat put together outfit - a pair of slacks , a button up shirt , a tie , and a filthy blood stained apron . It’s an odd combination , a mimicry of a some proper hillbilly gentleman . Though you refuse to look at his face . Even when he shoves a crackled bowl of water against your lips , the cool water heaven against your chapped lips .

You hate yourself for giving in , but the need for that reviving liquid on your too dry throat is too great for you to resist . And the happy noises that come from the man who seems to get closer show that it must be a good decision on your part . Maybe you’d live a little bit longer . Maybe long enough to hope .

All too soon you swallow down the last drop of the water offered , and you curse yourself for now savoring it more - who knows when your next taste of relief will come ? The thought isn’t a settling one . You try not to think about it . Instead your eyes move to the shuffling form of your captor .

He doesn’t talk . He’s never talked . Grunted , yes , something he babbled as if he were saying words , happy squeals , angry grunts . It was all so . . . confusing . Knowing what this man wanted , why he was keeping you , it was impossible . But still , you held your breath , hoping his hands wouldn’t move towards the weapon he’d brandished so easily the first time you saw him .

It’s as if he knows what you’re thinking . He moves towards the table where the heavy piece of machinery sits . All the sudden you’re too tense , too on edge , hyper vigilant as you hold your breath . Today’s the day , isn’t it ? You’d lived your last . You’ll end up cut in half and butchered just like your friends and this man will just be find and -

Seeming all too happy the hulking masked man sits down at the table . It’s only then you notice the items he’s placed alongside his chainsaw , and the sight of them do nothing to help you calm the sudden hammering of your heart . A new sharper chain , oil , and a few small tools . If you had any tears left to cry , they’d be streaming down your face and blinding your vision .

All too aware of your impending mutilation your eyes lock on his movements . Thick , fat , dirty fingers so easily working to get the old chain off . Chunks of meat and dried blood staining the worn down chain . How many bones had been sawed by those dull blades ? Would id be less painful to tie under the sharp teeth of a clean chain ? Or would it hurt the same as being torn into by the work worn saw ?

Suddenly your trembling , so focused on those fiddling fingers oiling and cleaning the now chainless saw that you don’t realize you’ve made noise . The fact the fingers have paused , bow tapping nervously doesn’t click in your mind . And when it does it causes your brow to furrow , eyes flickering to the masked man’s face - a mistake . The moment you take in the stolen face of another person you want to gag and throw up the water you’d only just had . But what’s worse is that you lock eyes with the behemoth of a man .

Dark swirling brown eyes . Ones that are too bright , too curious as he stares at you . It feels like an eternity but finally you pull your gaze away , glancing back to the weapon on the table . And those brown eyes follow your gaze . Thick fingers move back over the metal , then down lower , and lower until they’re resting against the plastic starter .

Never in your life had you felt your heart sink to your stomach so quickly . A soft “no” leaving your cracked lips . Another mistake , because the larger man wraps his fingers around the starter and starts to pull . In abstract horror you watch . One easy pull , like it was nothing to rev the motor . The heavy saw weightless in large hands and thick arms . A second one and the motor sings for a few se seconds before fluttering off . The third has your vision blinding , fear flooding your senses and making it hard to even bring air into your lungs .

The panic consumes you in such a way that the heavy steps of the large man coming closer don’t register in your ears . It’s not until you feel the metal of the saw vibrating against your thigh that you jolt back to reality , letting you a shocked sob . But pain never comes . There’s no tearing of flesh under vicious teeth . No searing hot pain as you’re torn in two . Instead just the shaky , loud hum of the motor and the chainless saw against your skin .

Confusion is an understatement . Why - What happened ? What was - An aborted attempt to shift away is made , only for the man who’s gotten closer to raise the tip of the saw up and towards -

“W - Wait ! Don -“ You try to speak , but the butcher has other ideas . The saw makes it way between your legs , rubbing over your clothed crotch .

The vibrations are so sudden and shocking that you choke on your words . In an attempt to get away your thighs all together , but it only seems to make it worse . An excited noise coming from the larger man as it moves closer and starts forcing his saw between them , forward and back forward and back . Those curious big brown eyes focused on how you squirm .

The movement makes you cry out . In panic , in shock , in some fucked up kind of forced arousal - you aren’t sure . And every reaction pulled from you only boldens the large Texan .

With a whimper you try to pull away , only to find the base of the saw pressed close to you , the vibrations so powerful that you can’t stop your body from coming undone . With a soft cry , and the steady obeisant grinding of the chainsaw against your sex , you cum .

Shame floods you , along with a strange relief . Not even the sound of the chainsaw dying and the loss of friction is enough to pull you from your sudden exhaustion . So much effort your body didn’t have pulled out of you by just a few unwanted touches . Yet you welcomed the warmth in your belly . It was something - proof that you were alive , some kind of final acceptance .

Hanging slack and panting , the larger man’s hands flutter over you . Chubby fingers smudging the dirt on your cheek with his own only for them to tentatively travel down to the mess in your shorts . The action pulls a gasp from you , and continues to make you squirm as he lets his hands explore . Cupping and rubbing , spreading the wet mess over you and making it seep further into the fabric keeping his rough padded fingers from your sensitive flesh .

It’s a relief when he pulls them away . Only for you to to go breathless when your shorts are roughly tugged down and you’re fully exposed . The air is hot , but feels freezing on your slick skin , not that you have time to think of it before there’s a leather nose shoved between your thighs . The curious babbles , happy squeals , and heavy sniffing sounds make you squirm away , but you only move against him more as he snorts softly .

A mouth soon follows the nose and a sobbed , “Please ! D -“ tears from your throat only to fall on deaf ears . A thick , too hot , too wet tongue glides over you dipping and lapping as fat lips suckle and teeth lightly scrape over your most sensitive place . He’s eating up your mess . The idea of it makes your belly do a flip - and at this point you don’t know if it’s good or bad . But it is maddening .

Those fat hands grips your thighs easily , spreading them as he continues his adventurous assault on you . The same dizzying warmth flooding you and when you twitch and leak , the pleased sounds from the man on his knees seems almost welcome .

“BUBBA ! GET UP HERE WE GOT VISITORS !”

Just as soon as it’d happened it was over . The large man - Bubba - stood towering over you , whipping the mess on his mask off his face with the back of a dirty man . Only to use the same one to pat the top of your head like one would a pet . Quicker than you’d like to have seen he puts on the fresh chain to his weapon and revs it up . The gleaming metal shining in the dull light of the basement .

As the man runs upstairs you whimper out . The sounds of screams filling your ears as you wonder just how long you had before you ended up on the table .

[reinerispretty]

rotations. (zuko x f!reader) pt4

hello!! sorry i’ve been posting so much, i’m just really excited to get to the bulk of the story. like i said before, if you have any suggestions, please don’t hesitate to reach out!! 

pt 1

pt 3

pt 5

(Y/N) looked from her new friends to the Fire Nation soldiers that surrounded them. A little voice in the back of her head said she could reveal herself now. She could pretend like she had been tricking the Avatar and his friends and get them captured. But if she did that, the world might lose its last hope of beating the Fire Nation. If she fought alongside the Avatar, she condemned herself to being labelled as a traitor. 

(Y/N) had been in a city of the Earth Kingdom for two years and she was sick of it. Not of the city itself, or of its people, but of living in a city occupied by the Fire Nation. She watched from the balconies as their soldiers mistreated the people whose families had lived there for centuries. They beat the men and starved the women and children. It was sickening to watch and when she brought it up to her family, she received drastically different replies. Her mother insisted that she simply stay inside all day so she wouldn’t have to hear the injustice that was happening in the city below them. Her father threatened to write to the Fire Lord that she was questioning his orders. She wondered if her father had always been an evil man, or if it was a new occurrence. 

Witnessing what the Fire Nation was doing to innocent people did not sit right with (Y/N). Sometimes she dressed in Earth Kingdom clothes that she had purchased in the market and asked people about their experiences with the Fire Nation. This war had raged on for 100 years, so everyone she had spoken to had a story to share. The Fire Nation had torn apart families, destroyed homes and crops, and imprisoned innocent children for simply being earthbenders. It made (Y/N) sick to her stomach. 

So she decided to get back at the Fire Nation. It started small, like stealing food from the kitchens to distribute amongst the poor, but she eventually went as far as sneaking into the jails at night to free innocent earthbenders. It was hard, maintaining appearances as a child of a Fire Nation general while also freeing the innocent people her father’s forces had captured. She feared every night when she crawled into her bed that one day she would wake up to soldiers standing above her. But she could not stop herself from helping people who needed her. 

(Y/N) was in the town square, playing with a few of the Earth Kingdom children, when she noticed a small group lurking in the shadows. They were dressed unlike anyone she had ever seen, so she knew she had to follow them. It was two boys and a girl walking together and peering around each corner to make sure that no Fire Nation soldiers lurked on the streets. While their backs were turned, (Y/N) made her presence known by clearing her throat. The trio jumped and turned around, and she was face to face with a boy in a yellow tunic and pants with blue arrow tattoos, and another boy and a girl from the Water Tribe. 

“You guys aren’t from here, are you?” (Y/N) asked. The girl smiled. 

“No, we’re not. I’m Katara and this is my brother Sokka. We’re traveling with Aang.” The youngest boy raised his hand to smile and wave.��“He’s the Avatar.” 

(Y/N) felt her mouth practically drop to the floor. The Avatar was standing right in front of her! The Fire Nation’s greatest threat was a boy who was barely older than ten. “This place is crawling with Fire Nation soldiers. Follow me.” She led them through alleyways and secret passages until the were at the door of the basement of her house. It was once home to the best earthbender in the city, but her father had done quick work with kicking him out and sending him to prison along with the other earthbenders. The basement remained untouched by her family and its servants. (Y/N) was pretty sure those who lived upstairs didn’t even know that it existed. 

She shut and locked the door behind them. “This is the safest place in the city.” 

Sokka looked at her incredulously. “Are you serious? This is the Fire Nation general’s house! Did you see all those guys out front?” 

“I can promise that I’ve been hiding out down here for a long time. I don’t even think they know it exists.” She sat on the floor and patted the dusty earth beside her. Aang sat down, then Katara, then finally Sokka, after a bunch of suspicious glances at (Y/N). 

“You haven’t told us your name,” Aang noted, but he didn’t seem accusatory. She felt sweat begin to accumulate on her palms. Should she tell them her real name? Would they know that she was the daughter of the Fire Nation general? She looked at their kind expressions (except Sokka’s, he still looked very wary of her) and decided to take a risk. 

“My name’s (Y/N).”

“How long have the Fire Nation been here?” Katara asked. 

“About two years, I think,” (Y/N) responded. 

“Have you been here the whole time?” She nodded. 

“The soldiers...they’re awful. I’ve seen what they do to the people here. They tear families apart, they starve the citizens, they lock all the benders in prisons. It breaks my heart.” 

“We’ll try to help, in any way we can.” Aang said. (Y/N) shook her head. 

“There’s no way you can do that. The Fire Nation literally wants you dead!” 

“Trust me, we know,” Sokka grumbled. 

“We have a bit of experience breaking benders out of prison,” Katara said with a smile. “Maybe you could help us do that! Are you a bender?” Warily, (Y/N) nodded. 

“I’ve been bending since I was a kid but I’m scared to use it around here. I hope you all understand.” Aang and Katara nodded. 

“It’s settled then. Tonight, we’ll break all of the benders out of the prison and help them take their city back.” The trio put their heads together as they started to formulate a plan. 

“Hey, (Y/N),” Sokka said. “Are you just gonna sit there or are you gonna give us some intel on where the earthbenders are being kept?” 

(Y/N) felt herself smile. She scooted closer to the three kids to begin discussing their plan. For the first time in a long time, she felt less alone. 

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

Alright, so their plan didn’t go quite as expected. 

Their night began as easily as it could. They covered themselves in cloaks (Y/N) had found in the basement and traveled back alleyways to reach the prison where the earthbenders were kept. She tried her best to remember the layout of the prison on her father’s desk that she had seen for a moment, but she ended up leading them to many close encounters with Fire Nation soldiers. 

“I’m sorry!” She whispered once more as Sokka had to quickly knock out one of the guards. “I told you guys, I’d only barely seen the map! I don’t know why you put me in charge!” 

“I guess we just thought that the Earth Kingdom girl might know a little bit about the Earth Kingdom prison!” Sokka whispered back, causing (Y/N) to deepen her frown. 

“Guys, it’s okay,” Aang said, putting himself in between the two teenagers. “Where there’s guards, there’s prisoners. I heard some more voices down to the left. Follow me.” 

Quickly and quietly they followed Aang through the twists and turns of the prison. While Sokka held his boomerang and Katara had water at her hip, (Y/N) felt utterly useless. There was no way she could use their bending to help them. If she did, she would be outed as Fire Nation immediately, and they would lose all trust for her. 

They finally found the cells where the prisoners were kept. The benders looked at them suspiciously, but (Y/N) pulled back her cloak to reveal her Earth Kingdom clothes. “Don’t worry,” she said as she worked at one of the locks on the cell door. “We’re here to help.” 

She and the others made quick work of the locks, freeing each and every one of the benders that had been arrested. Although the people were weak, they assured the group that they would be ready to fight if necessary. Successfully, they led the prisoners out of the prison. That is where their real trouble began. 

Somehow, an alarm had been sounded that alerted the guards of the escaped prisoners. Fire Nation soldiers began flooding out of the prison at rapid pace. The group of four stopped in their tracks and Aang turned back to the rest of the prisoners. “Go!” He shouted. “Get back to your families! We’ll hold them off!” 

The prisoners turned and ran back toward the city. The guards there had no doubt noticed all of the commotion, but by the time they thought about stopping it, it was too late. The prisoners, although weakened, were fighting to take back their city. 

(Y/N) felt a pit of fear in her stomach. She felt like she could do nothing as Aang, Katara, and Sokka fought off the Fire Nation soldiers. Soon, their backs were pressed against each other as the soldiers had them surrounded. 

“You said you’ve been bending since you were a kid,” Sokka said to her through gritted teeth. “We could really use some of that right now!” 

(Y/N) looked from her new friends to the Fire Nation soldiers that surrounded them. A little voice in the back of her head said she could reveal herself now. She could pretend like she had been tricking the Avatar and his friends and get them captured. But if she did that, the world might lose its last hope of beating the Fire Nation. If she fought alongside the Avatar, she condemned herself to being labelled as a traitor. 

(Y/N) took a deep breath and felt the fire roar through her body. It was a powerful feeling. Her father had once said that fire ran through the bodies of the people of the Fire Nation, and that was one thing he said that she actually believed. She began shooting fire blasts at the soldiers. While they had been trained by the military, she had been trained by some of the best firebenders in the entire Fire Nation. She danced around the people she had grown up beside, knocking them unconscious with her techniques. With the help of the others, they swiftly conquered the soldiers. 

Aang landed on the ground and pointed his staff at her. “You lied to us.” 

She felt ashamed of herself. “I know. I’m sorry.” 

“Sorry?” Katara demanded. “You’re the enemy!” 

“I know,” (Y/N) exclaimed. “But I’m not! I promise, I’m not. I’ve seen the bad things the Fire Nation has done to this city. And I tried to help where I could. I would sneak the citizens food, or I--I would break them out of the smaller jails. I knew I couldn’t break everyone out of the prison by myself, so when you offered to help, I knew I had to take it.” 

“How do we know you’re not trying to double-cross us right now?” Sokka questioned.

“I’m the daughter of the Fire Nation general who conquered this city! I could’ve turned you in when you first got here, but I didn’t. By helping you guys, I’ve betrayed the entire Fire Nation.” She turned to Aang. “Please, let me escape with you. I promise, we’re not all that bad.” 

Aang stared at her for a moment, eyeing her up and down. (Y/N) weighed her options as she watched him ponder. If they didn’t accept her, she would have to run away regardless. She wasn’t sure if she could survive on her own, but she knew she would receive a punishment far worse than death if she remained here. 

“I believe her.” She let out a sigh of relief. 

“Are you kidding me?” Sokka shouted. “She’s Fire Nation! She’s the enemy!” 

“The Monks taught me that we can’t define one person based on the actions of the group. (Y/N) proved that she’s on our side by helping us today. She’s right, she could’ve turned us in so many times, but she didn’t.” He turned to her. “You can come with us. You know how the Fire Nation thinks.” 

Katara and Sokka grumbled unhappily, but she couldn’t contain her smile. She hugged Aang tightly as tears formed in her eyes. “Thank you, thank you! I promise, I won’t be anything but helpful to you all I want nothing more than the reign of the Fire Nation to end.” 

---

Tag List!

@soft4kei , @bubblebars , @pleasantfankingdom , @vintageroses1014516

thanks so much for reading! 

part 5

[sepublic]

New Wartwood, Friend or Frobo!

           This was ANOTHER great episode you guys, two exciting things culminating, and I just… YES!

           I love how a recurring theme in both parts of this episode is two strangers who are added to the Plantar family and status quo in Wartwood (I mean Marcy technically isn’t a stranger but she’s a new addition in terms of permanence), and how both episodes have the townsfolk react suspiciously! The people of Wartwood calling back to Anne’s own destruction was neat, it was nice to see Anne guide someone else through the same things she went through, except Marcy doesn’t quite have to do it alone- And Marcy herself seems pretty mature! All things considered, it wasn’t like she just chose to renovate the town against everyone’s wishes, she was following Mayor Toadstool… Which granted, she should’ve listened to Anne’s warning, but still!

           In general, I like how this episode has both the gags of the townspeople being ready to be an angry mob, but also there’s this sense of… Newcomers like in the beginning of the show, except we have a more developed Plantar family to help them through it! It’s incredibly sweet and I love it… And I’m SO hyped to see Marcy and Frobo interact more, I was looking forward to her reaction to them- And I want to see the two bond over being the newcomers to Wartwood, as recent adoptees to the Plantar family, more or less, etc.! I want to see Marcy freak out over Frobo and help them explore their abilities and function, and add her own knowledge and research…

           …But I AM wary of Marcy inevitably writing back to Andrias about the whole thing. Goodness, what if Frobo is broken down for spare parts, or used to help power and heal his master? Is there some connection, would Frobo recognize the Night- Will the Night possess Frobo like Calamity Ganon with the Guardians? We already have so many Breath of the Wild parallels, in addition to Frobo having destructive laser beams… We could get a tragic Iron Giant plot, with Frobo struggling against the Night, maybe even a permanent destruction! That’d really hurt, while also providing more context and background to what the Night was capable of and probably did, what happened in the past, etc.!

           I like how Marcy had the maturity to learn to apologize herself, instead of hiding behind Anne- And it’s neat seeing how she tries to earn love with big, grandiose gestures… I wonder if she learned this from Sasha? Who seems like the kind of person who’d make friends by doing things for people, given how rich she is and how kids are invited to her parties and so forth; And what with it being part of Sasha’s manipulative nature, innocent Marcy picked up on it? Thought this was normal? OH DANG, that could be a toxic trait she learned from Sasha, and we could see her unlearn Sasha’s toxicity the way Anne did! Again, it’s fascinating to see this same storyline redone but with a different character, it’s almost like watching an AU but within canon!

           Also, I know Toadstool insisted that he wouldn’t learn, but he went out of his way to try to vouch for Marcy at least a little, or at least take his part in the blame; And what with his upcoming redemption episode, it’s neat to see him slowly grow as a character too! Again, I liked the callbacks and seeing Anne become more of a seasoned veteran whose seen things for people, like how she warns Marcy about Toadstool’s schemes… But just in general, like how she lectures Sprig and Polly about how they need to know Bessie’s story to drive her, and so forth! It’s this proud sense of people growing up, and then passing things on to the next generation, a passing of the torch and maturity!

           Speaking of which- We also get to see that with Polly! Polly learning to be an older sibling to Frobo is great, that’s such a neat idea we’ve never seen before, and it adds to her character’s development as she continues to appreciate what others have to go through with her! I like how Frobo is technically younger than Polly in a sense, but also incredibly destructive like her, so you got the baby siblings being destructive… And again, seeing our main cast teach others is incredibly heartwarming, it makes the journey feel all the more well-rounded and nostalgic; We’re seeing how they’ve grown by watching how they become mentors to others, I love this SO much!

           Also, I like how Marcy and Hop Pop are getting along more! We got a glimpse of this beforehand, but now we’re really getting into it, especially with Marcy’s fascination with Wartwood- I think it’s neat the detail of it essentially being a bunch of buoyant sod and topsoil placed over swampwater! It doesn’t add much beyond the peril of this little episode, but it’s very neat worldbuilding and a fun concept, and it reminds me of how some cultures created floating gardens! Which, fits Wartwood being an agricultural society, and it just fleshes out how the Amphibians manage to interact with the wild and cultivate it more, it’s so fun! I wonder if this subterranean swamp has anything to do with the various animals we see… Were the herons attracted to the water and perhaps fish beneath? Those monstrous lampreys that flooded the basement, was that from the swamp below? It’s all incredibly fascinating worldbuilding with so much fun, neat implications, I’m genuinely obsessed with it!

           But, back to Marcy and Hop Pop- It’s neat that Hop Pop is finding someone who can appreciate his old-fashioned interests more… It feels like this family is becoming more fulfilled and less lonely as people find each other and bond, fulfill one another in different ways! This old frog is being understood more and more, and now he has a fellow nerd! I’d love to see Marcy learn how to drive Bessie, and I like that Hop Pop has another human stranger who’s enriching his life, and acting as someone he can count on to help him with his grandkids, an older child he can relate to! It just warms my heart after seeing him get along with Anne during the trip back to Wartwood, the more the merrier! And it’s incredibly sweet that Marcy gets the Fwagon all to herself… Which again, would make it hurt if it got destroyed, but whatever;

           My point is, it’s neat how this journey in this home that brought them to Marcy, it ends up being for her too! It’s like the journey hasn’t quite ended yet, they brought someone back with them… And Marcy gets to sleep where Anne slept, get to live where the others lived! It just feels incredibly heartwarming and it’s such a kind and homely, nostalgic gesture… Again, she really feels more like a part of the family, so I can see things changing where Marcy doesn’t just want to be with Anne, but the rest of the Plantars too! Seeing her develop her relationship with them is great.

           Again, I’d like to see Marcy maybe interact with Sprig and Polly more too- Maybe she and Polly can bond over liking Frobo? Frobo and Polly become friends? And while Frobo as an individual does not concern me in regards to intentions; Their design is a bit sus, given the eye-lasers. Though, Amphibia is such a dangerous place that Frobo having defensive capabilities makes sense… But the idea of there being an entire army of Frobos, many of whom could’ve gone destructive and ravaged Amphibia? Genuinely terrifying with how powerful, with such a diverse range of abilities, that Frobo has- They could lift all of Stumpy’s casually! Again, like the Guardians from Breath of the Wild…

           But yeah, it’s really fun these evened-out, pairings among the family now; You have Sprig and Anne… Hop Pop and Marcy… And Frobo and Polly! But also, Marcy and Anne are close to one another as well, Hop Pop has everything with his pre-existing kids… So it’ll be fascinating to see Frobo adjust, and maybe see Marcy try her hand at being a guide to them as well! Maybe they can both bond over being clumsy and not meaning to cause accidents, but also being adept and having a wide range of skills, and perhaps being seen as ‘robotic’ in the sense that they don’t understand social cues and are figuring them out… It’d be SUCH a neurodivergent mood! Then we have Anne, Marcy, and Frobo being the local freak shows and adopted family, Hop Pop, Polly, and Sprig the ‘normals’ acclimating them to Wartwood, etc.!

           All in all this was another fascinating episode, in terms of character dynamics, themes, the development of our protagonists getting to shine, glimpses into lore, changes to the status quo… It’s all wonderful, I knew I’d love this episode, but WOW it was good! Animation for Frobo was superb and I loved Marcy’s outfit from Toadstool, and Mrs. Croaker’s little joke about being suspicious with Marcy for a while, it reminds me of the fandom in a meta sense! Here’s looking forward to the next one, F-Anne’s!

[doorsclosingslowly]

This Is the Time of Our Great Undoing

“Do you think Kaz could fuck someone in a full-body bondage suit?” Jesper whispers, more to distract Inej from what’s on the screen than anything else, but still—the idea won’t leave Kaz alone.

5.8k | modern AU | Kaz[/&]Jesper, part of a polycule

content note: despite the premise this is about cuddling, gambling addiction and existing during climate change

It starts the way most things used to start: with all of them piled onto ancient couches on the fifth floor of an otherwise empty building on the edge of Amsterdam, also called the Slat. These days, it’s harder and harder to get everyone together. Nina and Matthias are both in Rotterdam now, doing associate degrees that Kaz doesn’t care about. Wylan’s got room and board and a plan for the future and a social worker, and she already disapproves of Jesper as a bad influence so it’s not worth it, generally, for Wylan to come back to his old squat and hang out with the whole gang of ex- and current reprobates.

And Inej—fuck, Kaz wishes she was just a little less righteous, less concerned with how the world’s going to shit. She’s faced off against more cops now than he has, probably. Water cannons and charging horses and riot shields. She knows criminals all over the country, Europe, probably the world—but they’re the kind of criminals with morals and worthless targets, with bandanas and badly sewn patches, who will talk about Federici and sea levels and the Invisible Committee and use value if you don’t leave quickly enough. The kind that live on trees, as Inej’s going to do in a few days. The kind that don’t make any money. The kind that have even less of a chance of making it out of a job alive and free than Kaz does—and with the enemies she’s talking about, politicians, banks, Shell, he doesn’t even know if he’ll be able to extort her out of jail next time.

For now, though, they’re all together in the big room, watching some ancient movie on the massive 8k screen with mood lighting, etc, the works, that’s in the Slat courtesy of some MediaMarkt manager desperate enough to save her marriage to bribe Kaz into silence, but not so desperate she wouldn’t fuck two other women in the breakroom.

It’s impossible to know whose fault it is that they’re currently watching Pulp Fiction.

Kaz is inclined to blame Jesper, because most things are his fault in some way or another, and he’s supplying the login data for an old uni flatmate’s streaming accounts, which is where they found that film, front and centre, paid to rent until tomorrow. Who even pays for films? If that’s the calibre of people they send to university these days, it’s no wonder the planet’s going to the dogs. Jesper, though, swears he wanted to watch some goofy horror flick, so he’s splitting the blame with Nina and Matthias: Matthias, for growing up in a cult and having never heard of what’s apparently a film classic and mentioning that to Nina, who of course cooed over her boyfriend and insisted on it, even though actually none of them have watched it before either so it’s not like it’s an important cinematic milestone. Or just not b horror, crime, some weird arthouse thing with complicated morality… It’s weird and has crime but there is nothing to figure out, so Kaz is bored. It’s Inej’s fault, because instead of vetoing it she said yes, just because she has a heart-shaped soft spot for Nina. Wylan could have done his oh I’m still an innocent barely-two-years not a minor this looks bloody thing, and Kaz might not even have mocked him this time if he'd insisted on Jesper’s pick instead just so he could hide in Jesper’s arms for the most minor decapitations.

Jesper’s been talking through the whole film. Kaz got used to that a long time ago: the landing and failing of small non-sequitur jokes like rain against the window, whispered to Wylan who’s cuddled into his side on the left, or to Inej who’s burrowing under Jesper’s outstretched right arm. Sometimes Jesper thinks a quip will land better with Nina, so he shouts it over to the futon where she and Matthias are always just shy of engaging in heavy petting, and the really mean and bleak jokes he saves for when he’s made eye contact with Kaz.

Now, though: in this scene Mr Motorcycle and the gang boss are captured in a pawnshop and dragged into the basement, and Gang Boss gets raped. Inej’s hand is white-knuckled on Jesper’s arm, and Jesper’s talking non-stop. He’s talking about the flooding, and asking whether Inej thinks Doggerland will happen again but here, soon, you can never know when the scientists are so wrong about the speed of climate change, and apparently it all flooded in a day because something broke off Norway, and then he abruptly pivots to some demo where he bashed in a shop window and got new shoes, and then if she’s got dates for more street fights because then he’s in but please, don’t trick me into another book club, I don’t care about why the cops are bad I already know I just want to hit them—not topics Kaz would have chosen, exactly, but he’s rooted in his red leather armchair off to the side, not even able to hold her for comfort, not like Jes does now, and why didn’t they think to look up the content beforehand, why did they assume it was tame just because it’s an old film—and then, long after it’s over, Jesper idly asks, “Do you think Kaz could fuck someone in a full-body bondage suit?”

Wylan groans. Kaz wishes a sound existed that could express his own current emotion.

“You saw the guy, right?” Jesper turns over to Wylan, while still stroking Inej’s hair. “There was no skin on him. All leather. And that’s the trigger, so—might solve all our problems. I can’t believe I didn’t think of it before!”

“I don’t see a huge difference,” Nina snipes. “Kaz is already in all-black, with gloves. Though I guess, that hood would hide his atrocious haircut…”

“Stop being so mean to Kaz, Jesper,” Matthias mumbles. “Although he does deserve it.”

Kaz downs his entire glass of vodka. When he tops his drink up for the second time—he exed the first refill right in the kitchen—he brings the bottle and some maracuja juice over and refills Jesper’s, too, because Jesper’s been anxiously glancing over at him, every moment he thinks Kaz has turned his head away, since he shot his stupid mouth off and actually, it’s—Kaz isn’t thinking about it now but it just might—maybe it could work—well, he fills up the glass to stop Jesper from worrying himself into yet another mental crisis and also so he can bend over Jesper’s ear and whisper lovingly, “I’m going to make the leather for the suit out of your skin.”

“We should look for an Ed Gein film next!” Jesper laughs, much more brightly than the joke warrants, and Kaz refuses to interpret the look on his face.

+

By the time Kaz gets back to the Slat, on a day roughly three months later, it’s long past two in the morning. He’s in a foul mood: of course Haskell won’t even reimburse him for the taxi he had to take because he missed the last metro. Of course he just told Kaz to take a night bus. Haskell won’t even apologize for the last minute details he wants included in his casino’s tax returns. The old man’s not even mentally capable of understanding the extra work he caused. Yes, Kaz is good at filing taxes creatively, exactly tailored for the business to pay nothing whatsoever and meticulous enough to never arouse any suspicion, but that takes work. Things have to balance. Haskell thinks Kaz just has to press a button, and that he’s paying Kaz so he doesn’t have to press the button himself, and that it’s only worth it because he doesn’t want to sully his mind with ‘the Spreadsheet Program’. Which is also why he’s loaning Kaz out to a friend of his, which he just remembered to mention today, for that guy’s mattress store slash money laundering business, so that’s even more work for nowhere near enough money.

Sometimes, Kaz amuses himself with the idea of sneaking in small ‘mistakes’. Enough for even the stupidest tax official to unravel the whole sordid scheme and land Haskell in prison for tax fraud, whereupon he’ll also be discovered to be involved with drug smuggling, blackmail, murder, … none of which will ever trace back to Kaz. But the one time he was livid enough to try, nothing happened. He’ll never manage to plunge the true depths of stupidity of an average bureaucrat, apparently, and is thus doomed to failure.

And anyway, it’s good regular money for little work. Usually. He can’t really complain. Especially not to his friends, because three are going legit, Inej will just rant about the uselessness of defrauding the Belastingdienst for a few measly million euros a year when the world’s being set on fire every day, and Jesper’ll tell him to quit, again, because they live in a squat after all. It’s not like they’re paying rent. Jesper’s never heard of forethought, or gratitude. He doesn’t know how many of his bills Kaz has paid off.

Kaz’s leg aches after the climb to the third story. Two more to go. As usual, right at this point he remembers the joke Jesper made eight months ago about fooling someone into installing a stair lift, and as usual, he dismisses it in disgust after two more steps. Stomps harder on the next flight of stairs, with grim satisfaction at the shooting pains in his knee. He doesn’t need help. He doesn’t need to move to a house with a working lift, and he doesn’t need a stair lift, either. Fuck you, Jesper. I’m the actual functional adult with a job in this household. I don’t need a stair lift.

That’s what he would throw at Jesper’s head, but it’s nearly three o’clock, and Jesper’s probably out. Over at Wylan’s, if he knows what’s good for him, but given how evasive he’s been all week, how manic… Inej’s still camping high up in some forest to save the frogs or something, but no news there is supposed to be good news. If the cops had chucked her off a tree house, it would have been on tv. About everything else, he can worry after he’s slept.

He doesn’t bother with the lights in his room. The streetlight coming in through his open curtains is more than enough, and anyway, he found the empty tenement he turned into the Slat five years ago, fully moved down here three years ago when he met Jesper, and he knows every single thing in his room by heart. The antique dresser he made Jesper and Matthias carry up with the threat of cutting off a finger for every scratch it received is next to the door, the place where he leaves his gloves and wallet and phone and cane. The coat rack beside it, where the hangers for his suit are, then the hamper, and at the foot of his bed the long black linen nightgown that Jesper’s never, ever allowed to see, and—

There’s a black shape on top of his bedcovers, Kaz realizes when he’s pulled on his nightgown.

Kaz takes his cane back. He hasn’t made any new enemies recently as far as he’s aware—none who know his name—but he was careless, brutal, desperate when he was a lone kid getting by on the streets, and those victims had gangs, families, business partners. Just because no-one’s ever traced little Kazzie the bastard rabid dog back to the Slat-that-wasn’t-then doesn’t mean a thing. The fact that the friends he started collecting press-ganged him into doing more behind-the-scenes embezzlement and fewer turf wars because ‘they’re watching us, they have all our faces and fingers and DNA on file and cameras everywhere and did you hear about that informer having kids with the activist he spied on?’ or the more pragmatic, ‘If you don’t stop fucking up your leg on purpose I’m going to send you to a kink party you fucking masochist’…

None of it means safety, not really, and Kaz is glad he’s alone now. They’ve all moved on, and even Jes… well, if he’d been here tonight then the whole squat would be trashed because Jesper doesn’t come quietly. And now, if he comes back to find Kaz gone or his throat slit… Jesper’s going to fucking collapse. He’s been one phone call away from going hysteric all week. Who knows, though—he has Wylan now, and maybe it’ll be the push he needed, the path none of them could ever find, to get his life back on a solid track.

All of that is presupposing that Kaz loses, of course.

And he does not intend to.

The weird black ninja on Kaz’ bed hasn’t reacted yet. They’re curled into a foetal position and they’re snuffling, quietly, because they’re asleep.

Not even assassins dressed up as b movie henchmen expect the toll taken by Per Haskell’s technical naïveté and utter disrespect for Kaz’ work-life balance, apparently. He got back home so late he missed his own murder. Well, then. Kaz hasn’t tortured anyone in two years and he may be out of practice, but the films he’s been forced to watch in the meantime have, if anything, made him more creative. He’ll teach them not to underestimate the brutality of Kaz Brekker, even when he’s moved up a few rungs in the ladder of Amsterdam’s underworld and landed a desk job.

He’ll—but Kaz hasn’t had to stalk silently towards his prey in two years, either. He’s underestimated the extent to which his lame leg’s gotten worse.

Also, someone’s pulled a box out from under his bed.

Kaz stumbles, and in the split-second before he catches himself on the edge of the mattress he wonders—will they have a gun? I can still bash them in the head before they fire, I haven’t gone that soft—and then the would-be assassin stretches out their lanky body as they wake up.

With their arms raised over their head, Kaz can see the bright white light of the street lanterns outside reflect off the gleaming black PVC fabric they’re wearing. Sleek and skin-tight, no ornamentation except a few steel buttons glinting at the crotch, and a full-cover leather hood over their face adorned with one-euro-sized rivets at the jaw, the forehead, the bridge of the nose, the large buckle around the neck. More buckles, at the back of the head and hanging off the right side at eye-height. The open silver zipper at the mouth reflects the streetlight, too, as does the padlock that hangs off it.

Oh no. Kaz knows that mask. Not even shoving it all the way back to the furthest corner under his bed allowed him to forget the way it looks.

Oh no.

Jesper yawns loudly. “Morning, boss. Evening. One of those. I thought you were finishing work early?”

“Haskell had some last-minute revisions to his tax returns.” Kaz sighs. “Don’t cook tomorrow. I’ll be out late for the whole next week—don’t expect me before three am. New client. I need to create a whole year’s documentations from scratch.”

“Just fuck him over, boss. He doesn’t appreciate you, and you don’t need the money. We live in a fucking squat.”

Sweet, financially illiterate nuisance Jesper, who probably doesn’t even know what that awful mistake he’s dressed in right now cost. The thing he’s dressed in. Which was hidden under Kaz’ bed. In Kaz’ room. Which they are inside right now. “You broke into my room,” Kaz rasps. “Again.”

“You know, Kaz,” Jesper replies with poorly feigned innocence, ”this thing is a little big for you. Fits me pretty well, though.”

“I told you I don’t keep cash under my bed. I told you that, the last time you tried to steal from me to pay off your gambling debts. I like my room organized as it is, and so I don’t keep any money here. Not under the bed, not in the wardrobe. And you won’t find any of my actual caches, because I’m smarter than you.”

“You’ve lied to me before.”

“You’ve stolen from me before. Remember last year? Remember you made Inej cry? I though you were clean. I thought you promised Wylan, when you asked him out, that you were done gambling. Maybe we all had too much trust in you.”

Jesper pulls his PVC-clad shoulders up to his en-leathered ears: a ridiculous sight, and Kaz doesn’t know what’s worse. That a bondage sex slave could actually look this dejected and humiliated and alone, or that Jesper does. He’s almost ready to call off the assault. It took a while to figure out, but as usual Inej was probably right, because she’s been researching and discussing the mental health industrial complex in general, and the traumatizing nature of modern life, with her comrades. Even though Kaz is neither the kind of person to touch people with kid gloves, and nor does he like thinking of Jesper as someone who needs that kind of handling—when Jesper’s in a shame spiral this deep then any criticism will drive him even deeper into the arms of the next casino. So the adrenaline and dopamine can wipe out everything else, or to feed his self-loathing even more by being exactly the person he’s terrified people think he is—Jes couldn’t quite explain it himself during the Intervention, except that everything is too much sometimes, even more too much and faster than usual.

He’s a pitiful creature. Kaz almost has pity. Then, though—

“It’s not working, boss. I know why you’re reminding me I fucking relapsed, again, and tried to steal from my best friend, again, and that I’m going to beg you to lie to Wy, again, but I still haven’t forgotten I’m wearing a bondage suit that you’ve been keeping under your bed for—two months now, is it?”

It’s just one month, actually. The manufacture and shipping took six whole weeks.

Two can play that game. Kaz might be very slightly embarrassed, but Jesper’s relapsed into the combination of addiction, theft and deceit that destroyed his life three years ago, and nearly did so again, two-and-a-half years ago and one year ago. “Careful. I haven’t even yet agreed to lie to Wylan, Jesper. About your problem. That you promised you’d tell him about.”

“Also, I notice it fits me, not Inej. Not Nina. Not Matthias. Not even Haskell, I bet. Me. Almost like it was made for me.”

Kaz ignores his insinuations. The answer’s obvious, anyway: yes, he did take clothes from the main washing pile in Jesper’s room and measured them. Yes, he used the measurements when he ordered a bondage suit. Yes, that’s creepy. Yes, a decent person would have asked. No, he’s not sorry. Jesper knew who Kaz was when he moved in with him. And it’s not like Kaz is the one who’s really at fault here. If Jesper just stopped gambling, he’d never have found out.

“Even attempted theft is illegal, Jesper. Completed robbery is worse. I cover my tracks, but you… you should be careful what you say now. They’re still looking for whoever robbed that jeweller last year.”

“Inej’s gonna cut off your head if you try. It’s like you never read her hoodies. All cats are beautiful, et cetera, Kaz. Thirteen-twelve. Keep up.”

Sometimes, the only thing that keeps Kaz from tossing Jesper out of the Slat is that Inej hates landlords and landlord-adjacents just as much as the pigs. If only he’d known back when he let the drunk penniless fancy uni boy who jumped into a fight to defend Kaz from some thugs—a fight Kaz would have won regardless—if only he’d known, before he let Jesper crash on his floor for a night or two, where all of this would end. “I’ll never mention anything about tonight again if you don’t either. Forget it. It was a bad idea. A failed plan. That’s all.”

“Without even trying it?”

“I will zip your mouth shut,” Kaz rasps. “I’ll lock it. I’ll throw the key into the harbour. Fuck you.”

Jesper, though, somehow got even mouthier when he put the bondage suit on. Less respectful. This isn’t how it’s supposed to go. “Come on, Kaz,” he wheedles. “I put it on, right? So I’m fine with it, if you’re worried. Aren’t you curious? If our places had been reversed—well, if you’d found it in my room you’d have murdered me, so we’re not exactly identical, but still. Come on, sit down next to me. This is—PVC right? Good job choosing me. Inej would hate it. So much plastic.”

“It’s less like skin than leather.”

“Not complaining, Kaz. I have some juice with a straw over there to keep me hydrated in case I sweat like a pig, but I haven’t, yet. I can probably camp out in this for a few more hours.” He tries a patented Jesper I’m flirting in an over the top way to make you laugh which is my flirting style for when I’m genuinely worried about the reaction because this way I can pass off exasperation and mockery as the response I intended look, probably with fluttering eyes, but since Kaz can barely make them out through those open zippers and the rest of his face is a complete mystery, it falls flat. It looks ridiculous, though, so it also works, and Jesper has the nerve of complaining about Kaz’ eight-dimensional chess plans. He’s worse. He’s worse, and animated by Jesper’s ridiculous, familiar movements the bondage suit doesn’t look like a pathetic attempt anymore. Not like the desperation of an emotional cripple. It just looks like Jesper, with an extra layer on his skin. Jesper, probably making a duckface, purring, “Don’t you think I’m sexy?”

Kaz looks away. “Are you serious right now?”

“Of course,” Jesper replies instantly, as if there was never any reason to doubt him. As if he doesn’t blame Kaz for doubting, simultaneously. As if Kaz is allowed to try. To fail. To fuck up, risk hurting him. There is a reason why Kaz never even considered someone else for the suit. “Come on, get on the bed.”

“We have to talk with Inej first. And with Wylan.”

“One-track mind,” Jesper replies, and just like that Kaz is ready to murder him again. “We’re not fucking. We’re not doing more than normal, except maybe touch. We don’t even know yet whether this helps you. I’m not risking it. We’ll just try touching, and if you think it’s triggering, we stop. We’ve got all the time in the world to work up to more. Until this city sinks into the ocean and the grid collapses from heat, which might be tomorrow, so. Or the fascists win.”

“You’ve been listening to Inej.”

“I do try to keep up.”

“Well, stop. Or listen more carefully, until the end, when she gets to the doomerism is the opiate of the masses part.”

“Just get on the bed, Kaz.”

Kaz puts his bent good knee onto the mattress and pulls himself over to Jesper. The fabric of his linen smock rubs against his heated skin: not like corpses, not like that, not like Jordie and he won’t even think about him or this will be over but—it just feels like his own familiar coarse age-softened nightgown that Jesper hasn’t even made fun of yet, his thin nightgown that in a second will be one of only two layers between him and Jesper.

He rolls over so he can sit down next to Jesper, at first. Daringly, he leans an arm against his best—well, they’ll figure that out later.

“Okay?” Jesper asks. He has to crane his head a lot to look through the thin eye slits of his bondage mask at Kaz’ face, and even then he’s probably mostly seeing the gleaming teeth of the eyehole zippers. And still he leans forward forty-five degrees and twists his torso and neck so he can look up into Kaz’ face, carefully keeping the arm that’s touching Kaz as motionless as possible, because he’s being careful with Kaz. Kaz has told him a thousand times he hates being coddled. He’s not a poor little abused dog, he’s a vicious murderer who destroyed his leg and his ability to be close to people while he was murdering, that’s all he ever told Jesper. That lie. And yet—even if he’s only fooling himself because this scene is so patently ridiculous, and the psych ward he got sent to once for the crime of rough sleeping while underage would stamp every single thing about what they’re doing as deeply unhealthy, and he can’t see Jesper’s soft concerned expression under the hood… Whatever it is, Kaz feels warm all over. He feels good. Safe.

Jesper can tell, apparently. “Want to touch my chest? Or climb into my lap?”

Kaz moves over, carefully smoothing down his nightgown before he sits down on Jesper, angled so he can lean with his left arm pressed against Jesper’s chest. It’s safer, somehow, than giving him the back, but perhaps someday…

Jesper loosely wraps his arms around Kaz. They’re just there, barely touching, the hands lax on top of Kaz’ right knee. You can leave at any time, they say, I’ll let go as soon as you’re uncomfortable, and Kaz would have known that regardless. Jesper’s never usually this still, unless he’s lost in concentration: and Kaz, who’s seen how gambling can destroy someone’s life, how it is currently destroying someone’s life, would still bet everything he has ever owned that Jesper’s concentrating on every single aspect of Kaz’ body language right now.

It’s not necessary, though. Those hands are gleaming black PVC. They don’t look or feel anything like Kaz’ memories.

He drops his own naked right hand onto Jesper’s gloved one. Joins them. Anchors Jesper. “How much do you owe this time, Jes?”

A beat. Jesper’s face drops down towards Kaz’ lap. Trying to hide his shame, and he’s forgotten that he’s wearing a full bondage mask, that Kaz can barely make out his eyes through the slits of the zippers. If he’s trying to deny everything, Kaz will just beat it out of him. He’s done it before. A year ago, when it was bad, but Jesper promised he got it under control. But Jesper’s promises were never worth much, not for this. If they were, they’d never have met.

“Four grand.”

“To?”

“Tom Geels. One of Big Bol’s old friends—”

“So he put you up to—”

“I was already playing when he walked up to me, Kaz,” Jesper grinds out. Aware that he could save himself from at least a little of Kaz’ disappointment by casting Bollinger as the tempter. Simultaneously aware that Kaz promised to feed Bollinger to a marine propeller last year if he ever took Jesper gambling again. Noble, to try and save Bollinger’s life—or to save Kaz from committing another murder—not that either of them deserves his loyalty. “I’ll pay you back, Kaz. I’ll have the money. Give me—give me half a year, Da’s still sending me—sending me rent money, Christ, he’s—I’ll save it. No, you’ll get it straight as soon as I get it, and in six months, you’re paid back in full. I promise.”

“We’ll figure it out. I have some jobs I could use you on. Nothing big. Intimidation, mostly. Some breaking, some entering. Boring stuff, not even worth mentioning to Wylan I should think.”

“Thank you.” Jesper’s forgotten all his restraint. He’s kissing Kaz’ forehead, or rather kissing the inside of his mask that’s pressed against Kaz’ forehead. He’s wrapped Kaz tightly in his long bondage arms too, painfully twisting Kaz’ shoulder and elbow and wrist because Kaz is still holding onto his hand. It’s that welcome pain, and the texture of the bondage suit that Kaz still isn’t completely used to, that keeps him from breaking Jesper’s nose. Keeps him—he isn’t back in the North Sea. He isn’t with Jordie. He should be, but he isn’t, and even if it comes…

Inej taught him about grounding. None of them trust the system as far as they can throw it, so she didn’t send him to a shrink when they started dating, unlike he feared, but—she said they helped her, those grounding exercises she found on the internet, and so Kaz has been diligently practicing breathing techniques and focusing his awareness on details of the present moment. Five things he can see: well, it’s dark, but the way what little streetlight gets through reflects off the folds of the suit on Jesper’s bowed stomach is quite interesting. His own knees. His hand, still clutching Jesper’s. The cane, on the floor. The floor. Five things he can hear: early morning traffic, Jesper’s breath, Jesper trying not to sob out loud in relief or shame or a mixture of both, the rustling of fabric, the squeaking of fabric. Five things he can feel: The old ache of his leg, always. Jesper’s hand. Jesper’s thighs. The hard buttons at the flap over Jesper’s crotch, digging into his side.

Somehow, Jesper’s noticed his shift in focus. At least he’s stopped crying now. “You know, you could have just asked how big I am if you wanted a suit with a dick pouch,” he teases in a voice that almost manages to sound happy. “I wouldn’t even have been suspicious.”

“Just because you have no boundaries, Jes, doesn’t mean I have to sink down to meet you at your level.”

Jesper takes a big breath. To forestall the whole Who bought this bondage suit argument Kaz elbows him in the stomach, hard. Once Jesper’s done coughing—a wriggling movement against Kaz’ side that he’s never even felt before—he mumbles something else, though. “I texted Da my new number. He called last week. Wanted to know how I was doing,” and oh. That makes sense. That’s what did it. “Apparently I’m graduating in seven months, according to that fake schedule you made me so I could keep my lies straight. He wants to come to the graduation. He asked me whether I have a job lined up.”

“I could hire somebody to fake you a degree,” Kaz offers. This should be Inej’s job. She shouldn’t be off somewhere, saving grasshoppers. She should be here. She’s the one who tried to talk Jesper into coming clean to his father, last year. All Kaz knows, all he has ever done, is to keep digging, and it’s worked for him. So far. “It’s all the rage now I hear. Cheap, too. No-one will find out. Just don’t become a politician in Germany.”

Jesper sighs. The air kisses the back of Kaz’ neck. “I don’t even care anymore. I could have a degree, or not, it all doesn’t matter. Universities are a scam to regulate economic class relations anyway. I don’t know that I can keep lying forever, or get a job, just so I don’t have to tell Da I betrayed him. Because nothing matters anyway. We’re collectively throwing the future down the drain. It’s not like anyone needs another mechanical engineer when we hit four degrees. I don’t know what we need. I just know everything I know is pointless.”

“I’m sure Inej can hook you up, if you want to blow up a coal power plant.”

“But what about you, then? What would you do?”

“I could have you kidnapped,” Kaz says. That’s not what Jesper meant. Kaz refuses to think about what Jesper meant. “Fake your death. Colm will be so relieved when they find you that he won’t even care you failed all your studies so you could become a live-in human blow-up doll.”

“That’ll only keep Da happy for a year at most and you know it.”

“Well, then Colm’s just going to have to get used to it. Get used to you, like we did. Real, annoying, good-for-nothing directionless screw-up Jesper.”

Jesper rubs his leathered cheek against the crown of Kaz’ head. “Fuck you. Thanks.”

Kaz runs his fingers over the squeaky PVC on Jesper’s forearms, steeling himself before he whispers idly against Jesper’s neck, “If Inej’s right about the warming and the sea level over the next decades, it won’t just be refugees from the south we’re letting drown, people it’s easy to lock out. Maybe you’re right about the Doggerland thing, and we all get flooded.” He swallows. The words are high up in his throat, trying to spew out. “Then it won’t just be one stupid child with a stupid family going out boating in the North Sea when there’s a storm coming. Not just that one kid thrown out of a sinking boat nearly drowning and clinging to his brother’s corpse. Your blow-up doll skills will be in high demand if everyone else gets triggered by skin contact too.”

Jesper, miraculously, reveals a talent Kaz didn’t even know he possessed: he shuts up. He ghosts his gloved hands over Kaz’ shoulders, and then he starts carding his fingers through Kaz’ hair. Kaz can feel the static electricity building up, the crackles and the safety, and then he realizes his eyes have drifted shut. He realizes he doesn’t know how long Jesper’s been petting him.

“Take off your hood,” he mumbles.

“Kaz?”

“Take it off. Scuttle over so your head’s on the pillow.”

Jesper obeys, like Kaz always knew he would. He looks up at Kaz with something that might be confusion but might also be—trust and deep joy and more, something Kaz can’t quite admit anymore now he’s in his bed, and Kaz puts his head down on his chest. His legs will still fit, and this way, he has the squeaky PVC right where he needs it. Squeaky, rhythmically rising warm dry plastic under him. The exact opposite of a waterlogged corpse.

“I don’t have time to call you an ambulance when you get into a bondage suit erotic asphyxiation incident, just so you know. I have a full schedule for today, remember. I’ll be at Haskell’s until after midnight. I have to break Bollinger’s thumbs. My alarm is at seven. Turn it off and I’ll send you to Colm in bite-sized pieces,” Kaz rasps, and then, with a movement that no-one would call timid if they wanted to keep their tongue attached, wraps his arms around Jesper. “You’ve kept me awake for two hours, so be a good pillow. If I kick you off the bed while I’m dozing, remember. This is your fault.”

[nyupreservation]

Happy Preservation Week! (Part 1 :)

Happy Preservation Week, everyone!

I’m Cat Stephens, an Andrew W. Mellon Fellow studying Library & Archive Conservation at NYU’s Institute of Fine Arts. At the IFA, I’m earning an MA in the History of Art and Archaeology, and an MS in the Conservation of Historic and Artistic Works, specifically in the conservation of books, paper objects, and photographs.

Students in my graduate program have the option to spend their year-long graduate internships almost anywhere in the world, but I chose to stick around and intern at the NYU Libraries’ Barbara Goldsmith Preservation & Conservation Department... In addition to being awesome at their jobs, the conservators here are excellent teachers, and I’ve always been impressed by the range and volume of treatments that they perform every year! Additionally, NYU has done an impressive job of reducing the spread of Covid-19 on campus, and I feel very lucky that my internship was not severely impacted by the University’s precautionary measures. Since September 2020, the library’s preservation staff and I have had the option to work in the library for 2-4 days every week, and we catch up on paperwork during our teleworking days.

Over the last seven months I’ve worked on many treatments that have helped me understand the finer points of library preservation, and I’ll describe four of my favorite preservation/conservation treatments for you over the next four days. These treatments include a 19th century publisher’s binding, a 16th century book bound in recycled parchment, a wooden box full of unexposed Daguerreotype plates, and ... a skateboard??

But first, unless you’re a library or museum professional, you may be wondering what Preservation Week is, and how does “preservation” differ from “conservation?” For cultural heritage institutions, Preservation Week is a yearly opportunity to draw public attention to the importance of preserving cultural heritage materials of all kinds. These materials may include modern books, medieval manuscripts, audio/visual materials like VHS tapes and home movies, photographs, scrapbooks, textiles, digital data, paper documents, and metal, wood or glass objects, just to name a few. Many of these materials are held in libraries and museums for public enjoyment, but perhaps many more are sitting in our basements and attics! If you have special things at home that you want to preserve, there are many online resources available to you, and I’ve provided links to some of them at the end of this post.

For conservators and other preservation professionals, Preservation Week is a good time to consider the enormous range of objects that we’re tasked with caring for, and to think about new ways to preserve and conserve them for the next generations. In libraries and museums, “preservation” and “conservation” refer to slightly different activities, but they both contribute to the wellbeing of cultural heritage objects. “Conservation” refers to any physical interventions performed on an object, such as cleaning, making repairs, or compensating for parts that have been lost. A conservation treatment can reduce the stains in a flood-damaged drawing, or it can transform a pile of ceramic sherds back into an ancient vase. “Preservation” usually encompasses the activities performed around an object which will minimize the object’s chemical and physical deterioration over time. Preservation activities include the making of enclosures to protect objects from physical harm, dust, or light damage, the management of pests, and the careful control of temperature and humidity in storage facilities. Preservation and conservation are two sides of the same coin, and many argue that “preservation” is the broader term which includes conservation activities. This point of view is often held in libraries, where the objects (usually books) are not just static relics of the past, they are vehicles of information; to access this information, books must be handled, and they must be able perform a kinetic function. For this reason, any conservation treatment that restores functionality to a broken book can also be considered “preservation.” Of course, many old or rare books have been digitized and made available online, but even so, scholars often want to verify and augment their online research by perusing the original book… there’s no digital substitute for the real thing :)

Thanks so much for reading, and stay tuned for tomorrow’s installment of our Preservation Week 2021 blog series, where I’ll discuss the conservation of a novel published in 1891 (photos below!)

-Cat Stephens

Some At-Home* Preservation Resources:

American Institute for Conservation (AIC): “Caring for Your Treasures”

American Library Association: “Saving Your Stuff”

FEMA (Federal Emergency Management Agency): “Salvaging Water-Damaged Family Valuables and Heirlooms” ... (Fact Sheets are available in English, Chinese, Vietnamese, Haitian Creole, Portuguese, and Spanish):

Minnesota Historical Society: Preserving “Clothing and Textiles”

National Archives: “How to Preserve Family Archives (Papers and Photographs)”

*But sometimes a problem is so complex that it requires a conservator… AIC’s “Find a Conservator” tool can help! https://www.culturalheritage.org/about-conservation/find-a-conservator

[ashintheairlikesnow]

Choice: Chris

CW: References to past noncon, torture, conditioning, and training. Trauma response including ‘freeze’ response, flashbacks. PTSD and survivor’s guilt.

Tagging: @burtlederp, @finder-of-rings, @endless-whump, @whumpfigure, @slaintetowhump, @astrobly, @newandfiguringitout, @doveotions, @pretty-face-breaker, @boxboysandotherwhump, @oops-its-whump

“Chris?”

It’s only when Mari speaks that Chris even realizes he’s stopped. She and Ben are a few feet ahead, the three of them heading to the little ‘food court’ in the Student Center to grab some lunch that wasn’t meal-plan food. Mari’s hair laid over her shoulder and caught the light just so in way that she always claims is accidental, but Chris has seen her put enough time and effort into her hair to know it really, really isn’t. 

Except right now he can barely see her at all.

His heart is suddenly still inside his chest, held there through some endless eternal second, and he’s startled into a gasp when it starts beating again. Adrenaline floods his system at the same time and Chris opens his mouth to say I’m just fine but nothing comes out. 

No words. How can he make words happen?

He knows how to speak, except sometimes, when he’s scared or the world is overwhelming the connection was broken.

He can think the words, we need to go I need to go I can’t be here with him but nothing happens when he tells his mouth to move. Only breathing, nearly silent, like an animal hiding under a bush and hoping the predator wouldn’t find him.

“Chris, what’s up?” Mari moves back over to him in a swish of long flowery skirt, putting a hand on his shoulder. When Chris flinches back and away from her instinctively, she pulls her own hand back like she’s been burned, then turns to look at Ben. “Hey, Ben?”

Ben had initially stopped to look back at Chris, too, but now his eyes were moving - not lingering on Chris’s pale face, the bright red spots in his cheeks the only color other than the faintest, faded smear of freckles, but instead following Chris’s gaze to a series of booths set up down a side hallway. “Oh, I forgot all those career guys were here today.”

“Yeah, they come every couple of months, my sister said. She used to go here. What’s up, Chris?” Mari reaches out again but this time, she hesitated before touching him.

He can feel the pressure of her fingers before they reach him, the way they part the air around her. He can feel the weight of the fluorescent lights overhead, hear the soft high buzzing sound they make that sometimes it feels like nobody else can hear but him.

There’s a part of the Student Center he can’t even go in because the ventilation system makes a squeak and he’s the only one in his friend-group who can hear it and it drives him crazy and none of that matters because he’s right here, he’s right here, he’s here and Jake’s not and he’s here.

Chris’s foot feel rooted to the spot even as he desperate to run, staring at a single one of the booths, having to remind himself to blink. 

Can’t run. Have to be still. Have to be so still.

Chris’s left hand drops down to the outside of his thigh, tapping there, half-hidden simply by how quietly and quickly he moves. Have to learn to hide it, have to hide it, can’t let anyone see, stillness is better than what I do-

Help. He can think the word but can’t say it. He’s here. How to explain who ‘he’ is? How to even start. They don’t know, nobody knows, he can’t tell anyone. He can’t tell anyone why he’s scared of the WRU booth.

The logo is cold water down his back all on its own, but he’s seen the logo enough that it’s not the scariest part. He doesn’t feel suddenly terribly small because of the heavy white drape hung with the WRU design printed over it in a vibrant, bloody red. 

The table has the same kind of fabric over it, covered with brochures and paperwork that Chris knew about but had never tried to read, himself. It wasn’t worth giving himself headaches just to see-

Fucking lies, Jake had said, bringing home a stack he’d found to shred and soak in water and then dump in the trash can to be perfectly useless. Lies and lies and fucking lies, and those rich assholes buy every single one because it’s easier than looking any of you guys in he eyes to see that you’re people.

None of that is what holds him still.

What freezes Chris isn’t even the familiar black uniforms of the two men who stand by the booth shaking hands and saying friendly hellos to anyone who paused to take a look. 

What freezes him is one of the men wearing the uniform, a man he knows so well that even his bones go cold just at the sight of his profile, the straight line of his nose, rounded chin, angular jaw. The blond hair graying around the edges is a little grayer, now, but no less recognizable. 

His smile is still branded in hideous fire along the inside of Chris’s mind, along with a trainee’s shaking need to do whatever it took to make him smile, because that’s what it means to be good-

“H-handler.” It’s the only word he can remember, in that moment. It’s the only word he knows, the only person in the entire world is his handler who will come to unlock the door and bring him his food and take him for training or showers or all the other terrible moments that will never stop being etched in Chris’s memories and running like soft fingers down his spine and gripped onto his hips-

“What?” Mari’s voice breaks the moment. “What’d you say?”

Chris doesn’t look at her. He can’t.

He can’t, because Handler Petrus turns and looks right at him.

Kneel. Kneel. Fucking kneel get on your knees show him you’re good Position Two Position Two Position Two-

His knees start to buckle but he catches them, rocks forward and then back just once to remember that his body is his own, he can move it however he wants. If he doesn’t want to kneel he doesn’t have to kneel but the handler’s eyes lock on his eyes and they’re cold, so cold in his friendly smiling face.

Now that wasn’t so hard, was it, 223499? Get up, there’s mouthwash by the sink.

Hold position, or you’ll get another day without food.

Good boy, there, see, you’re a quick learner when you want to be-

“I, I, I don’t want to be,” He whispers. But it doesn’t matter. What he wants is irrelevant, Handler Petrus always gives you choices, you can choose to be good or choose to be bad and get disciplined, and there’s a choice but both of the choices mean you do what he wants because what the trainee wants is irrelevant.

Doesn’t matter.

You’re not a person anymore, so stop the sniveling and hop up on that table.

“Hey, Earth to Chris.” Mari snaps her fingers in his face and the moment breaks, all at once. Chris jerks in a breath only to realize he stopped breathing at some point, dizzy with lack of oxygen, blinking rapidly to get water back to eyes that had gone painfully scratchy and dry from no blinking. “We’re gonna be late to class if you keep just staring at nothing.”

“Lay off, Mari,” Ben says, and Chris wonders if it’s accidental or on purpose when Ben steps between Chris and the handler’s gaze. “He does that sometimes. Come on, Chris, do you need a sec? We can go to the basement, nobody ever goes down there. If you just need some quiet.”

“Um. I... I, I... I d-don’t-... I-I-I-” He looks around Ben, and realizes that Handler Petrus isn’t looking at him. The older man has turned away, is shaking someone’s hand, giving them a brochure with a friendly welcoming smile. 

Chris wants to run and grab it out of the pretty boy’s hands, yell at him that it’s a lie it’s all a lie and it’s going to hurt and it’s hell-

but they’re not here to pick up new pets, are they? No, that boy Handler Petrus is talking to isn’t going to be a pet. He’s going to be a Handler. 

Going to learn to hit and terrorize and torture and train people just like Chris. Is he in it for the hitting, the hurting? Handlers enjoy it, mostly. They like that part, they’re supposed to like that part, and it’s only the pets who would do anything to make it stop-

Anything, whatever you want, please I’ll do whatever you want I’ll sign your stupid paper just please let me out let me out let me out

Handler Petrus isn’t looking at him anymore. That moment of what had felt like eye contact, the paralyzing realization that he was right there and he could walk over and say kneel, pet and Chris would and then everyone would know what he was and is and will always be... it’s gone.

Handler Petrus didn’t know who he was.

He’d just seen someone staring, he didn’t see a pet, he didn’t see 223499, he didn’t see the scars where his barcode used to be so carefully hidden by his long sleeves. No... no, he’d just seen a gawker. Some college kid taking a moment to look. 

He didn’t know him.

The relief Chris feels realizing that his long blue hair and his narrower face, without the hint of puppyfat roundness he’d still had when he went to Sir’s, went unrecognized, nearly knocks him off his feet. He grabs onto Mari just to steady himself and she smiles, puzzled, but holds on.

“Hey. We can go somewhere,” Ben repeats, softer this time, but more serious, too. “If you need a minute.”

Chris turns back to Ben and gives a thin, frightened smile. “I’m okay. Let’s... let’s, let’s go get l... get, get lunch. I, I just-... maybe I’m j-just hungry.”

“Yeah, maybe.” Ben shrugs, and Mari links an arm in his, and Chris lets them lead him away.

He looks over his shoulder only once to see that Handler Petrus is still talking to the same boy, who is writing something down on a piece of paper. There’s another boy, in shabbier clothes, clutching an old backpack and watching but not moving any closer, not yet.

Chris knows what he’s looking at because Jake would know what he’s looking at.

One boy talking about taking a job... another watching and wondering if becoming a pet would solve whatever problems were roiling around inside him.

Chris tells himself he can’t do anything to stop it, not without putting everyone he loves at risk, and he lets Mari and Ben lead him away. He doesn’t think about the boy with the backpack through his lunch. He doesn’t daydream through all his classes about finding him and telling him what it’s really like. He doesn’t think about him at all.

He definitely doesn’t wake up in a cold sweat from a nightmare that night about the boy with the backpack signing his contract, and pad out to the end of the hall to be alone.

He doesn’t clutch his phone like a liferaft.

He doesn’t call Jake at 4 AM and beg him to say it’s okay if he can’t save anyone else but himself, if he can’t be the one to help other people be saved, that it’s okay if he’s too scared to ever have his handler’s eyes on his face again. 

He doesn’t ask Jake to remind him it’s been four years and he never has to go back.

He doesn’t.

Except he does, and Jake says all the right things, and then Chris hangs up the phone and hugs his knees to his chest and rocks and rocks and rocks and cries for the boy with the backpack, looking at the WRU booth and thinking he sees a way out of anything, when all he’s looking at is a way into something worse than whatever hell he’s living through.

Chris hopes and prays to nothing and no one that the boy walked away, that he didn’t make the choice.

Maybe next time he’ll be strong enough to risk the handler’s eyes and be as strong as Jake is and ignore his own fears to stand up for someone else. Maybe next time. Maybe-

Chris is still there when the sky goes grayish pink and the sun starts to rise.

[runningwithhellhounds]

Three years later it becomes clear: squid-boys never stood much of a chance breathing on land.

''Is he awake? The tranquilizer is loosening. Oh, he moved. Did you see? Left fingers.''

Your shoulder – right, you hit a rock. A set-up of metal walls glistens in the corner of your vision. You can't move. Some wetness in your throat makes you despair, makes you cough, involuntary and chokey and wet. Your muscles just don't move the way you want them to.

''Hey. Are you awake? Back away, I think he's scared.''

''Binary gender is a construct,'' a voice says, light, somewhat serious, somewhat self-aware.

''Oh, I'm sorry. Are they awake.''

Fuck you, you think. This happened just fifteen minutes after waking up. If this were to happen later, maybe you would be less out of it and more situation-wise, more windbreaking skin. More teethful. Wetness should be at your side and not pool where it shouldn't. Wetness should drown things when you willed it to.

They carry your limp body into the metal box, as you knew that you would, carried to the truck door and packed away neatly. Your body feels particularly insensitive, even when gloved hands touch it, maybe in the enlightenment of death, or something death-like.

In the box, the only way to look is upwards at the glass cover plate. It doesn't move when you push against it, and none of the other walls do. When the light in the space of the truck is cut off, you stop pushing at the upper plate, because it makes you feel flattened, or something that can be flattened with force, in the way of soft-tissues invertebrates. It makes the air in your chest twist into impossible illusion shapes, looped into themselves.

And then the truck screeches to a stop. When it does, abrupt in the way of accidents, you think of the gods you've been learning to despise in the practise of eighteen years. You would think your spite is more polished by now, better refined, with how raw and disgusting it has felt. But now your ears are ringing with divine working in one's life shall become apparent as an ineffable experience; divine working—

Your ears are ringing with Andrew and eyes burning with the image of the hell-made saviour of him. You hear shouting. The truck sways with the force of something, and you go with it, like unrooted watergrass. If this is Andrew, he must be sating the hunger of his hyper-grin. A new image blazes into you: out of water, in the air of land, bloodied hands remain bloodied. You are used to water washing blood from your skin, the skin remaining stainless, shedding impurity and grime and violence right off. If this is Andrew, he must look like a terror.

But there is a godly part in this. If this is Andrew, he has brought what you have always wanted: difference without novelty and novelty's stomach-digesting discomfort. The truck sways again and you are still holding your breath.

*

It has been over a week since Andrew removed his arm from around your shoulders, and you both fell in the water of a flooded basement, comrade-like, collapsed and breathing fast in the aftermath of things. He dragged himself to the staircase and spread over the length of a step, legs up on the railing, the weight of his cement-bag body sagging. The thump of his head falling back against the wall made you want to urge forward. But you didn't. His clothes were soaked past his waist, black jeans abyss-black. His head lolled to look at you and you felt all too transparent, like he could see right through your skin and muscle, liver and intestines and all your soft organs. You were still spiked-up, body still ready to rush. Too tender when he was looking like this.

It has been over a week of you dragging your body through the ecosystem of the basement. The water is shallow enough to make the basement a crawl-space. You crawl around the pillars, wondering if you can do it in an utterly random pattern. Don't think too hard. You think you're going crazy. From aloneness. All the other beings in the flooded basement are small and timid. Don't think too hard.

Andrew comes every day, every second day, every few days. Irregularly. He brings stacks of food.

''It's not this dark outside,'' you tell him the next time his boots settle with your eye level, ''The windows are tinted. It's darker in here.''

He brings you a flashlight. You don't use it. To what, target yourself? A predator with nothing to prey on. A predator with nowhere to go.

He sticks his feet in the water and reads with your flashlight. He brings you games of multiplication and these little metal wire shapes to disentangle. You get better than him at chess quickly. It surprises him. It doesn't surprise you.  You have been thinking about mathematical perfection and formal proofs your whole life. You have spent your whole life over-chewing your people's stories; it makes you a good social learner; a learner from mistakes, yours, others'.

''I am going to promote my pawn,'' you observe. He brings his hands up, all fingers meeting in a point aligned with the centre of his chest and then he pulls his hands apart and spreads his fingers into something open and empty-handed.

''I don't care,'' he says, then huffs and laughs meanly until he swallows it down, and then bolts upstairs. You can hear him rage there, the thumping of what you imagine is hands hitting the frame of a doorway as he enters a room, pushing empty drawers shut, throwing himself on a bed. You don't understand his theatrics, or his rage.

Most of the time he is gone, though. It would be okay, that nothing ever happens, if nothing happened inside of you, too. You just feel disused, as a person. Your skin is pale without bruises and your head is empty. Andrew has brought you a waterproof phone, a metal little thing. He's been gone for days, and you've been existing amongst clutter, a being in the ecosystem, an object in stasis. This water tastes different. It leaves a dirty taste in your mouth that you try to get rid of by licking your lips. It doesn't work, but you keep catching yourself doing it anyway.

You call him.

''I feel sick,'' you say.

He brings you aspirins, more food, a radio.

He hasn't been saying much. This isn't what satisfaction looks like, you think as he expressionlessly tears a second packet of salt into his food box. His quiet leaves you feeling alone in un-novel ways, even though most of your aloneness is new. To be fair, you have only found dissatisfaction to be unkind; not intrinsically, not out of necessity, but out of something more spiteful – maybe stubbornness. Anyway. Anyway, maybe you shouldn't think of quiet as unkind. What else can you expect. Being low-maintenance feels kind of right.

*

Somebody is in the house.

When the steps come, they come slow, and with foreign wilfulness. You still. You watch your breath skate over the surface. You know that you wear suspicion the way Andrew wears the relaxed slope of his shoulders, but you're right, you're right.

You are right. After minutes of soft thudding, a corrosion-of-a-boy appears at the top of the basement staircase and deflates in front of your eyes. He peeks downwards quickly, then half-turns, his eyes again jumping around in the way of sweeping: thorough and clearing. The semi-dry sepia shrubs outside the window, the unopening front door of abandon, the end of the hallway you only saw once. He stops. He deflates. He exhales, exposing the wear of him, then covers his eyes with his wrist. He stops like that.

You are watchful. You make yourself unseeable and now that he doesn't see you by how he continues walking downwards. You watch as he crouches his anaemic-looking body on the last step above the water, looking around in a glazed way, with clumsy attention. His eyes are shadowed by the downwards tilt of his head, so you set your gaze to the tight pull of his shoelaces and the triple knots of them. Slow enough to be soundless, you lift some more of your body out of the water.

''Psh,'' you say, and the boy stills. Stops breathing, until he leans his head forward, a little, squinting, and you think about a fish hook.

''Merman?'' he asks, stupid.

He looks a thought away from bolting, a distraction away. Haunted? you wonder. Fast as someone would be if they had something sharp snipping right by their neck. For a moment, you worry that Andrew has installed cameras, but he wouldn't.

''Are you with Andrew?'' you ask, and have him scrambling up – and it rolls a terrible terrible sense over you. A sense of Andrew's hyper-grin. A sense of his red-dripping hands. An unpunctuated question of things Andrew could do.

You don't want him to go. ''Wait, wait. Do you have an aspirin?''

He stops in something surprise-like. Continues looking undecided. He looks like a person who only trusts himself. Who wonders whether he himself is trustworthy.

''Black hair,'' you address him. It seems to stagger him further.

''I don't,'' he says, then clears his throat. ''I have needles. Some alcohol?''

''Alcohol is a very ineffective drug.'' Drugs know you, you know drugs. You say this to skirt the edge of things, because some basicity is growing inside of you. Psychotropics have always meant skirting things, for you. People have always only responded to the wrong ugly aspects of you using them, and they have responded in an ugly way, when they did.

''Is he the one keeping you here?'' the boy asks lowly, with horror. Andrew wouldn't. The boy probably doesn't know Andrew specifically. He is probably just wary. Trustless. He absently wipes a hand under his nose and looks at his hand as it comes away clean.

''No, no. He helps,'' you say, throat wound up in a familiar way.

The boy's gaze doesn't linger on the un-land-suited parts of you. What must you look like? Hiding in a vacated house, now un-vacated, now a whole new ecosystem. You dragging your body around it purposelessly in the manner of dethroned kings. In religious stories, evil is described along the image of decadent, scorching beauty, or ugliness, never ordinary. What are you? Stale, now; touch this – this; ah, pfh, in the hold of gloved hands. Are you ordinary. Can you be unordinary in a good way. Please. Suddenly, you feel the crash of some alien plea, fully, mouthfully in a way extraneous things can't be.

The boy stands up, scanning the basement around you, the misplaced wooden boards and pillars and the handles of some exercise equipment above the water level. The place you scavenge. The place where electronic devices make your eyes hurt. The boy shakes his head.

''Does Andrew—'' he starts, then reconsiders, ''did Andrew—'' stares at you wordlessly, before he glances over his shoulder and grips the strap of his bag with both hands.

''Are you in a hurry?'' you ask.

His eyes are a little wild when he turns back to you, and his nodding is shaky. ''He will be back, right. Andrew.''

The air isn't right. You twist your arms under the hunch of your shoulders. ''Are you really?'' you ask after a moment.

''I don't know how to tell the truth differently,'' he evades the question; you notice things like that. You stare. You stare. He sharpens under your gaze. His grip on the strap tightens. His eyes narrow when yours do, and his face is tightening up with something wild and exposed and almost breathless.

''Look, I'm just asking, okay?'' you roll the words out carefully. ''You don't have to, I won't— It's just me here, okay? But are you— are you—do you know Wes—''

''No. No. I'm. I'm Neil and I don't know anyone here,'' he says, then runs back up the stairs, and you think: fuck.

*

''What have you done,'' you accuse Andrew right as the door at the top of the staircase gapes wider, more late-afternoon orange light seeping in. You don’t know if you should tell him about Neil. Andrew halts and untenses with a controlled exhale before he even fully tenses. He turns his head before he turns his body, the slit-eyed mechanism of it.

You watch him pull down his large brown-knitted sweater from where it has creased at his waist. This is the softest you have seen him. In his mechanical way. He walks down.

''What do you mean,'' he asks blankly. You lift your eyebrows. You don't want to prompt his answer. You want to squeeze out his hiding space until he is forced to expose himself. Something tells you he has not been sufficiently challenged, lately, that he has been glaring his way through people's curiosity until they took their questions back.

''I will stay here now. I needed the foster address to get a job. I don't need it anymore.''

''You work?'' you ask, dumbfounded.

''Warehouse stock control. I'm getting machinery training. Forklift truck. Vroom vroom'' his tone mocks himself. He doesn't answer your question. He lifts his mug above his open mouth and nothing pours out, which he must have known before he lifted it and did it anyway.

''So what did you do,'' you ask. You imagine he squints his eyes, but he doesn't do anything, really, you just see the questioning of it.

''I left and now I'm moving here. What do you think I did? Oh thee who inquires with an accusatory tone.'' He sits down, then stands up enough to pull a pen from the pocket of his black jeans. ''What will you charge me with, officer?''

''Okay,'' you say carefully, raising your hands. ''Were they bad? Wherever you were staying.''

''Sure.'' He gives a not impressed look at your raised hands, then pulls a sudoku from this jacket pocket, and you think: how can this be the thing that bores you the least. He has this unasking about him: he doesn't wonder about your life, or about its past, or about its pastness. How you sometimes wanted to be one of the little beings that scuttle inelegantly, instead of a self, and how you now drag your body around in patterns. You still don't know to where he disappeared for two years, and he doesn't ask about the gelatinous ways in which life unfolded in that time. He doesn't bite into pasts. It's very uninviting.

''So why were they bad?'' you ask, then watch him build things inside of himself. Stories, lies, napkin-houses that fold the dirty sides inwards.

''They don't read social cues,'' he says, finally. You wonder how carefully crafted this answer is. But who are you to judge? You haven't told him about Neil.

''And I read things fine, for you?'' you ask.

Andrew's eyes trace the line of your shoulders. You turn a little, into something more invisible, and Andrew nods a little.

''You wear your body like it's soft,'' he says.

You feel a strike of something pulpy. You look down at your body, water surface wavering around it. The stricken feeling is illusionary; it reminds you: Andrew's curiosity is just selective. Just one of the on-off things he switches, like his energy and benevolence. It's selective in the way of not knowing things that are easy to know, like knowing to list your body organs, and on the other hand saying, you wear your body like it's soft.

''This doesn't work,'' you say. Twitching your head sideways to indicate the space of the basement.

''I know,'' he says after a moment, taut. I'm sorry, he doesn't say.

''I can't even move.''

''I know,'' he says. I'm sorry, he doesn't say.

*

Andrew should be sleeping upstairs when you hear a crash, some crashing, and then quiet. An accident, you imagine immediately, your mind attuned to likely narratives, bad things, extrasensory things.

''Andrew?'' you ask tentatively. It's something bad. It's always something bad. But then the quiet is broken with more crashing, scrambling, the noise of something desperate. The sound has moved down the hallway, where you can hear more clearly. Andrew is saying something through his teeth, softly, melodically, always teethfully. You hear a gasp.

''Neil?'' you say.

''Neil?'' Andrew pronounces carefully. He pushes the weight of something unwilling to the basement door. A hand in Neil's hair is pushing his hand backwards, harshly, and a knife glistens by his throat artery. Andrew isn’t grinning, but you can’t unsee him grinning.

''Why did you come back,'' you say to Neil, who is forced to look at the ceiling, one hand around each of Andrew's arms.

''Come back,'' Andrew repeats blankly, looking between you and Neil.

Neil uses both hands to push at the arm with the knife and suddenly knife is held by them both, away from their bodies and struggling for a swing, both breathing hard with faces sharp. You imagine red-dripping hands. You don't want the knife to swing. You don't want it fiercely.

You open your vocal cords in the right way and a shrill blooms from the resonating spaces in your cheekbones, outwards, hitting Andrew and Neil with the force of soundwalls breaking. It's piercing to your ears, too, and you know it doesn't even compare. You're the predator, then, and they are prey-like. Neil falls down the stairs. Andrew falls to his knees and elbows, hands closed around his ears.

Neil is staggering, touching his ears, spitting water away from his lips, wild. You offer a hand and he stares at it, then moves further back. He bumps into a pillar and startles, before walking around it to take another step back.

Andrew cracks his neck sideways, both sides, glaring at you, then slowly takes two steps down to pick up the knife.

''Neil came back, Aaron? Is there something you aren't telling me? Try not to lie.''

''What,'' Neil asks, then covers and uncovers his ears again, panicked, looking between Andrew and you. His hearing. It probably hurts. It's probably disorientating.

Andrew snaps his fingers three times. Neil doesn't respond. Andrew keeps snapping rhythmically; the more times he does it, the higher up the clog of eeriness in your throat climbs. Neil pushes his hair out of his face, breathing hard at his reflection. He's cupping his ears, shaking his head, shaking the ringing out, until he looks up at Andrew, and Andrew stops snapping and drops his arm.

''What?'' Neil asks again, quick, twitchy. Andrew tilts his head. Neil takes another step back. ''Who are you on the market? Are you resistance? Is this how you know?'' he looks at you.

''The market. Food?'' Andrew says, just as you ask, ''Criminal?'' Neil is talking about the criminal market. He is talking about prized items like you. You know from stories; you just hear big names, as a lesson for avoidance. There is nothing familiar about the way Neil looks. But his hauntedness; it might look like something familiar.

''Liars, liars,'' he Andrew smiles, syllable by syllable. ''You're staying, then,'' he says to Neil. ''You have overshot your runaway runway, huh? We have something to talk about. I see we'll be dining finely tonight. The plentiful company of the three of us.''

Andrew carries himself like a punchline, when he talks. It's annoying.

''He's patronising to everyone. Don't think you're special,'' you tell Neil.

Neil smoothes his hair back and wipes the water off his face. ''Who are you?'' he asks tautly. ''Resistance? Nobodies don't hide Others in abandoned houses.''

''Your turn to share, squid boy,'' Andrew says, both reappearing and coming down. Neil is in Andrew's clothes, dark and monochromatic. Andrew ceremoniously offers a metal fork to Neil, and then hands out a plastic one to you. You pull it out of his hand.

''We are not. You both. You both say these statements. As if you knew. Nobodies don't do this. Nobody knows anything for sure, okay? Tentativity can be enjoyable sometimes.''

''Pescatarian, anyone?'' Andrew asks, pleasantly. ''Come, Neil. You can't stay in wet clothes. We'll talk.''

They disappear upstairs. In the way of denouements, you feel a resolution unfolding. Or hoping for one, anyway. You press the feels of your palms over your eyes. They will probably talk about you, too. And then Neil will appear in Andrew's clothes, dark and monochromatic, and it will make you think of the cosiness of monochromatism, of how homewise it is. It will make you think of when your cousin was glancing at you with a frown and your aunt told her, leave him, he's just brooding, and the cousin still went to him, calling out Aaron Aaron Aaron.

They keep sneaking glances at each other. Neil's dark hair and Andrew's face so much like your own make you think back in time, back to the few days before the metal box and dismal circumstance. I like your hair, you signed to the girl the name of whom you had been trying not to think, drawn to things that are too dark to shine. She was lingering by the mosaic in front of the growth of your rock opening that you had deliberately let become overgrown, something one pushes through with spicy feeling. Thank you, she signed, I like your face. That sounded like a really bad comeback. I do like it, it's very symmetrical.

Neil and Andrew's eyes meet, and you think: you two assholes are too self-absorbed to not do this staring contest.

*

Andrew's phone rings. He turns to bore into Neil's eyes. He moves the phone away from his ear, and says: ''Nathaniel?''

And Neil panics.

In the way of narrative complications, the three of you end up in Andrew's warehouse car.

You are in the backseat, covered with two blankets, feeling yourself frown as you readjust your grip on the four two-litre water bottles you are hugging to your chest.

''This is clearly idiotic,'' you inform them, again, because apparently neither of them senses the threat of a looming climax. The so many things that will go wrong, because nobody has any sustainable plans.

Andrew is loosely gripping the wheel with faux laziness and Neil glances around full-bodily, alert, before returning to zooming in on google maps on a new phone he just had in his bag. He destroyed Andrew’s.

''This doesn't work,'' Andrew repeats your words so wholly blankly that it is no-doubt mockery.

''Not nearly the stupidest thing I've done,'' Neil mutters. Andrew flicks his eyes at Neil. You squint as you flick your eyes between them. Andrew is tapping his fingers on the wheel. Neil is hunching low in his seat, scowling at the screen. Andrew reaches over to Neil's side to pull sunglasses from the glove compartment, and Neil leans away to make space without looking from the screen.

''So you two are friends now?'' you ask, something strange and foreign tinting your tone. ''Or have you guys started—''

''He's a benefit,'' Andrew interrupts. The sunglasses render his thoughts further invisible. He is a thing of well-fitting black placed within American-spaced property and nothingness. He evades the friend part with his answer. Like so often, he is making himself into invisibility and insinuation.

''You smell like excitement,'' you tell him and watch as his face jumps a little.

''You can smell feelings now?'' He snatches the phone from Neil's hands, maximally zooming into the location that Neil has been inspecting for minutes. Neil keeps looking in the empty space of the phone, hands hanging around phone-shaped air, before he drops them and buckles his seat belt. And you think: theatrics on the road.

You shrug. You can still sense Neil's panic.

''You smell like wet,'' Andrew retorts, looking who knows where. Having learnt from exposure, you know Andrew looks down on things he feels, and you soak in them. Leave him, he's just—

''Just start the engine,'' Neil says.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/15099911/chapters/35012867

[unholyhelbig]

Evergreen | Chapter One

Summary: Beca Mitchell is a reporter that travels across the east coast. When scarlet fever begins to overtake much of the world, she’s forced to cover a story in one of the largest, newest, hospitals. She is soon captivated by the head nurse and then stolen by something more.[The Prequel to "What's Forever?"]

Ship: Beca Mitchell/ Chloe Beale 

Read the series here 

Beca Mitchell spotted Evergreen Sanatorium through the large oak trees before anything else. It could very well be due to the fact that it stuck out in the rolling green hills of Virginia like a sore thumb. It was the only building for a matter of miles and quite the building it was; with its dark brick exterior and iron gates keeping everyone from climbing in- or for that matter, out.

She couldn’t help the way her breath caught. She had pushed herself forward in the little town car and felt her sweaty palms slip against the cracked leather seats. The man driving frowned in the rearview mirror, but she pretended not to notice, just like she pretended not to notice the stench of whisky on his breath and the crumbs in his uncombed mustache.

He had been leaning heavily against his taxi cab, a Chevy that may have been new at some point, but was a dingy maroon now. It was a sorry attempt to imitate the checkers she had left behind in Chicago hours before.  He had taken four bites to the bitter core of his apple and dragged his sleeve against his lips before tossing it aside when he saw her approach.

“Ye heading to Evergreen, are ya?” He had a thick welsh accent.

She nodded as he popped the trunk and she wondered how he had ended up on the East Coast. Virginia was no place for fools or a place to settle down. It was part of the reason her editor had sent her here in the first place. She was expendable, and so was this story. It was nothing but a puff piece on one of the newest Hospitals in the state; the first of its kind. It was bent on solving the rising threat of Consumption. Something more than stifled.

The real reporting was for the men.

But Beca Mitchell considered herself something of a real reporter, so she jumped at the chance to board a flight. The scent of nature and manure was overwhelming, and so was the apple that her driver had discarded. But she was glad to be here, peering up at the large building. It made her fingers tingle, and her toes even more.

“This place is huge.”

“Better be, it houses half of Waverly’s population. Tiny little town. It’s been hit just as hard as the rest of the world by this illness. You ain’t feeling sick, are ye?”

She eyed him and pushed herself back into her seat. “Nauseous from your driving, that’s all.”

He laughed at that and she smiled. He wasn’t too bad, a little brash. She wanted to learn more of him and how he had ended up here, surrounded by this much grass instead of the dank streets of Europe. But they had pulled up to the large iron gates before she could fish for what she really wanted to know.

The trees that surrounded the property were in full flame. Beca could smell the pungent dirt in the air as she cranked the window down and welcomed the way Jack Frost bit at her cheeks. It mixed toxically with the embossed leather of her driver. He mumbled something under his breath and tightened his coat. The gates pulled themselves open effortlessly because they had been expecting the pair.

Evergreen Sanitarium was larger than it had been when they started up the drive, and that, she expected. The main building was comprised of three parts, one that stretched into the slate sky and two others that moved to the side. It was carved from brick and stone and a large metal plaque was welded into the face. Evergreen Hospital & Research Facility It read EST. 1910.

There was a large fountain and a circle that stopped the drive. The gravel crunched under their tires, but she focused on the two angels with slightly green water dribbling down their chins into an even greener pool.

“You need help with yer bags, ma’am?”

“No, I wouldn’t want to trouble you.”

Her words had a bit of a sarcastic bite to them, but she truly meant them. There was an ungodly chill in the air and no two people should suffer the elements when it was only one stop. She fished out a hefty tip from her coat pocket and dropped it in his callused palm before parting ways.

She hadn’t expected a welcome wagon, not in the slightest, but the property looked abandoned entirely.  Beca adjusted her bag over her shoulder and watched as the town car that had brought her up here turned into nothing but a speck.

She takes a few steps towards the fountain, listening to the trickle of the water as she fought off the scent of gasoline. The pool wasn’t emerald, not entirely. There was a layer of copper coins at the bottom that reflected the grass. She let the tips of her fingers brush against the surface, sending ripples as the cold shot up her arm.

“Folks try anything to ease their minds.”

Beca startled, pulling her touch away entirely as she turned towards the voice. She hadn’t heard the doors open, nor the footsteps in the gravel. She blamed the plain white nurses' shoes that that woman wore over her own lack of perception.

She recognized the voice from over the telephone almost instantly. Director Emma Woodward was older than she had imagined, in her Mid-Forties. She had embraced the grey that sprinkled her hair, pined up in extravagant curls. She wore a form-fitting baby-blue dress with a neatly folded collar. The neckline dropped down enough to expose a pale white chest. She wore a simple gold cross to cut against the color. It was modest and professional, and she didn’t seem to acknowledge the chill in the air.

“It must be frightening for them, leaving people here.” Beca shifted her bag and extended a hand “Rebecca Mitchell, Chicago Gazette, it’s nice to meet you in person.”

Emma smiled and it was a stunning sight. She had crinkles at the corners of her eyes and her nails were neatly painted. Beca found them too neat for a nurse, but she supposed becoming a director, as a female in the early 1900’s, was cause enough to treat for a manicure. She took her hand firmly.

“Emma Woodward, the pleasure is all ours. I must admit, Miss Mitchell, we found it quite odd that a paper of your magnitude wanted to do a story on a place such as ours.”

Beca found heat blooming against her cheeks. It wasn’t their idea, it was entirely hers. It took hours of flirting and a couple of glasses of fine bourbon for their editor to agree to any type of story she had to offer that wasn’t about kitchen appliances or the proper way to tend to a man in his time of need.

She had done more than enough to persuade him, and when he finally did agree, it was in hopes to see her crash and burn. He had gotten a pleasant night out of it, and she had earned a chance (however slim) to run with it. Even if it was in a practical asylum at the height of a deadly illness.

“Yes, well, we’re very progressive.”

Emma nodded with that kind grin of hers and lead Beca up the stairs and into the main hall of the Hospital. An instant edge of heat wormed under her clothes and made her shiver. The scent of antiseptic burned her lungs in a quick moment.

The floor had an ugly checkered design of yellow and green, both colors faded and worn. There was a large oak staircase that leads to different wards, she assumed, and a few sofas with old editions of magazines on metal tables. Emma didn’t’ skip a beat as she started to ascend the steps.

“We have a couple of floors here, Miss Mitchell. The top one is strictly for research, then we move down to trauma level three. It’s where the patients that are furthest along stay, those who have signed off for study and treatment. Then we have our second to last floor. The right-wing is for mild cases while the left is for our staff's comfort. That’s where you’ll be staying.”

“And the ground floor?” Beca asked.

“That’s for those lucky enough to see themselves out.”

“Does that happen often, then?”

“Not as often as we would like, I’m afraid. Consumption is entirely new to all of us, and we’re still learning the ins and outs of its effects.”

Beca nodded even though she knew Emma didn’t notice. Her shoulder was aching by the time they ascended to the first landing. Instead of turning in the direction of the ward, they made their way down a crudely lit hallway with large metal doors blocking the main way.

Once through, the sticky heat of Evergreen seemed to thicken once more. The lights dimmed and the floors switched to linoleum instead of wood. Beca liked the way her shoes were muffled, and the paintings of flowers tacked to the yellow wallpaper.

“Evergreen used to be a schoolhouse.” Emma spouted off absently “After Thomas Evergreen’s daughters graduated and married on their own accords he sold it to a developer that made this place into a hotel. The basement flooded and then”

She stopped in front of a small door that had a little glass window cut out of it, she seemed to take a moment to catch her breath. “Well, he didn’t’ want to fix it so the city awarded it to us and we’ve done our best to make it easier on our staff. It’s simple to have them stay in here, but if we get too many patients I’m afraid we’ll have to relocate them as well.”

The door creaked open, and Beca could tell instantly that it was once used as storage. There was a small cot in the corner layered with multiple sheets to cushion the springs. There was something of a school desk with a few candles and a lighter by their side. It too smelled of antiseptic, a small window leading to a fire escape that she hadn’t noticed on the way in.

“It’s not much, I’m afraid.”

“It’s perfect,” Beca said.

Truthfully, it was bigger than her little apartment in Chicago and warmer too. She figured that the rest of the staff didn’t’ get much time to rest, to begin with. She was thankful to see an effort at making the tiny space livable.

“well,” Emma clapped her hands together “I’m sure you’re exhausted. We served dinner at Seven sharp, but don’t worry, if you sleep through it, breakfast is early enough. You’ve got free reign of this place, Rebecca Mitchell. You can shadow whenever and whomever you want for your story as long as you don’t get in the way. And stay out of the basement, there’s still a good bit of water damage down there, and I don’t want to see you in a bed on the other side of the hospital.”

Beca put two fingers over her chest “Scouts honor, Ma’am.”

“That’s what I like to hear.” She beamed that signature smile once more, the kind one of a maternal figure. “Now, I recommend steering clear of our nurses, at least for a bit. They’re wary of allowing the outside press into this environment. The orderlies will be more than happy to answer any pressing questions you have.”

“That sounds like quite the challenge, Miss Woodward.”

The woman scoffed and crossed her arms over her chest “Nurse Beale is challenging. So is her staff. Sleep tight.”

The director gave one last fleeting wave before swinging the door shut and leaving Beca to her own devices. The early Virginia sky was a sharp purple and reflected dust coating the window onto the cot. She flopped down onto it, letting out a thick sigh. She was going to get her story- even if it meant digging further than she had ever done before.

[a-simple-imagine]

What if we kissed in the Museum Basement?

Synopsis: Y/N and Helena go on a date to the museum but it’s all feeling a little... awkward.

Pairing: Helena Bertinelli x reader

Words: 2k

Helena Bertinelli wasn't someone you expected to share a first date with. You definitely thought she was out of your league. Not to mention that she presented herself in such a way that left you feeling a little insecure. It was through no fault of her own simply a side effect of her being a badass. You lived in different worlds but you'd be lying if you said you weren't infatuated from the moment you saw her. It had taken every ounce of confidence you possessed to ask her out and after a little hesitation, she agreed. Hours were spent planning today; you were just too nervous not to. It wasn't like you planned every detail simply that you had thought about where to go and what to wear. When the day finally came you changed outfits like five times before finally settling on one. Even as you left through the door, you were unsure. Your entire body felt like the havoc of a beehive. Your body filled to the brim with the buzzing off nervous bees. She was already waiting for you when you arrived and when she saw you coming her lips curled into the softest of smiles. You exchange pleasantries before leading the way down the bustling street of Gotham City. Now you were walking a few steps ahead of her; you couldn't figure out if you were purposely walking too fast or she was just walking too slowly. The distance wasn't major; you just weren't side by side.

"Are you okay?" You wonder, glancing in her direction. Helena on a normal day was very different to how she was acting today. She was being painfully quiet and you were beginning to feel a little awkward about it. You had been leading the conversation but it didn't matter what you said, she mostly just smiled and nodded. Occasionally she would breathe out a laugh but that was about as much as you were getting.

"Yeah just a little nervous," Helena admits, she drops her eyes off you. Keeping her head down. "I've never really done anything like this before."

Her voice is so quiet you just about catch what she's saying among the noise around you. You took her nerves as a compliment, it was sweet that someone so confident was so nervous about being out with you. "It's okay to be nervous,"

You reach out slowly to take her hand in yours. You were helping it would help her relax but it was more for you. Her hand felt cold locked with yours. "Is this okay?"

Her eyes fall to your hands before she nods just a little. The corner of your lips fly up into a bright grin as you continue to walk down the street. "If it makes you feel any better, this is the first time in a long time I've been on a date. I feel like I'm gonna throw up but in like, a good way."

"You want to throw up... in a good way?"

You chuckle a little at the confusion in her voice. "I just mean I have like butterflies."

"So we're twelve-year-old girls now," she hummed softly. "Where are we going?"

You ignore the comment because you did, in fact, feel like a giddy twelve-year-old. "Assuming it's okay with you I was thinking we could check out the natural history museum?"

"Oh,"

"We don't have to," you shrug, now doubting all your choices. "we could just go see a movie or something?"

Her head shook as she squeezed your hand a little. "I've never been to the natural history museum,"

"What? Not even as a kid?" You don't mean to sound so surprised, you just assumed that everyone had been. It was a free day out.

"Not really,"

"I've been a few times but I always enjoy it," You express; thinking fondly of your past visits.  It was your favourite place to go as a kid. "It's very popular with criminals so let's hope nobody is after any ancient relics today."

You were joking but she seemed to tense at your words. Maybe you shouldn't have mentioned criminals but in all fairness, you weren't wrong. Gotham city was practically known for its high crime rate and the museum was a treasure trove.

The museum was grand in size and located in the lower east side of Gotham. They have all kinds of exhibits from a Hall of Exotic Birds to a botanical garden; there's something here for everyone. You make your way around the museum and Helena hardly says a word to you. Getting anything out of her was like pulling teeth and it was beginning to grow a little tiresome. As you head downstairs into the basement you're transported into a world below the water. While small in size, you always loved this aquarium. Under the calming blue of the aquarium tanks, you stand beside Helena watching the fish swim past so carefree. It was never busy down here but today it was a ghost town. Just you two and the fish. As you spot the small shark swim past your lips curl into a small smile. "I've always liked sharks," Your voice seems extra loud in the silence. "They have a bad rep but were a bigger threat to them than they are us. Shark attacks are rare."

You glance in her direction but Helena doesn't reply causing your smiles to falter. It felt like she was uncomfortable with you; simply waiting for the entire date to be over. Maybe you were talking too much? Had you done something wrong maybe? Leaving her side, you take up a seat on the viewing bench. Helena watched you go, turning sharply when you catch her staring. A heavy sigh leaves your lips. This definitely wasn't how you imagined this date to go; you at least expected more of a conversation. "When I was a kid, whenever I got really upset I would beg my parents to take me here."

Helena joins you on the bench after a moment. You hear her take a deep breath before beginning to speak. "So... did you come here a lot? As a kid?"

"I guess." You shrug a little. "I would spend hours just sitting here watching the fish, I'd even come alone if I had to. It was like my happy place."

"I..." Helena trailed off and when you look to her she's staring at the big tank before the both of you. You always found the sight peaceful. "I- I'm sorry."

"What for?" You ask softly.

"I just I... I don't know how to act around you. This is all so new to me."

"You don't have to apologise for that," Helena always held herself with amazing confidence so it was sort of strange to have her apologies for not knowing how to act. It was also kinda adorable that she found herself so vulnerable and shy when it came to dating. You could relate in a sense. Dating was always rather awkward for you but this time around you had really been trying to make this as enjoyable as possible. "If I'm making you uncomfortable or you want to leave Helena, we can go? I don't want this to feel like too much for you,"

"I like being here with you," Helena finally meets your gaze but she can't hold the contact long. "I just don't know what to say. Every time I think about saying something it seems silly so I don't bother."

"At this point, I would just like to hear you say anything," you tease, hoping it comes across well as you nudge her slightly with your shoulder. "I feel like I've been talking to myself this whole time."

"I'm sorry," Helena wore a soft expression, one that made your heart melt in response; it was such a stark contrast.

"It's okay," You offer up a warm smile, "I just want you to be you. I want you to be comfortable with me and we can go at whatever pace you like,"

"I appreciate that," you watch her hesitantly reach for your hand so you take the lead and grab hers. "I want you to be comfortable with me, too."

"You know how I said I used to come here a lot?" Helena nods. "Well, let's just say that when they finally added that shark there I got to name it."

"What's its name?"

"Sammy,"

"Really? That was the best you could come up with?" She chuckles to herself and it brings a smile to your lips. It seemed like she needed to express her struggle to feel a little more relaxed.

"I was a kid, okay," You protest playfully. "At least I gave it a normal name or it could be swimming around being called sparkles or some shit.

Helena seemed a lot calmer now as you sat there together, her hand still in yours. It was nice to hear her talk about herself and her life. It certainly felt like she wanted to be here. The problem now was how far do you take it? One minute she oozed confidence the next you felt like she didn't want to be with you. An hour or so passes and you're still sat together talking. The odd visitor would join you to look at all the fish but left shortly after.

"Thank you for today, I'm honoured you brought me somewhere so meaningful to you." Helena expresses warmly.

"You're welcome," you give her a smile. "I thought it'd be a nice spot to just talk. Most of my dates are not this chill,"

"Sorry."

"No no, it's a good thing," you assure her quickly. "There's always so much pressure around dates but sometimes all you need is a place you love and some good company. Don't get me wrong I enjoy a dinner date but this was more fun for me- this was more personal."

"I've never dated anyone so I don't really have that experience," she explains. You expect her to continue talking but she doesn't.

"I really like you Helena," you admit, standing up you hold out your hand. "It's no fancy restaurant but if you wanted to grab some food with me this place does have a nice little cafe?"

Hand in yours, you pull her upwards. The girl stumbles into you and a shade of pink floods her cheeks. It's hard to make out in the dim light but you could tell. You meet her curious and innocent eyes and all you want to do is lean in but you don't. You don't want to do something that will make her uncomfortable. You hate that you can't completely sweep her off her feet with a spontaneous kiss but consent was important. "Can I kiss you?" You ask quietly, keeping your eyes on hers. You're a little surprised when she nods. You place a hand delicately against Helena's jaw, thumb dancing softly over her cheek. The other hand rests against her arm, urging her a little closer. "Just follow my lead, okay?"

Your lips meet in the slowest of embraces. You had given her every opportunity to back out before it happened. Helena's lips felt warm and soft.  You're a little sad when you pull away. Taking a deep breath before your lips curl into a smile. That small kiss felt like something out of this world but a hint of doubt creeps in when Helena doesn't seem to react. You can't read her expression at all. Maybe you were a bad kisser? Maybe she didn't feel the same way it made you feel? A wave of relief washes over you when the softest of smiles graces her lips and this time it's Helena who leans in first.

[oldbutnotyetwise]

Two Years on the Old Barton Farm

    Well here it is, two years since we moved to our northern home.  As the day has been approaching I wondered to myself what I could say about this anniversary.  What aspect of this adventure should I focus on.  In the end I have decided that the topic to ponder would be how what we think we want, and what is best for us, is sometimes two distinctly different things.

    When the pieces had fallen into place Robin and I began looking for our retirement home, someplace out of the city with some space around us.  At one point we considered sharing this dream with a few trusted friends.  Of the three couples that we thought we could do this with, one was game to make it happen.  We then began searching for the perfect property, with Suzanne and Trish we put in offers on two different properties that would have had us sharing side by side homesteads.  In the end neither of these two properties ended up working out.  Suzanne and Trish decided to go in a different direction, and Robin and I continued on with our own search.  We had one more house offer not come through before we finally found our perfect place and this time we made sure we didn’t lose the property.  Our Real Estate Agent, who we had been working with for two years, said that as soon as she saw the house she knew that we would buy it.    

    Now here it is two years later and I think about what I had envisioned versus what the reality is at this point. What is of note is that although the original dream had been to undertake this adventure with our dear friends, we ended up doing it on our own and things have turned out far better than I could have ever anticipated.  We find ourselves surrounded by great neighbours who are always quick to lend a hand while at the same time respecting our privacy.  These strangers have become friends.  They welcomed us into the community and not made us feel like outsiders.  I could never have imagined moving to a new place and ending up surrounded by such incredible neighbours and friends.

    So in the end, the vision of this dream we had never did become a reality.  Instead our dream took us in a slightly different direction, and what was meant to be fell into place.  What is that saying that goes along the lines of sometimes you don’t get what you want, you instead get what you need?

    Carol is the neighbour from across the street who showed up with a bottle of wine and a tray of lasagna when we first moved in. She also showed up shortly after that with her big tractor and tiller attached to till our garden.  Carol, is now in the process of giving us the garden tiller attachment for the back of my new old tractor.  She is one of our go to people who just seems to know everything, and as she has twice occupied our home she is a wealth of knowledge.  She is truly one of the most giving people that I have ever met.

    Paul, the neighbour on the west side  was one of the first to welcome us when we first moved in.  He gave us an old bush hog when he got a new one which has allowed us to expand our trail system on the property.  Paul had cut extensive trails on his property and is an inspiration as I try to create something similar on our property.  Sadly Paul passed away rather suddenly, we are glad that we had the opportunity to meet him.

     When I slid off the driveway while clearing snow with my tractor my neighbour Steve from across the road showed up with his tractor and the tow chains before I could even ask for help.  Steve is that handy guy that’s great to have as a neighbour.  In the midst of an extended power outage when my generator wouldn’t start and the basement was filling up with water he was there for us loaning us a spare generator to keep the basement from flooding and causing thousands of dollars of damage.  He is my local mechanical expert and just seems to know how to do stuff.  

    Sherry (Paul’s widow) has been kind enough to loan me her trailer and save me the cost of having the tractor dealership come to pick it up when it needed service.  Together Carol and Sherry have let the dogs and I tag along with them on numerous snowshoe hikes.  It is because of them that winter is now one of my favourite seasons and thanks to them I have gotten to know the many trails that go for hours in all directions around here.

    Larry and Bonnie live up at the front corner of our property in a small parcel of land that was at one time severed from this property.  Friendly folk who have hired me to do snow removal for them during the winter.  Larry is always quick to invite me in for a beer, and has repeatedly offered to help me if he can.  

    Mary and Lew were quick to welcome us to the neighbourhood showing up one day (Mary being 91 and Lew being 96).  Mary had heard I was interested in the history of our home and as she had grown up here she had written up a short history and came by to drop it off.  They were kind enough to let us join them Friday nights at the legion where we partook in the weekly fish fry.  Both being in their 90’s and being well established in the area, sharing their company seemed to give us a legitimacy with other locals who might otherwise be suspicious of us “Southern Folk”.  Lew was a Second World War Veteran, I suspect the only one left at the local legion.  Sadly Lew also passed away recently.  

    Dan and Dianne, although they live about 45 minutes away, up here they would still count as neighbours.  It is the two of them that I knew when we all lived down south, they moved up north and over the years we came to visit and fell in love with the area.  Originally we had been looking closer to where they live but in time we had to expand our search parameters to finally get our home.  The day that we moved in they were here to help us, Dianne helping Robin set up the kitchen, Dan helping me move things in.  They are both exceptionally wise people and Dan is often someone that I bounce ideas off of to seek his input.  

    Gary and Cindy also live about 45 minutes away, in the opposite direction.  The funny thing with them is that they lived directly across the street from me when we all lived down south.   They had lived in their that home for over forty years.  They came to visit us a few times and next thing we knew they bought a home in a nearby community.  Good people who have been kind to us and who we are grateful to call friends.

    Our direct neighbours all seem to have an easy sort of knowledge about so many things related to rural life.  I know that they have been living here for a long time but it amazes me the combined knowledge that they all seem to have.  The birds, the animals, the tracks, even the scat, things that would have me searching through books for hours they are quick to look at and just know.  Nothing seems to surprise them, and it sometimes seems like they have dealt with everything that could happen at least once.  Maybe this “Bush Smarts” is just the northern version of “Street Smarts”.

    So it’s been two years that we have been here, but it feels like we’ve been here forever.  I mean that in a good way, life is good and it feels like it has always been that way.  All the challenges that we overcame to get here seem to be so far in the past now.  I guess that the easiest way to describe it is that we feel like we are where we are meant to be.  Life as it should be on the Old Barton Farm.

[saladejin]

Call An Uber? | 05

BTS x Reader | idolverse au, uber driver!Reader, translator!Reader | Fluff, flirting, super slow burn, angst and hurt/comfort, mature themes and eventual smut

Summary: Your normal life with a normal, yet inconsistent job gets drastically changed when your dreams come true. Sounds boring right? What happens when all of this occurs, but you’re still doing something you love AND getting a large sum for it? Now there’s something to think about, and it’s definitely not what you’re thinking.

Warnings: Mild swearing

Word Count: 4k 

< masterpost >

A/N: Hey there tumblr readers! This story might not seem all that angsty or plot-heavy in these first few chapters, but I promise it builds into it. I apologise for all the slow burn, I just can’t help myself ^^;

»»————- <<prev | next >> ————-««

       Getting home after the calming car ride seemed a tad anti-climactic. Weariness from the day piled high onto my shoulders, and as I threw my bag into the corner of my bedroom, I all but flopped onto the bed unceremoniously.

The small apartment wasn’t much, but it was enough to sustain me. The landlord was polite at least, and the rent was luckily just within my budget for now. It consisted of a small kitchen and a cosy living room all in one tiny, yet open space. A door led into the one and only bedroom of the apartment, which was also lacking in spaciousness, but it wasn’t as if anyone else was living here. All in all, it was adequate despite not really being something I was used to.

Laying silently on the bed allowed my thoughts and memories from the day to shroud my mind. I remembered how helpless and overwhelmed I’d been feeling when escaping into the carpark of the building, and how my responsibilities had come crashing through like swelling waves of inky ocean water. 

Feeling lost was one way to describe that moment, but Yoongi had consoled me to a point where I felt stable and supported. Even if he didn’t mean to show it directly, of which I wasn’t so sure, his way of letting me know he cared hadn’t been lost on me. I was usually good at noticing these things, so it was surprising to see that he wanted to show the gentle side of him tonight. I guess I really was finding out how these boys lived. I was seeing their thought processes with my own very eyes, something vital that was missing in my connection with them before.

Things were happening quickly, but I was ready to let them happen with welcoming, open arms. I was going to absolutely thrive in this new lifestyle, so why let stress weigh me down like a pile of bricks? I just wouldn’t let it.

Rolling over to smooth down the pale bedsheets with my fingers, I couldn’t help but let my mind drift to the sharp eyes of Yoongi, the dazzling smile of Jimin, Namjoon’s dimples…and just all seven of them. I needed to let them know how their fans felt, and I needed them to let me know if they had any doubts about their popularity and future. This could be one of my purposes, and a goal combined with many, many ARMYs. If I had the chance to console them, just like Yoongi had with me, then I would jump at the opportunity with no malignant intentions. I only wanted to help them and share with them the happiness they had given me throughout the years. To groove out their misgivings and straying negativity that allowed unnecessary stress and anxiety to build.

This was my purpose.

~

The days scorched hotter and hotter, meaning another short meeting for us at the firm. Nobody wanted to stay inside a sticky office filled with the sounds of stuttering air conditioners and electric fans, so Bang PD let everyone go home earlier than usual. When I say earlier, I mean mid-afternoon anyway, so it’s not like it’s actually early.

I’d finally started out with my new job, and so far things had gone swimmingly. The staff were continuously friendly, and the workload was nothing too devastating. Since the company had been a little short on multilingual interpreters, the amount of language related jobs had been growing over time. I could have been overwhelmed, but instead it was somehow smooth sailing from the get-go.

Things were going splendidly, but I wondered about what was going to happen with my Uber job. Would I just stop? It wasn’t like I needed the money from it now, so what would even be the point of it? Meeting new people from all cultures and backgrounds wouldn’t even be an issue at all. Maybe, just maybe the idea of giving up my job as a glorified taxi driver was an imminent one.

~

The office had been bustling today, but I knew it was because everyone was focused on preparing for the upcoming BTS concert. One of the company’s translators held out some papers from where he sat in his wheeling chair. “(Y/n)-ssi, could you please drop these down to the stylists? I translated the articles like they asked, so they’ll want to have a look as soon as possible.”

“Of course. I was about to bring them some coffee anyway. They’ve been working tirelessly,” I smiled at him and grasped the papers. It seemed the marketing management had wanted select articles about their fashion sense, hair styling and makeup to be translated from various languages.

I scurried to the kitchen area where I’d already started on the coffees. Someone had graciously told me how most of the stylists liked their drinks, and I knew they would need it after how much they had been testing makeup supplies and hair products downstairs. I shuddered at the thought of having my fingers sticking together from the amount of hairspray circulating the room.

The basement was pretty much where everything happened. Practices, auditions, coaching etc. You name it.  After dropping off the notes and coffees, I was showered with gratitude from the stylists and was shocked to see just how tired and worn-down they were. The thought that something big was about to happen caused excitement to curl deep within the pit of my stomach.

Maybe there’ll be new hair colours soon?

“No worries, make sure you get some rest!” I reminded them before letting the door to the changing room click shut.

I was right about the hairspray thing, it was seriously suffocating in there. At least they had some air vents open for ventilation, but I felt bad for those kind-hearted men and women. They would most likely be staying there way into the hours of the night too.

I began to walk back towards the elevator, but my eyes were caught by a bright light flooding from one of the main practice areas. One of the doors had been left wide open, and I glanced inside to see a very expansive room enclosed by pure white walls. The floor was made up of tawny brown floorboards, or maybe vinyl, I wasn’t quite sure. I think it had only recently been renovated.

“(Y/n)? Hello!” a clear and high-pitched voice made me jump in my skin. I looked further into the room to spot Jimin resting in one of the black, wheeling chairs of the studio area. His fading blonde locks had been swept back completely, and I could tell he was tired and sweaty from practicing.

To his left was Hoseok, who seemed distracted until Jimin’s exclamation, and the last person in the room was none other than a certain Kim Taehyung. As soon as the youngest of the three found out I was hiding in the doorframe, his eyes blew wide.

“Hey Jimin, Hoseok-ssi and Taehyung-ssi,” I bowed, as was the custom, and made my way into the room. You really had to spin around to take everything in, it was incredibly large for a practice studio.

I turned when I heard footsteps and was greeted by a very bright and bubbly Taehyung.

“(Y/n)? Ah, it’s so great to meet you finally!” He bowed also and I instinctively reached out to shake his hand, smiling once he brought both of his warmer ones together around my own.

They’re so big, what the hell.

Ripping my line of sight away from his long fingers, I glanced behind him to see Hoseok making his way forward too. “Hey there! I’m also glad to meet you (Y/n).”

I exchanged similar greetings with the fiery red-head, but stepped back when Jimin intervened with a low-pitched whine.

“No, no.” He ran forward and grasped his two bandmate's shirts gently to pull them away. “Don’t crowd her, we’re all smelly from practice!”

His disgusted expression made me grin again, and I shook my head. “Don’t worry about that, a little sweat won’t kill me.”

Hoseok laughed while playfully batting away Jimin’s hands. “Sorry about that, we are kind of gross right now.” He started airing out his shirt rapidly while strolling over to where three water bottles rested along the wall. I noticed that they were the only people in the room and puzzled over the thought. they were usually here with a manager or something, weren’t they?

“What were you guys practicing? And where are the others?” I queried, and watched as Taehyung flashed me a boxy grin. Jimin just groaned and ran his fingers through his hair yet again.

“We’re practicing for the concert, but I only came a couple of hours ago, the others are just at home I think,” Taehyung explained, patting Jimin’s back heartily. “Jiminie and Hoseokie-hyung have been here all day. They’re so fit!”

I glanced over at the two dancers as Hoseok jumped over to tickle Tae lovingly, Jimin just smiled at their loud antics. I was beyond surprised, as none of the members even seemed too tired. They were simply out of breath despite the sheer amount of exercise they’d undergone.

“That’s amazing! You all have so much energy to be able to practice so much.” I earned all of their attentive gazes, Hoseok instantly gracing me with his own beaming smile.

“Thanks! We’re just having a little break, but we’ll start again soon. Would you like to watch?”

My heart almost leapt out of my chest at the thought.

“Would I? Of course I’d love to watch you guys dance.” I clapped my hands together in excitement, eyes bright and shining with an uncontrolled delight. This made Taehyung reach forward with both hands to make a 'flower' under my flushing face.

“How cute!” He cooed, and Jimin pulled him away again. An eye-smile was stretching across the shorter boy's face in the most endearing way possible. Hoseok laughed, following with a “very cute, very cute” and ran off to start the music again.

All three of them were in light clothing, but Hoseok was wearing a white short-sleeved t-shirt while the other two adorned button-ups varying in style. All three wore long black Puma pants, most likely because of the ambassadorship they were part of.

“Ah, I don’t want to mess up in front of (Y/n),” Jimin tilted his head and looked at me with a somewhat pained expression. When I raised my eyebrows at him, he pouted and shook his hair out of his downcast eyes. I felt like I needed to step in.

“Jiminie, you’re an amazing dancer, you’d even make messing up look good. Plus, it’s only practice.”

“Yeah Jimin-ah, she won’t mind,” Hoseok helped me out and as the music started blaring from the speakers again, the rapper jogged over to jab Jimin teasingly in the side.

From the words of encouragement, Jimin brightened and smiled in my direction again before joining the others with a serious glint in his eye. I sat against one of the pristinely white walls to watch the action unfold before me, knowing I was about to witness something magnificent. Taehyung started moving his hands and bobbing his body to the beat in that hilarious way he usually did in mock dance practices, and I couldn’t help but snort in amusement.

“Oh, Taehyung is improving! It must be because we have a lady in the room,” Hoseok teased and shook his head, breaking out into chuckles when Tae moved to hit his shoulder in protest. His bashful smile switched focus to me, and I nodded my head in approval.

“I'm loving the skills though.”

Suddenly, the starting track for ‘Fire’ began rumbling loudly through the speakers, and my ears perked in recognition. Was I actually going to see this performed in front of me? I knew this dance all too well from the countless videos I’d seen.

“Are you guys ready?” Hoseok hollered into the open space, and I watched them line up a few metres back from the large mirror. They must’ve been planning to perform this at the upcoming concert, but I wasn’t sure why they needed so much practice seeing as they literally performed it at most live events.

I suddenly threw my cardigan across the room and jump to my feet, rolling up my sleeves in determination. I didn’t even care if they thought I was the strangest person in the world right now, because this was ‘Fire’. “I’m so joining in!”

As the first ‘bultaoruene’ resonated against the pale walls, I ran into the middle of the room and launched straight into the first part of the dance. Despite wanting to come across as serious, I couldn’t keep a cool and collected demeanour and opted instead to laugh loudly. The others were no different, and as my arms started moving wildly, Jimin fell to the floor in a breathless wreck. Hoseok exaggerated his surprise by cupping his hands around his mouth and cheering me onwards while Taehyung mimicked him with his own loud whoops. All three ended up on the ground as I continued to dance, biting my lip to feign seriousness.

I didn’t try to replicate their dancing, as I knew I couldn’t reach their level, but I still shook my hands rapidly and squeezed impassioned eyes to parody something that resembled it. The music stopped, and I fell to the vinyl floor as well, my breathing shortened due to how much I was cackling. Hoseok had stumbled over to pause the track, and I could hear him suffering just as I was.

“Oh my-Oh my God that was great. Did you learn the whole thing?” he gasped out, making his way back over to where I was sitting with my head pressed into the cold floor. My whole body was shaking and erupting with shamed giggles, and when I rolled over, I hid my face in my hands to stop the embarrassment from showing.

“I’ve seen it too many times to not dance to it.”

“I was not expecting that, you have to dance with us, I’m begging you.” Taehyung ran over, his deeply toned sentence breaking up into various airy chuckles. Jimin was the last to get to his feet, but his face was completely reddened and his hair was even messier than before.

“We’ll teach you the rest. I think we’ve practiced the actual dances enough for today, don’t you think hyung?”

Hoseok exhaled loudly, his eyes crinkling with his smile after regaining his composure. 

“Yes, you’re right. And the newest member of the dance line needs some instruction.”

I was still on the floor, but at the agile dancer’s statement I fell over again. Taehyung and Jimin both smiled at the sight of my pained expression.

“Guys, I wouldn’t be able to dance the whole thing properly, let alone with phenomenal dancers like you right there.”

“Thank you for the compliment, but you are going to learn this. No buts.” Taehyung held out a helping hand, and I grasped it to help me get back on my feet. I then turned to Hoseok.

“Okay sonsaeng-nim, where do I start?”

All three boys laughed again, and Hoseok straightened himself, puffing out his chest to seem scholarly. Taehyung pointed towards him with a grin that only widened.

“Hobi-hyung is literally everyone’s dance teacher, he’ll make sure you get it perfect.”

At this, the greyish-brown haired boy rushed to line up beside me and looked sideways expectantly. Jimin , but chose not to line up. I nudged Taehyung into a straighter position with my elbow as Hoseok began pacing in front of us, massaging his chin with two fingers thoughtfully. He lowered his voice to sound gruff and strict, and I had to blow out my cheeks to keep it in.

“First lesson of the day, the chorus choreo.”

“Yes, teacher,” Taehyung and I recited in unison as if being scolded. Jimin nearly fell over again until Hoseok waved his hand dismissively and the whole act was dropped. I fell into the boy beside me, suddenly embarrassed once more, but not being able to contain myself any longer. Taehyung patted my shoulder comfortingly while stifling his own noises.

“Honestly, we weren’t joking about you learning the dance though,” Hoseok started and meandered over to grasp both my forearms, tugging on them to lead me forwards. I groaned and sent a look that screamed ‘help’ towards Jimin and Taehyung, but they both just snorted.

I internally cursed Jimin for betraying me like this. I’d thought he was my friend.

“Jimin-ah, Taehyung-ah, you’re going to help too.” Hoseok beckoned them over, and I could only grumble in more complaint.

“Okay, just get Jimin to show me some steps and I’ll see if I can do it properly.” I straightened my arms, which were still being pulled by Hoseok, and tapped my feet a couple of times to get ready. The red-haired dancer eventually dropped his hold, but looked down at his hands as if he’d touched something strange and foreign.

Jimin nodded at my request, and I paid close attention as he lined up in front of the mirror and ran through the starting choreography to the chorus. As both he and Hoseok showed me a slowed down version, I managed to get it all memorised. Taehyung clapped his hands to congratulate me, but his face fell when the phone in his pocket started buzzing incessantly.

“Sorry guys, it’s my turn to help Jin-hyung with dinner tonight. I have to go,” Taehyung fake sobbed, and I watched as Jimin went along with it to hug him comfortingly. Hoseok pretended to cry as well, and I couldn’t help but think this whole scene looked like he was about to be sacrificed to the Devil or something.

“Bye (Y/n), I hope I’ll see you soon,” The lively boy called as everything returned back to normal, and I couldn’t help but revel in the easy-going atmosphere surrounding me suddenly. I hadn't even met two of these people yet, but somehow I'd managed to skip past all the initial awkwardness of first meetings.

“Of course, definitely soon!” I vowed, and the singer left while grabbing one of the sports bags that rested by the door, continuing to walk backwards and wave rapidly. He was just too cute, and the way his eyes glimmered with hope just before he left was etched deeply into my mind. Even long after he was gone.

“We’re fine to teach you something, before we have to go anyway,” Hoseok turned back to us, and I almost face-palmed at the thought.

“Please don’t waste your time, I don’t even have a dancer’s body,” I spoke, my voice drawling out in protest.

“(Y/n) you do! Even if you were playing around before, you could still dance,” Jimin fought my statement, and I scoffed at his widened eyes. He was seriously against people belittling themselves.

“Plus, everyone gets better with practice,” Hoseok joined in, nodding his head cutely as he slammed his hands onto his hips. Jimin ran through the dance again, and I sewed their teachings together to try and copy him. I was shorter and had a different body shape to both dancers, but it wasn’t too difficult to try and alter the moves to accommodate for that. It was safe to say I actually ended up pretty proud of the outcome.

“I just don’t like how I can’t flow properly when I come up from the first move,” I grunted, trying out the steps again. Jimin hummed considerately before moving to stand behind me.

“Move your hands super quickly, and maybe keep this arm up so it’s easier.” He lightly grasped one of my forearms while I stayed frozen in position, and I actually saw in the mirror how it could help me. I was very much aware of how gentle his touch had been and how close his body was to mine. It didn’t help my racing thoughts when his warm puffs of breath made the hairs on the back of my neck tingle.

“And since you have to move your feet soon after, maybe don’t put so much weight on them beforehand,” Hoseok chipped in, and moved my other arm down so I could focus on my feet this time around. He’d been firmer than Jimin with his touch, but the singular fact that both of them had touched my arms in the span of a minute was enough to leave me breathless. I followed his instruction and gulped when the dancer’s lips quirked up into a knowing smirk.

The fucker knows what he’s doing.

“See, speed it up and try it now!” Hoseok bounced to get on my other side while Jimin stood and watched his partner offer his own extra tips. I found out just how useful a wall-sized mirror was when learning to dance, and when complimented by Hoseok’s timely sound effects, it wasn’t hard to get down the moves.

“Pa, pa and... boom! See, you have it. You’re a natural.” Hoseok reached up to exchange a sharp high-five, and I complied before covering my face again. This was almost too embarrassing. I just knew how badly my cheeks were flaring with flames of blazing pink.

“See hyung, I told you she was cute when she blushed.” One of Jimin’s fingers came to poke my cheek, just like he had done that one time in the car.

I reeled away from him. “Ah, don’t tease me, how rude!”

Hoseok and Jimin chuckled, and I heard the older dancer agree with my words in another fresh bout of mockery. “She’s right Jiminie, don’t embarrass her too much or she might just faint because of you.”

I growled, and they both stifled their laughing.

“As if I would faint, it’s not like I’ve never received a compliment before.”

“Ooh, cocky.” Hoseok tilted his head back and I smiled as both boys shook their heads at each other with crossed arms.

“Hey!” I pushed both of them away using their broad chests, scrunching my face up. Knowing it wasn’t convincing in the slightest, I inwardly cursed my continuous failure to hide emotions.

“But seriously, she has that natural aegyo,” Hoseok pointed out with wide eyes. Jimin’s jaw slackened in surprise before he agreed wholeheartedly.

 “I’m leaving, before my face burns clean off,” I then announced, pointing an accusing finger at the two chuckling dancers who were making their way over to gather their belongings and drink bottles.

 “Remind me to never be alone with you two again.”

“But (Y/n) …” Jimin licked his lips and smiled sweetly. “We’re not making any promises.”

The duality of this man truly scared me.

“Whatever, I should actually get going though,” I noted forlornly, not continuing to joke even though I really wished to do nothing but. The boys both nodded with their spirits also seeming to dampen slightly, but Hoseok lifted his head to smile with that signature sun-like glow of his.

“It was really fun to dance with you, please consider learning with us again (Y/n).”

“It sounds like you’re trying to sell me something, but sure I’ll think about it.”

Jimin erupted into giggles and slapped his elder on the shoulder before curling into him, just like he usually did when he laughed really hard. Hoseok merely pressed his lips together and tilted his head to seem hurt.

“Please do,” he agreed in a broken whisper, but I steeled my throat from letting anything close to laughter escape its clutches. I would be here for way too long if I couldn’t control myself.

“Okay bye!” I shout, listening to their farewells before ducking out into the chilled hallway.

Time had seriously flown by, and I remembered that I would have been home hours ago if I hadn’t been so severely side-tracked. I sighed with weariness as I finally made my way towards the steel doors of the elevator, listlessly passing a trashcan full of several empty coffee cups.

            Copyright © 2020 by salade. All rights reserved.  

tagged: @l4life​, @joyful-jimin​

[youngwildandpogue]

Broke you

Word count: 2525

Pairing: John B x Reader  

Warnings: Talk of Cheating. 

Author’s note: There will probably be a part two coming. 

I think that if you really care about someone, you truly wants what is best for them, you smile when they laugh, celebrate their wins and suffer together though their losses. You adore the moments that you share and give them space to be free but wanting what is best for another person is accepting that your paths are no longer intertwined. It’s not to say the moments you had aren’t real, but rather coming to terms with the inevitable truth that sometimes showing someone how much you love them means letting them go.

-the better man project

 4 years prior

 “I love you” you whispered as you kissed him for one last time then wiping the tears from his eyes. “Y/n I’ll be here waiting until you get back.” You smile hoping that he’s being honest, but you could never ask him to do that “please don’t, you deserve to find someone” you spoke slowly breaking your own heart. You knew that you could never find anyone that could compare to John B. No one could ever have a space in your heart as big as he did but you both knew you had to do this. It was the last thing you promised your mom before she passed, and John understood that better than anyone. She knew that you’d have to leave the island that you called home for as long as you had known eventually. To kook it up pogue style one day

“I love you more” was the last words that he spoke to you.

 Present

The ferry whistled as the salt breeze welcomed you back home one last time. You exited the ferry and walked back to your childhood home a few blocks away. You smiled at everything that had changed since you left. The cut still the same old cut. As you approached the small shack you called home memories began flooding you.

“Hey that’s private property get out of there” a deep voice yelled from the road. You quickly turn around to identify who’s voice it is. “Y/n is that you?” You squinted to get a better look “Pope?” You chuckle and drop your bags and run to your once friend. How he’s aged since the last time you spoke.  “How long have you been back?” He asked after a long overdue hug. “I just got in actually” you replied. “The gang is going to flip that you’re back” he laughed “don’t tell them just yet I want to make it a surprise” he nodded in understanding. “We’re going to John B’s later for a little get together If you want to stop by” you bit your lip and nodded. “See you later Pope” you wave and pick up your bags and head into the small home. You look around taking in everything from your past. Things haven’t changed since you left. It was a lot cleaner than you expected since JJ was living here after you moved. You figured that beer bottles would litter every surface. You slowly make your way to the old bedroom that you spent so many hours inhabiting as a child. You drop your bags on the bed and pause taking in everything slowly.

 You made you way slowly to the chateau to greet your friends. People sprinkled the yard with solo cups enjoying the presence of each other. You made walked into the house slowly realizing that nothing has changed since you left. A small smile appears on your face remembering the memories that were made in the house. Your fingers traced the surfaces as you walked by. You made your way to the kitchen to get a drink “ope sorry” you muttered as you accident bump into someone. Blonde locks turn quickly before you realize it was Sarah Cameron “oh no you are totally fine” she smiled back. You grab a cup if whatever punch was made and head back outside to find your friends. What is a kook doing at the cut? The chateau of all places?

You spot kie first from the hammocks swinging. Another smile appeared on your face as you walked towards the girl. “Kie?” You say quietly. She looked back to try and identify the new voice. The second that she realized it was you she screamed your name and embraced you in a hug. You were glad to be back home. “How was California? Everything that you imagined?” She asked referencing meeting your dad for the first time and getting to know him. “Eh it was okay” You smiled knowing that you had the time of your life experiencing the west coast for the first time You asked her how school went and if she had landed a job. She shrugged saying that she was still working on her master’s in environmental conservation.

“Have you seen the others?” You asked looking around for the two that you have yet to see. “JJ and John B are around the fire I think” She pointed to the furthest part of the yard where the two boys stood. You said your goodbyes and walked towards the boys. You wrapped your hands around the blonde boys’ eyes “Who is it” You giggled. His hands moved to yours and moved them away and then turning to greet you. “Y/N? God damn” He laughed and then picked you up and spun you around and gently placing you back on the ground. “I can’t tell you how happy I am to see you” he stated, and you nodded. He was the brother that you never had. “I went home, and you weren’t there” You asked wanting to know what he was up to these days. “Yeah sorry I’ve had to work open to close today” He shot John B a look, but he didn’t notice. He was in his own world talking with another group of people.

“Does he know that you are back?” He asked concerned looking between the pair. “No not yet” You shook your head no. This was it, now or never. “Hello Everyone, can we get your attention” Sarah Camron yelled from the stairs of the Chateau. John B was now to her side. “You guys are all probably wondering why we called you here today” She giggled. You felt your stomach start to churn uncomfortably. “We would like to announce that at the end of the summer I will be Mrs. Routledge” She exclaimed and smiled everyone around you started cheering as the couple kissed. You started clapping to fit in to the crowd. JJ looked over at you to make sure that you were okay. He bumped his shoulder to yours letting you know that he was here for you.  After the announcement you decided that it was best for you to leave and pretend that you weren’t here. You slowly walked out of the chateau for the last time and walked back home.

 “So where do you work now?” You asked JJ as he was kitchen making something for dinner. “Bird’s fishing and tackle over off of Leer road” You nodded. “Is it new? I don’t think that I’ve heard of it. “Yeah Kinda sorta, it’s been there a few years ago. It replaced Old Man James when he retired” It finally clicked where it was located. “That’s pretty cool! Do you like it?”   “Yeah it’s pretty great” he smiled thing about their new adventure.

 “Hey pope what are you doing here?” You asked as you walked into bird’s fishing and tackle. “I run the store here” you accept the answer and look around at the small store. It hasn’t changed much since the new owners had taken over. “Is JJ here?” It’s been a month since you’ve been back and you’ve been able to avoid the two love birds luckily. Not that you were mad that he didn’t wait for you, how could you ask someone to wait for you? Especially when one year turned into four? “Yeah he should be coming in soon you can hang out at then dock out back if you want” you nodded and thanked him as you made you way out back.

You saw the HMS pogue docked and you smiled remembering the summer nights on the water.

“We’re closed some back tomorrow” a deep voice called. You stiffened as you realized who’s voice it was. “Okay thanks anyway” you attempted to abort mission and wait until JJ returned home. “Y/n? Is that you?” The brown-haired boy asked jumping off the boat and walking over to you. “John b? What are you doing here?” You asked trying to play it off like you didn’t see him when you walked out here. “This is my shop?” He laughed and walked closer. “You own bird’s?” He nods yes “That makes sense why Pope and JJ work here then” you laugh. “When did you get back in town?” He asked running a hand though his hair. I could tell he was just as uncomfortable as I was. “Uhm I think it was last month or so?” You stumbled across your words. “A  month? You’ve been in town for a month and you didn’t stop by to say anything? To see me? To catch up?” Frustration building in his voice. “I stopped by the night you announced your engagement actually.. congratulations by the way” You rock back and forth on your heels. “I would have saw you? Everyone would have saw you if you stopped by?” He questioned. “Yup I saw seen everyone and I’ve been staying at home” you were silently thanking everyone for not telling him you were back. “Uh were about to close up would you want to grab a smoothie heor something?” He griped the back of his neck nervously. He was a lot older than the last time I saw him. 21 doing him Justice. “Rain check maybe?”  you asked and he shrugged. “It’s good to see you y/n” you too you muttered back and walk back into the tackle shack and back home.

 You got home and switched on the TV for some kind of noise to down out the noise going on inside of your head. You could handle him being happy when you didn’t have to see him. “Tropical Kate is rolling in everyone needs to take precautions and expect winds 70-80 miles per hour. You sighed and turned the television off. You picked up your phone to ring JJ for the fourth time today but it goes straight to voicemail. You make your way to the basement to grab the boards and a hammer to board the windows to avoid more damage.

 You settled on the couch and checked your phone again, still no word from JJ. They were probably weatherizing the store. You could hear the heavy wind and rain whip the side of the house. You hear a small knock on the door. You furrow your eyebrows in confusion as to why anyone would be at the door. “Can I come in?” The boy stood in front of the door. “Of course” you opened the storm door and welcomed John B into the house. “Let me grab some towels” You walked to the bathroom and grabbed a towel and to your bedroom to grab a blanket for him. “Here” You hand him both and he thanked you. “What are you doing here?” You asked concerned. “Rain check? Literally” He laughed. “Smooth” you smiled. “Is JJ okay?” You asked about your newfound roommate. “Yeah I sent him to the chateau to check on everything” A moment of silent fell on us, this uncharted territory we were crossing. “Are you going to be in town a while?” He asked. “Yeah, I was thinking about opening that sandwich shop that we always talked about” You smiled realizing that he finally got his dream. “That would be cool” the conversation died down. “A kook huh?” You laughed remembering the rule that the group created. Rule #1 no pogue on pogue and Rule #2 no pogue on kook. “She’s great and she’s a new found pogue actually” He giggled feeling proud of himself. “Is that so John booker? Did you initiate her yourself?” You challenged him. The kettle whistled from the stove. You made you way over to the kitchen and poured it into two cups for you both. “I did actually, some shit went down after you left and she was there, she gave up the kook life” “I’m sorry” You apologized. It was wrong of you to think down upon the one person that repaired all of the damage that you caused. “What about you? Did you bring anyone back with you?” You shook your head no “Nope just me” You took a small sip of tea. “So how was California?” He asked, he’s never been out of the sate of North Carolina. “It was nice but it wasn’t home.” “Did you meet anyone?” He asked again. “Nope, You were the one for me” You immediately regret saying that as soon as it left your mouth. “I’m glad you listened and found someone. You are an amazing guy” You smiled. “I hope the same for you, you  deserve the world” The power flickered before finally just going out due to the storm. You yelped at the cracking of thunder outside. “You would think that after living on the coast for 18 years of your life you’d be use to the storms” He nudged you. “Yeah something like that” He felt you quiver from the chill of the storm. “Here get under the blanket He opened up half. You hesitated before finally giving in and feeling the warmth of his skin. His arm wrapped around your shoulder and pulled you closer to his chest. You knew that this wasn’t okay, but you didn’t want to think about it anymore. You guys both just set there enjoying the closeness one last time. “She’s no you, you know” He whispered softly. “Maybe but I’m not that person either anymore” So much time has passed since you two saw each other last, you had secretly wished that things would just pick up where you left off like nothing ever happened. “I know, neither am I but you were still home, you still are my home” He stated rambling. “JB, please do not go down this rabbit hole, it won’t do either of any good and you have Sarah Cameron waiting at home for you” You clenched your eyes shut. “Yeah you’re probably right” he whispered as he planted a kiss on your forehead. Tears brimmed your eyes. “So do I get an invitation to the wedding?” You asked, you didn’t want to go but you wanted his mind back on his fiancé. “If you want one” He stated not wanting to talk about. “I missed you, a lot” He turned to look at you. “ Yeah I missed you too”  

“If you asked, I’d leave her and wouldn’t think twice” You hear in the dark room.

“That’s the problem, She fixed you when I broke you, how could we do that to her?” The room fell silence again.

[inorganicone2230]

um... i'm sorry to bother you but i was hoping you could do a yandere!erasermic x depressed reader. you know where they tell them that they want the reader to be theirs but she feels as if she doesn't deserve it. please and thank you, by the way i love your previous works

Soft Yander!Erasermic x Shy/Depressed Fem!Reader

I'm not entirely sure if this is what you meant but I hope you enjoy it none the less! 😊

You honestly couldn't remember how long it had been since they had taken you. You knew that it had to have been about a year based on the changing of the seasons outside. At least, that's what you assumed since you were so rarely let out of your comfortable basement room. It had been late summer when you were kidnapped. Looking out the window now, you could see that the month's had rolled back around to early spring, with patches of green grass poking out of unmelted snow piles that littered the ground and fresh buds covering the trees of the forest that surrounded the out-of-the-way house. It was quite tranquil, even for someone in your situation.

When the pro hero's Present Mic -who you knew by reputation only- and Eraserhead -who you only knew because of the press coverage surrounding UA High- had first approached you on one of your late night treks home from work, talking to you as if you were an old friend, you had been a bit flabbergasted to say the least. You didn't know either of these men and you told them so.

“I-I’m sorry, the two of you must have me confused with someone else. Sorry for the mix up.” You had mumbled quietly, gaze downcast to avoid eye contact as you tried to bypass them and continue on your way. You were stopped however when the two heroes stepped back into your path.

“We don't have you confused with anyone else (Y/N).” Eraserhead said matter-of-factly.

You froze as fear gripped at your senses. “H-how do-”

“We've been watching ya for a while now, since that night at the bridge.” Present Mic cut you off to clarify.

At the time, it had felt like ice was pumping through your veins instead of blood. You knew exactly what night he was speaking of. It was the night that you had contemplated jumping, to plummet yourself into the raging waters of the semi-flooded river.

You'd had depression for a few years now and that night you had made the mistake of picking up some liquor and indulging just a little too much. In your drunken and self-loathing state, you had gone to the bridge. No one had been there, or so you thought, and you had cried and screamed out your frustrations before climbing on the edge to sit. You had sat there for a while, going back and forth in your mind about whether to go through with it or not.

In the end though… you went home.

It takes a moment for you to notice, but while you had been distracted they had moved closer and you instinctively took a step back only to have them follow you step for step.

“We were in the area that night,” the voice hero explains, “and we heard ya crying. It was so sad and broken.” He had looked like he was about to cry at just the thought. “When we saw ya sitting there about to let yourself fall, Shouta got ready to catch ya with his scarf, just in case.”

Shouta picked up the story from there when his companion started to become a tad bit too emotional and for the life of you, you wonder why you hadn't just screamed or tried to run immediately, not that it would have done you a lick of good. Instead you had made the mistake of standing there and listening to them. “But in the end you made the right choice and didn't do it. You went home and we followed you to make sure that you got home safe and sound.” He flashed you a small smile. “After that, me and Hizashi, we've been following you ever since, watching to make sure you stayed safe.”

They had smiled at you so sweetly, shining eyes and faint blushes dusting their cheek, it would have been cute were it not for the unsettling situation it was coming out of.

Hizashi seemed to have gathered his wits by that point and had picked up the tale again. “At first we just wanted to make sure that you were going to be ok over the next few days. But…” He trailed off, scratching the back of his head as if he had been nervous to keep going. “But, we eventually started to see what a sweet girl ya are. I’m not sure when it happened, or even all the reasons for why, but we found ourselves falling for ya. Falling hard (Y/N)! That's why we're here tonight, we finally have everything ready for ya to come home with us.” He finished with a great big smile, spreading his arms out wide like he'd expected you to run into them.

“Excuse me?!” Your voice was squeaky but you had commended yourself on your lack of stuttering. Your mind was racing and you thought you had to be hearing that wrong. They did not just admit to stalking you and there was no way they were implying what you thought they were. You were simply misunderstanding them was all, right?

The looks on their faces told you otherwise.

You had just made the decision to turn around and make a break for it, realization finally dawning on you just how disturbing this whole encounter was, but Shouta must have sensed this shift in you and reached out to snag your hands in his. Gently, so as not to frighten you further, he'd tried to reason with you. “We know this is all very sudden for you Kitten, but we just want what's best for you.”

Arms came to wrap around your waist, trapping your own arms to your sides. “This is for your own good Sweetheart. Ya might not understand it right now, but you're just gonna have to trust us. We want you to be safe -even from yourself- and the only way to do that is for you to come with us.” Hizashi finished, laying a little kiss on your cheek.

You had wanted to run, to scream and kick and bite. But being a passive person by nature on top of being terrified, you'd attempted to reason with them instead. “T-that's very flattering and a-all, really it is. But… I'm going to have to s-say no. I-I’m not in the best place right now and I'm n-not ready for anything like this.” You had foolishly thought that that would work.

Your eyes snapped wide open when, without missing a beat, a firm hand clamped over your mouth and you felt a small pinch in your upper left arm. Looking down as best you could you saw that the erasure hero had produced a small syringe from somewhere and suck you with it, the last drops of the clear substance plunging into your body before you could even process what had just taken place. You had a sick feeling you knew what was in that needle, or at the very least, what it was going to do to you. Tears welled up in your eyes and you shook your head in disbelief at what was happening.

“We know your not ready for a relationship right now Kitten,” Shouta said, pulling the needle from your arm and capping it before putting it away for future disposal. “but your coming home with us regardless, we still need to keep you safe after all.”

Hizashi used the hand on your face to turn your head to the side as he nuzzled his face into your neck, “We know it's going to take awhile for ya to understand and we're willing to wait as long as ya need. You'll see honey, we'll be best boyfriends you could ask for!”

That was one of the last things you heard because not long after, the drug had finally kicked in and you passed out only to awaken hours later, locked in the basement room -prison- they had set up for you.

The first few months had been hard as they kept you down there 24/7. The spacious basement was more like an apartment, being equipped with off life's necessities. A nice bathroom, a big comfy bed covered in warm blankets and pillows, books, TV and movies, and a fridge loaded with pre-prepared food and snacks, no cooking by yourself though since that involved knives and other things you could potentially hurt yourself with. Despite all that though, it was maddening to see nothing but the same things day after day. And in an effort to be granted little freedoms like being allowed upstairs, which is where you currently find yourself, you began to behave for them. You stopped trying to get away.

You know that this is probably the isolation and Stockholm Syndrome talking, but in all honesty, neither of the two heroes were all that bad. Sure they had kidnapped you, but they did genuinely seem to care about you and want your happiness. They never pushed you to do anything that you weren't comfortable with, always limiting their touches to small hugs and handholding, sometimes even a light kiss or two if you were having a particularly good day. They were unfailingly kind and understanding of your feelings, that's probably why you began to crave their affections more and more as time wore on. It was nice to feel wanted, even under the circumstances you found yourself in.

But there was one thing weighing heavily on your mind. It was the one thing keeping you from accepting them completely, and so you asked them.

“I'm not good enough to deserve this level of devotion from anyone, I'm just some nobody loser who never did anything with my life. So why do you want me in the first place?”

They stare at you like have grown a second head before their expressions morph into ones of concern and they move closer to you, taking a seat on either side of you on the couch.

Hizashi puts a warm hand on your knee, “What are ya talking about hon? Your perfect! Sweet, kind, caring, beautiful. What more could we want? Who else could we want?”

His words stir up your emotions and you try to keep yourself from crying, “I don't know, maybe someone more confident, someone who would be able to stand with you, not behind you. Someone the exact opposite of me.”

“Kitten, will you please look at me?” Shouta asks softly. You do, meeting his tired eyes with your own watery ones as he cups your face in his hands. “We love you (Y/N). We don't have all the answers as to why, but please believe that we do. You are a wonderfully sweet girl and we will do whatever we can to help you see that. To help you see that we want you to be ours.”

The tears are freely flowing now and you feel him pulling you into his lap with Hizashi cuddling up to your back as quiet sobs shake your small form.

“Just trust us. Let us handle everything.”

“We'll make you happy if you just give us the chance. Can you let us do that?”

You know that this is fundamentally wrong, you shouldn't be fine with this, you shouldn't want this. But it's just easier to give in and accept the hand that you've been dealt. You want to be loved and cared for so badly, and if they want to spend their lives proving that that's what they want as well, then who are you to deny them and yourself. Especially when it's what all three of you want.

It's small and quiet but you nod your head, “I-I can do that. J-Just please don't let me down. Please.”

Hands are petting your back and hair as you all stay like that, curled up together and just enjoying the presence of one another.

“Never Darling. Never.”

[kittenshift-17]

Charloe #21 and #22 preferably in the same one, lots of angst! Love your writing btw!

Scared of Getting Good

https://archiveofourown.org/works/30754034

They ran hard despite the raging storm booming overhead, their clothes drenching quickly in the violent downpour. Charlie panted raggedly, slowing as they lost themselves deeper in the woods beyond where those who might’ve been dumb enough to follow them into the storm could possibly catch up.  Monroe kept running, but she knew where she was supposed to meet him; knew the rendezvous point they’d agreed on; knew she’d be able to find it, even in the dark. 

Slowing to a walk, Charlie tipped her head back, looking to the sky as lightning flashed in the distance before thunder boomed overhead. It felt good to feel the rain on her skin instead of the constant, dry baking grit of the Texas desert and the stickiness of her own sweat. It hardly ever rained in Texas. The stinging cold of it made her shiver, but Charlie had never felt more alive. God, how long had she been running? Fighting? Killing? Had she stopped since that day in Sylvania Estates when Captain Neville had put a bullet in her Dad’s chest and taken her little brother captive?

It didn’t feel like it. It felt like everything since then had just been about surviving. Even when she’d ditched Mom and Miles in Texas and gone off alone, it hadn’t felt like living. It was all just about surviving. She knew with sickening ease that the day her childhood had ended had been that day in Wisconsin when the Monroe Militia blasted her entire world to smithereens. 

And what a sick joke that this moment, now, when she was trudging through a thunderstorm and pondering the value of her own life, she could already hear the president of that Republic running back for her.

“Charlie?” he called when he was close. “What happened? Were you hit? Why’d you stop?”

General Sebastian Monroe. President of the Monroe Republic. Running to her rescue like she fucking mattered to him. Like his men weren’t responsible for everything that had gone wrong in her life back in Wisconsin. 

“I’m fine,” Charlie replied when he ran back to her, his hands finding her body even in the dark and beginning to wander it, cataloguing, his fingers looking for injuries his eyes couldn’t see. “Just wanted to feel the rain.”

His hands froze on her hips and she heard the strangled sound of fury he choked on.

“We’re in the middle of a thunderstorm and you wanna stop and feel the rain?” he growled furiously.

Charlie sighed, knowing he was going to make her run again. Knowing her moment of reprieve was already over.

“It hardly ever rains in Texas,” she reminded him. 

“You take a few blows to the head in the fight, kid?” he asked and when lightning flashed overhead, she could see he was frowning at her.

Charlie laughed.

“Nah,” she said, shoving his hands away and pushing his chest lightly. 

“You sure?” he asked, his hands returning, this time smoothing over her head, looking for bumps as though he might find something.

“I’m fine, Monroe,” she shook her head. “Just thinking.”

He was silent for a beat, one of his hands gathering the hair plastered to her right cheek and across her forehead, slicking it back and tangling his fingers in the dripping strands.

“About what?” he queried quietly, not stepping back or letting her go.

“It’s nothing,” she shook her head.

“Yeah, sure,” he sneered, and she could hear him rolling his eyes. “Everyone stops in a storm to feel the rain and think about nothing.”

Charlie kind of hated him.

“Thinking about Dad,” she confessed quietly. “And Danny. It used to rain like this in Wisconsin. And snow. We’d get so much snow in the winter…”

“Beats melting in fuckin’ Texas, I bet,” Monroe muttered.

Charlie nodded.

Lightning flashed again, illuminating him in the dark and Charlie met his eyes for that brief second, counting in her head until the thunder boom three beats later.  

“Still blame me for what happened?” he asked quietly in the pattering rain that followed when the sky fell silent for a few minutes.

Charlie sighed, bringing a hand up and fisting the fabric of his shirt where it was plastered to his abs in the rain, thinking about the answer.

“Not really,” she admitted. “You didn’t pull the trigger yourself. I’ve learned enough since then to know that counts for something.”

She didn’t know how it could be, but she had let it go. All of it. She wasn’t angry at Monroe for the deaths of her father or her brother anymore. She hadn’t been for a long time. Not since he’d saved her life in Pottsboro and proved he was a complete gentleman when it really mattered.

“Been a long time since I stood in the rain,” he said after what felt like an eternity, moving closer and bending down to lay his forehead against hers.

“How long?” she wondered.

“Before the blackout, probably,” he muttered. “At least since I stood in the rain because I wanted to, not because I had no choice.”

“Why would you have stood in it by choice before the blackout,” she frowned. “Houses were better maintained back then.”

He laughed quietly.

“Better maintained but just as stifling, sometimes,” he told her quietly.

“Weren’t you in the Marines with Miles?” Charlie clarified.

“Yeah. So?”

“Did you even have a house?” she frowned.

“Real nice, Charlotte,” he grumbled, laughing quietly as more thunder boomed, lightning filling the sky. “Hit a guy while he’s down.”

“What’ve you got to be down about? If you’d had a house, you’d have long since lost it by now, along with everything else.”

“Such a ray of sunshine aren’t you, baby?” he teased, laughing, his hand untangling from her hair and cupping her cheek.

For a breathless moment, Charlie wondered if he was going to kiss her. She’d like that, she thought. Out here in the rain with no one to see them and no one to judge them, it might be nice, just once, to give in to the tension that always bubbled between them, just begging to boil over into something else. Something more.

Biting her lip, she searched his face in the dark, silently begging for more lightning so she might see those brilliant blue eyes and know what he was thinking and whether he wanted to kiss her too. She took a deep breath in, thinking that she should just go for it before the sound of heavy footsteps caught her ear.

“Someone’s coming,” she hissed, panic surging through her limbs as she jerked back from Monroe. “Come on. Let’s go!”

“What? You done feeling the rain?” he taunted, and it was like flipping a switch, the tender, private moment gone in a heartbeat and he was back to his cynical, snarky asshole self.

“Eat me, Monroe,” Charlie retorted, setting off at a run again, knowing that if anyone had dared follow them out of that town they’d assaulted, they would be fast catching up while they dawdled.

Monroe made her run ahead of him this time, refusing to go around her even though he was the faster of the two of them. He stayed right behind her, pushing her on, bending and scooping her back to her feet with his hands under her armpits when she stumbled over a tree root and skinned her knee through her jeans, pushing her forward and driving her to the foxhole where Miles and Connor would be waiting with the rest of their raiding party.

“Who goes there?” a voice shouted, one of their team already there ahead of them.

“Connor’s such a moron in the dark,” Charlie complained to Monroe as they both slowed their pace.

“It’s us, idiot,” Monroe answered his son. “Where’s Miles?”

“Thought he was with you?” Connor called back and Charlie stopped, looking over her shoulder, fear clenching her heart.

“The hell?” Monroe growled, stopping too and looking around in the dark like they might spot Miles in the gloom. 

“He’ll be right behind us,” Charlie assured him. 

“How’d you lose him, Connor?”

“He went left at that water tower on the far side of town, and I went right. Think he was going after you two...”

Charlie’s eyes narrowed when footsteps sounded in the dark again and for a terrible moment, she wondered if it’d been Miles out there in the dark interrupting her before she could kiss Monroe.

“Miles?” she called out hopefully.

The footsteps kept coming and Monroe hauled her closer to their bunker with one arm, while he swung his rifle around with the other.

“Miles?” she called again, knife in hand, ready to fling it at the invader if it was anyone but Miles.

“It’s me,” he grunted when he was closer. “Move. They weren’t far behind me.”

Relief flooded her and she charged into the shelter past Connor where he stood on watch, grateful for the light and the warmth when she descended into the basement and found Aaron, Grandpa and her Mom all inside. 

“Charlie. Thank God,” her Mom said, drawing her into a relieved hug despite her wet clothes and hair.

“Get dry, kiddo,” Grandpa advised, favouring her with a warm smile to show his own relief. “You’ll catch your death in wet clothes like that.”

Charlie nodded, heading for her pack and digging out some dry clothes before slipping into the adjacent room and peeling off her drenched jeans. She was about to pull her tank top off too, but the scrape of boots followed by the rasp of a fly stopped her. 

“Monroe,” she hissed, narrowing her eyes at him, scowling.

He looked over as he shoved his pants down his legs, uncaring that he was commando under them, and that she could see his junk.

“What?” he asked, and though he feigned an expression of concern as though worried she was upset about something, Charlie caught the gleam in those electric blue eyes that he knew exactly what he was doing.

Huffing, she turned her back and proceeded to pull the shirt off over her head anyway, viscerally aware of his gaze drinking in the sight of her. 

“Oh, don’t play cute, Charlotte,” Monroe taunted quietly from behind her. “What? You’re gonna play the embarrassed and blushing virgin? C’mon. This is me.”

“The hell’s that supposed to mean?” she asked, well aware of what she was doing as she stepped out of her wet underwear and stood with her back to him, naked as the day she’d been born.

“I’ve seen the way you look at me when you think I don’t notice,” Monroe taunted, his voice coming closer until she would swear that she could feel his warm breath ghosting over her damp shoulders and feel the heat radiating from his body. “I know you wanted to kiss me out there in the rain…”

“You’re delusional,” Charlie retorted, grabbing the dry shirt she’d brought and pulling it on over her head before wriggling into dry panties even though her skin was still damp. The jeans would have to wait, she decided, turning to glare at Monroe, knowing she’d have a hard time getting the tight fabric up her legs as long as she was wet from the rain.

He was standing right behind her, still naked and Charlie’s eyes dropped to his chest, his abs, and then lower.

“Christ,” she muttered, taking a step back and drawing a smug laugh from him.

“Yeah,” he smirked. “That’s what I thought.”

“Put some pants on,” she rolled her eyes, even though she was having a hard time tearing her eyes off his dick. Had it always been that big? Shit.

“You sure you want me to?” he asked, his voice turning husky and damn him to the deepest pits of hell, no she wasn’t sure. She wanted to reach out and touch him. She wanted to sink to her knees and take him in her mouth right then and there, but Miles was coming and her Mom and Grandpa were in the next room.

“Monroe,” she said tightly, her hand twitching to reach out and run down the steel length of him. 

He laughed knowingly.

“Take a good look, baby,” he murmured before the sound of Miles’ footsteps filled the air.

“Damn it, Bass!” Miles growled. “Put some damn pants on! Christ. I’m blind.”

Monroe laughed, never taking his eyes off Charlie, his eyes just daring her to do as she so desperately wanted, and to reach out and touch him. He bounced his eyebrows at her when Miles kept fussing before conceding to Miles’ demands and stepping into a dry pair of jeans.

“Christ, Charlie, you too?” Miles asked, horrified when Charlie stepped around Monroe in only her panties and her tank top.

“Like I’m gonna be able to get jeans this tight up my legs while I’m all wet?” she rolled her eyes, steadfastly not looking at Monroe when he shot her a knowing smirk about what kind of wet he imagined her to be.

“Just… I don’t even want to know,” Miles shook his head, ripping his wet clothes off quickly.

Charlie averted her eyes.

“Dude, niece still in the room. Hold it with removing those jeans,” she hurried to stop him before he could strip completely as Monroe had.

“Well, move it, moron,” Miles grumbled grouchily. “I’m wet and I’m cold and I want to be neither.”

Charlie shook her head, looking away from Monroe once and for all and trying to get the image of his dick out of her head even though she was pretty sure it was burned into her retinas.

[mxliv-oftheendless]

Writer’s Month Prompts Day 6

Day 6: Coffee Shop AU

This was an interesting one to write! Requested by @tanookiroxx <3 Enjoy!

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Paul was stressed out. Like, not the usual good, healthy kind of stressed out that kept your mind focused on the tasks at hand so you could get them done. It was more of the “I am going to actually have a meltdown if one more thing is added to the already enormous pile of things happening to me” kind of stressed out. If one more thing went wrong he was going to scream. Or cry. Or both. Probably both.

It didn’t help that his car was in the shop for repairs after being rear-ended by someone who had applied the breaks too late. At least it hadn’t gotten too banged up, enough that the person’s insurance would pay for damages. But it still sucked that he was reduced to taking the bus to work. Nothing was going the way it should, he seemed to be plagued by bad luck, and at this point he was just hoping and praying that this dark cloud over him would clear up soon.

At least he still had Rock ‘N Brews, the coffee shop by the university. He liked to go there when his classes were done, grab a coffee, and sit and work on his laptop for a couple hours to destress. It was his one safe haven; the dark cloud over him seemed to be chased away whenever he went into the building.

Today had been an okay enough day. Sure, he’d been caught in a little bit of rain on his way inside the faculty office building, but only a little bit. Everything had gone… well as smoothly as they would get during this period of bad luck. He was actually smiling a bit as he opened the door to Rock ‘N Brews, and although he bumped into someone he didn’t mind much.

In the back of his mind, he was wondering when the other shoe would drop and he would be swamped by more bad luck. But he was willing to shove that aside and enjoy this little reprieve as he ordered and waited for his coffee. He picked up his cup of iced coffee and turned to find an open booth…

… and crashed right into another man, popping open the lid and spilling iced coffee all over his front.

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry!” the man said remorsefully, trying to move past him to grab napkins. Paul was silent, staring at the incredibly huge stain on his front. “I wasn’t looking where I was going and—”

“God… fucking dammit!” Tears pricked at his eyes and he covered his face with his hand, willing himself not to cry. But his shoulders shook anyway, letting the man know that he probably was about to cry.

He handed him the napkins. “I am so sorry,” he apologized.

“It’s fine,” Paul’s voice shook as he wiped at his shirt. “It’s fine, I just—ah!” His messenger bag that contained his laptop began to slide down his shoulder, and for a split-second Paul panicked that it was going to drop and break on the floor. But the man swooped in and grabbed the strap. Paul swallowed roughly and kept scrubbing at his shirt. “Thanks.”

“No problem, I just—I should’ve been looking where I was going. I can pay for a new one…”

“It’s fine,” Paul insisted, even if he still felt like he was going to cry. “I can just order another one myself…”

“No, I’m serious, I will. It’s not your fault. What was your order?”

He really was serious. Well, with how Paul was failing to hold back tears, he probably wouldn’t be able to get it out to the barista himself. So instead of arguing, he wiped his eyes with his sleeve under the pretense of pushing hair out of his face and mumbled, “Iced caramel latte, medium,”

The man nodded. “You got it. What’s your name?”

“Paul,”

“I’ll be right back, okay?”

“Fine…”

He went off to get back into line, while Paul immediately headed for the bathroom to try and clean off his shirt the best he could. The universe decided to give him a bit of a break and not have anyone in the bathroom when he knocked.

To his dismay, he was unable to clean off his shirt. So he was forced to take off his shirt and stuff it in his bag and button up the cardigan he was wearing. He just wanted to get his coffee and go home. Before he went back outside, he splashed cold water on his face and wiped his eyes, and blew out a shaky breath before leaving.

The man was sitting at a table waiting for him with his replacement drink, and perked up when he saw him approach. “There you are.” He held up the order. “Here’s your drink.”

Paul wasn’t sure what compelled him to do it, but he pulled out the chair across from him and sat down. He slid the drink over and said a quiet “Thank you,”

“I’m Tommy, by the way,” the man held out a hand for him to shake.

He shook it. “Paul,”

“I know, you already told me,”

“Right.” He took a sip, letting the caramel taste soothe his nerves. There seemed to be more caramel flavor than usual; maybe the baristas felt bad for him. That wasn’t what he was hoping for, though; the last thing he wanted was people giving him pitying looks.

Tommy looked at him in slight concern. “Sorry for asking, but… are you okay? You seem a little… I don’t know, frazzled.”

Frazzled… what a word. It was the right word, along with tightly-wound and stressed. “Hella stressed”, as he’d heard a student say once. He sighed. “You’re right… You ever have one of those periods where everything seems to be going wrong?”

“Yeah, sometimes,”

“Well, I’m going through one myself right now.” Why was he admitting this to a stranger he’d just met? Why didn’t he just dodge the question, thank him, and leave?

He was nice enough to buy you a replacement coffee, his mind whispered. The least you can do is tell him why.

Tommy gave him a sympathetic look. “I’m sorry… Stuff with work?”

“Part of it… My car got rear-ended too. And my basement got flooded last week when we had all that rain.” Not to mention some asshole had graffitied the “Anyone But Trump” sign he had put up in his front yard. But politics were a touchy subject, so he would leave that bit out.

Tommy winced. “Oh jeez… I’m sorry.”

Why did he keep apologizing? “It’s fine. It can’t last forever.”

“That’s true. But it’s always terrible when you’re going through those periods. Is there anything I can do to help, or…?”

A brief smile flitted onto Paul’s face. “No, you don’t have to do anything. Buying me a replacement coffee was enough. Thank you.”

“My pleasure,” Tommy smiled back. “So do you work nearby here?”

“I teach art history at the university…”

They ended up sitting there for quite a while, talking about their respective jobs and other interests. Paul hadn’t expected to do that, but he certainly didn’t mind. For perhaps the first time in two weeks, he’d been blessed with a little bit of good luck; he was going to take this and enjoy it while he could.