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shattersstar · 4 years

Text

evergreen

and if the devil was to ever see you, he’d kiss your eyes and repent (part four)

pairing: adrian tepes x reader

excerpt: You were grinning, running through all the most beautiful, fullest, dreamiest of adjectives to capture the face of your love. You tilted your head to the left, and he followed, the two of you grinning at each other with soft, soundless laughs. You closed your eyes for a moment, inhaling and blinking at him with a new found clarity, the words flowing effortlessly.

warning(s): brief injury mention, fluff, this is so,,hopelessly romantic, heart shape lockets making a reappearance

a/n: sorry ive only been writing for adrian my brain has been in alucard lockdown and it wont end (although this might be my favourite thing ive ever written so i’m..less sorry)

—

It was quiet, the distant din of the forest brushed over the two of you. It was a reminder of the life surrounding the desolate place you called home. Your eyes were closed as you focused on the sound, the breathing of trees and humming of streams. You supposed Adrian heard it all so clearly, the animals and plants alike all alive in the surrounding forest. You strained to hear the crunch of fallen leaves by foxes or snap of fallen branches by deers.

It was autumn and the world was alive with harvest. Animals prepared for winter, plants returned to the soil and tree lines morphed into flame. It was one of the last warm days, the sun high in the cloudy sky, shining onto the picnic you two had set up. You were laying down, letting the sun soak over your while Adrian sat cross legged behind you. Your head was in his lap, the book you were reading was resting on his thigh above your head, opened onto the page you were on. Adrian had brought a book as well, but discarded it after a few minutes of reading. It was out of date, he explained, the science was false and he decided to draw over the useless words instead.

You assumed there was some value in its history, but didn’t question it as he silently sketched. Adrian was always such an artist, often drawing you, or other’s he cared for. He could sketch Sypha and Trevor from memory, yet often butchered some detail of the latter for his own amusement you supposed. He drew his parents often too, but was quick to erase such images, as if even seeing their face was still too painful.

He had begun painting more recently. You liked sitting and working on something while he painted, catching occasionally glimpses at his work. Adrian was never shy about what he created, often showing you without prompting, and never dismissing your request to see his art. He had agreed he was good at it, the technical precision was there, but the heart was not. You were quick to disagree with such sentiment, and yes you could see it within the landscapes and dull memories he created on paper or canvas, but the love was there in the faces of those he cared for.

Each line he added to you, each bit of shading and highlight showcased you in a way that held more adoration than any words could supply. You liked seeing yourself from Adrian’s eyes, seeing your beauty as he perceived it. It was more flattering than anything anyone before him had said to you, not like Adrian would want to hear such things.

You weren’t sure how you knew he was watching, sketching you as you laid in his lap, but you knew he did. You even remained still, forgoing reading to be his muse for the last moments of fall. You didn’t mind getting to lay in the lap of the one you loved, a soft blanket underneath while the sun started to arch towards the west. You could’ve fallen asleep there, nature washing over you and Adrian watching over you. It was a place of peace, a moment you’d engrain into your mind and have a memento—a piece of art to show for it.

You only opened your eyes when Adrian let out an uncharacteristically loud sigh, he didn’t need to breathe, he only did so on his own volition. You peered up at him, sun dancing in his dark lashes. “What is plaguing you so beloved?” You hummed, tilting your head back more as you spoke.

"My chest, it aches.” He admitted with a soft voice. You sat up as his words registered in your ears, worry lacing your features as you moved to sit on your knees, beckoning him closer.

“Still? Why?” He turned his head to the side as your hand smoothed down his slender neck, brushing his collar aside and revealing the tip of the scar that cut diagonal through his torso. You kept your fingers off the injury, but untied the front of his shirt to reveal more of it.

“I am unsure, it just does some days.”

“This has happened before?”

“A few times, yes.” He sighed again, you felt it under your palm that rested next to the pink, raised skin.

“I wished you told me.”

“I did not wish to worry you.”

“And yet I am worried.” Adrian turned towards your other hand, resting on his shoulder and dipped his head down to kiss your wrist. It was a gesture of apology and you accepted it was you let your hand cup his face, lips pressing a kiss to your palm. “Is there anything I can do to help?”

“I don’t think so.” You frowned, shifting your knees against the blanket. “And somehow I’m not surprised you aren’t pleased with that answer.”

“How can I be pleased when you, my dear, are living in pain?”

“Don’t be pleased then, be appeased.” Adrian shrugged, still speaking into your palm. You let your fingertips graze the edge of his scar before dropping both hands from him.

“If I must.” He chuckled at that, low and warm as your hands found his knees. You gave them a squeeze, almost to check if he still existed before turning, and placing yourself into his lap. You were careful not to lean into his chest, but Adrian eased you against it, his forearm wrapping around your stomach while his other hand brushed your book from his leg. “Now show me what you were drawing.”

“Of course beloved.” He hummed from behind you, picking up his green covered book and letting you flip through the drawings now masking the words. And you were right, many—most were of you.

A few trees, a tired outline of the castle, faces you didn’t know, but still somehow, every few pages was you, lounging in his lap, or from some other memory he stored away. They made you smile, less worried as warmth overtook you.

“Do you ever draw yourself?” You asked once you reached the last sketch, lingering on it.

“No, the image of myself in my mind changes far too often.”

“Oh?” You were surprised by Adrian’s answer, you expected something darker you supposed.

“I see myself one way, and then...I do not. I cannot draw what constantly changes.”

“Why does it change?”

“You.”

One syllable was more breathtaking than a single drawing he had ever done of you.

“Oh.” You found yourself on repeat, closing the book and letting out a slow breath.

“And I supposed other’s I’ve met, but mostly you.” It’s always you, he does not say despite how well it sits in his mouth.

You knew you had impacted Adrian, only a fool would say they didn’t, but to know that the way he constructed himself in his brain, how he felt when he thought of it, how he saw himself in his dreams, how he saw himself with you were all changed by you and how you loved him felt like a deeper proclamation than i love you.

“I still wish you would though, what am I supposed to put in this locket?” Your voice held an air of teasing, but a current of seriousness laced it as well.

“I could try, if you could like.”

You were silent for a moment, you didn’t want him to settle on a version of himself to etch into existence. Not when he was ever changing in his mind's eyes. “What if—“ You twisted carefully to look at him, noses brushing as you did. “What if you drew yourself from how I saw you?” You asked, wanting his art to convey his beauty as it did yours.

Adrian pondered it for a moment, before tilting his head and surprising your lips with his. “Yes.” He whispered against your mouth before finding his book yet again.

You slipped from his lap to give him space and studied him for a long moment. He didn’t shift under your gaze, or look away, but instead studied your back. You were grinning, running through all the most beautiful, fullest, dreamiest of adjectives to capture the face of your love. You tilted your head to the left, and he followed, the two of you grinning at each other with soft, soundless laughs. You closed your eyes for a moment, inhaling and blinking at him with a new found clarity, the words flowing effortlessly.

Serious mouth, something that hides smiles and fangs. Lips that slope into something heartbreaking—a smile like no other.

He grinned at that, eyes dropping to the page as he began drawing.

Soft eyes, set deep, but still shining. Sharp like daggers and holding handfuls of sunrays in them. Not cold with sadness, but heavy with it.

“Heavy with love too.” He hummed, earning a kiss on his forehead before you settled back to describing him.

Nose…

You paused your words, letting Adrian catch up to your lovely description, while you pondered on it too. You knew this was much for him, so much love filling his ears, outward and heedy. Yet it didn’t feel like enough, like it captured how much his appearances enraptured you, but as his heart did too. You wanted him to see your love through your eyes.

It was a daunting task, and yet you carried on. You reached out, brushing over his nose with your index finger, as if the words lived in your fingertips and could only be released by touch. You furrowed your brows, lips parting before you took Adrian’s hand, the one holding the book. He kept his gaze on you as you brought his slender fingers to his nose, tracing it as you did. You loved all Adrian’s features, but his nose especially, and no words could describe the beautiful feature that pulled his whole face together.

My favourite thing.

He let his attention fall back to the drawing, a bloodless blush could’ve warmed his face with the kind descriptions you imparted onto him. He knew you loved him, you proclaimed it enough, but the sweet words that overtook this dimming autumn day were even more dizzying than he expected. And you weren’t done yet, unrelenting in your words and adoration for him.

Sharp contours—jaw, cheekbones—with an underlying kindness, youthful softness to the angular curves.

Beautiful forehead, my favourite place to kiss. And press myself to.

Brows low, very precise—too serious most of the time.

Hairline like the ocean, framing the sand and sometimes sweeping over it.

You twirled the forever loose curl that hung forward, always draping against his smooth skin. He wanted to lean into your touch, but his attention was on the page.

Hair long, softer than any silk. Golden—not like honey, but wheat fields blowing in the breeze. And thick, with lazy waves throughout it.

You stayed quiet after that, hoping it was enough. You were all warm throughout now, despite how the evening had fallen over you two. You wanted to climb back into Adrian’s lap, but instead you moved to sit cross legged, toying with a loose thread on his pants, twisting the string from the seam by his knee around your finger until his shoulders dropped and the pen stopped moving.

You let your hands rest in your lap, and you watched him study it for a long moment. You wanted to ask if it was okay—some version of him he could agree with, yet he brought the pen back, scrawling something in his tight, professional handwriting and tearing the page from the book with precision.

The drawing took up one corner, the words printed in the background barely noticeable to the bust drawn over them. He folded the piece of paper, once, then twice. A tiny square sitting in his palm, before Adrian finally met your gaze. He reached out, cool fingertips grazing over your neck as he brought your heart shaped locket to sit in his other palm. He used his thumb to open it, placing the piece of paper inside and closing it again.

He kissed the smooth metal before letting it fall back against your sternum, smiling with a haziness that made you feel drunk of love as well. You took his hand in yours, Adrian quick to intertwine fingers before you could settle your palm to his. He urged you closer, uncrossing his legs and letting you take up space between them. “Do you feel better?” You hummed, the pain that had overcome him before not leaving your mind.

It wasn’t like you to forget so easily.

“Hm, better? Yes.” He nodded, pressing a kiss to the side of your nose.

“Are you just saying that?”

“No, of course not.”

“I find that hard to believe, you often dwell in pain my dear. Especially alone.”

“I know,” He sighed yet again, bringing his free hand to your chin and drawing your attention to him. “If you’d like, I believe I have found a way that you can help, make me feel better.”

“Yes, what is it?”

He smiled—heartbreakingly. “Marry me?”

For a quiet beat, you paused, the words reaching your ears, settling in your short term memory before they processed into something that rang forever in your head. You and Adrian had talked about marriage, he had settled on the notion it was a frivolous display and he had everything he needed with you. And you agreed. He was everything you needed.

And now, he needed to be your husband.

You tucked some of his hair behind his ear, leaning in with a low voice, “My love, don’t you know?” You asked, blinking up with a slanted grin, “I’ve been married to you from the moment we met.” He breathed out a chuckle, reedy and low.

“Then,” His palms cupped your cheeks, forehead pressing into yours. “Let me marry you.”

“Yes,” You breathed into him, “Yes you can marry me.”

It was the first day of winter when you finally opened your locket. You unfolded his drawing carefully, the likeness you wanted to convey hung in every inked line. Your fiancé existed in both your hearts now.

Your fingers brushed over the words, creased from the folding, but still clear.

It’s always you, my betrothed.

#adrian tepes x reader #adrian tepes imagine #alucard imagine #alucard x reader #castlevania imagine #castlevania #writing #if this doesnt get notes ill boycott writing for all of 2021

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binniesthighs · 4 years

Text

hello stranger | reader x changbin |

a/n: hehe hello cuties, before i get to the chapter, I just wanted to say thank you so much for all of the support and lovely messages you that you sent to me for the last chapter. as I said, it was one that was super personal to me and for it to be so relatable and emotional for you all makes my heart feel so, so full. these themes are going to continue, so please read the warnings cuties. as always, thank you so very much for reading my stories <3

Part 6

Pairing: self insert, female reader x seo changbin, female reader x han jisung

Genre: strangers to lovers, fluff, smut, angst

Tags: (of this part) college au, rapper!changbin, rapper!jisung, establishedfwb!jisung, artist!reader, skz side characters, bestfriend!chan, bestfriend!felix, roommate!minho, explicit language, HARD fluff to HARD angst, some sensual-azz fuckin’ (muhaha), unprotected sex (stay safe cuties!), lil bit of breath play, nipple play (f), cumshot, mentions of food, changbin has a cute butt (that’s the tweet)

CWs: aftereffects of traumatic experiences, mentions of past toxic relationship, self sabotaging tendencies

Word count: 6.6k (remember when i said i wasn’t gonna write long chapters? wellllll...ooP)

Chapters

When you were back in high school, before you knew a thing about what love was, your Art teacher had given you an assignment: what do you think that love looks like? At first, all you had really known love to be was the kind that you shared with your friends and your parents, and maybe with your family dog. You had read about love in your favorite books and seen it in your favorite movies, but you had never really considered what it looked like. Obviously, the assignment was all up for you to decide, but there being a million and one things that you considered love to be, to put it to paper with your own hand was something different entirely.

At first, when you thought of love, you thought of the typical: hearts, hugs, the colors red and pink. But, this was too simple.

“What are you drawing?” You had sneakily whispered to your classmate.

She shrugged, and continued scratching away at her sketchbook. You had peeked to see what she was putting together, and for her, she had started to draw what looked like a house on the edge of a lake. The house was in the middle of nowhere and it was surrounded by trees of all different kinds and there was a single bench that sat at the edge of the water.

You figured, love can be a place, so you started drawing that.

Your pencil swiped over the paper in strokes big and small, and the lead rubbed off on the side of your pinky as you outlined the corners of your apartment building.

You thought, I love the people who live here, therefore, this must be love.

It made sense. People and places could make up love.

When you turned in your drawing of your apartment building you were surprised to see the variety of other paintings and drawings that the other students had turned in. One student had turned in a whole piece that had been drawn with oil pastel. It was a jumbling of colors: mostly red, as you had expected, but it also held streaks of gold, black and teal. You remember your teacher really liking that one.

Today, if you would’ve gotten that assignment, it would’ve been completely different.

It was a sunny afternoon when you sat at your easel with your pencil in hand. Drawing out the mere outline and rough draft, tears welled in your eyes. A long time ago you had promised yourself that if your art didn’t mean anything, what even was it?

The sun filled your room in the golden hour of the day best it could from your frosted glass window. The warmth that the rays held made your whole body swell with a warmth, and it gave your shaking arms the power to keep going.

You brushed lightly over the rough canvas with your pencil, tracing out the lines as if they were the very memories that you had kept painted in your mind.

You drew a snowy night, not much unlike the ones that you had been seeing recently. You drew an empty alley, not lit by much light. You drew the way that the oil slicked in potholes mixed with the snow. You planned out the way that the industry of the city lit his back as he stared out into that dark expanse where you knew that darker figures were hiding. You drew him. You drew him on that exact same night that you had fist seen him: a dark outline, who would become full of color.

╚ ——————————————— ╝

“What’s that?”

Changbin pointed to your easel with a sheet draped over it.

“A surprise.” You answered. “I know that I’m not good with surprises, but, are you?”

“I don’t mind them.” He chuckled. “For me?”

“Mmhm. Its not ready yet so you’ll have to wait.”

“I’m fine with waiting.” He sighed out.

You nuzzled closer into his bare chest, right up to his heartbeat. Both of you were admittedly a bit dewy in your sweaty afterglow, but this was of no concern to you. These past few days, this had been your preferred way to drift off to sleep. Even on the occasional times when the both of you would be too busy to make the time, when you finally could see him, it was everything to you. In his large and muscled arms, there was no place else where you had felt safer. You too wrapped your whole being around him with a feeling so close it must’ve been unreal. If you could hear the muffled little rhythm of his heartbeat, you were sure that he could hear yours.

“Soon, all this snow is gonna melt, and then I can take you to loads of other places. I’m just getting started.” Changbin’s airy breath tickled your scalp.

“Really? Taking me to all the usual places?” You mocked.

“No.” He said seriously. “I want to take you to places I haven’t taken anyone before. My secret places. I...you know...wouldn’t mind if you could draw them for me either.”

You giggled, “Ever heard of taking a picture?”

“Hey! It’s not the same.”

“Fineee. Okay, okay. I’ll draw them for you.” Your fingertips traced down the muscles of his back. “Maybe I should start charging if you’re gonna keep being like this.”

“You don’t do pro-bono?” He ran along with your joke.

“If you ask nicely, maybe I’ll consider it.”

He tsked, “Could you please draw for me?”

You masked another adoring chuckle. “I do like it when you say please.”

Everything about the one moment felt so sickly sweet, it was like you must’ve dreamt it up. In between the swaddling of sheets, you tried your best to enjoy the one moment: it was just enough to keep the doubtful whispers away. After all that he had done, said, all the pain that he had kissed away, or compliments he had hushed into your ear, the creeping feeling that you hardly deserved it all would rear it’s head time and again, even when you didn’t expect it to.

The two of you were quiet for a moment as you fell into the serenity of just existing together. After a while, you would narrow your focus best on the way that his breaths would rise and fall and the way this his body heat would melt into yours under the mess of sheets that neither of you bothered to fix. He would use his thumb to rub reassuring little strokes into the back of your neck where he had you.

Your hand would fall down his arm, all the way down this wrist where his scar lived. Ever since you had noticed it, you couldn’t stop looking at it. Every time that you did, you were given a tangible reminder of everything that he had been, and was, to you. You rose the uneven skin to your lips to gift a little kiss to it.

Changbin tried his best to hide his giddy smirk at the action.

“Do you have to leave tonight?” You settled his arm around you once more.

“No. Not tonight. But, for the next few days I don’t think I’ll be able to. They put me on the matinee shifts at the theater. I fucking hate those. No one comes in at all so it’s like I’m just sitting there.”

“Wanna sneak me in some time this week? I should have a break.”

“I would but...I’d prefer to keep that job. As much as I hate it.”

“We could do something this Thursday? You aren’t busy on Thursdays as much right?”

“Ahhhh I think so.” Changbin rolled the two of you over, allowing himself to lean over top of you. With a sly smirk he lowered his voice to say, “You know, my ribs really aren’t hurting as much any more.”

“Oooh? Good to know.” You ruffled his curly strands.

“I’m trying to say that I can go for another round if you would like to?” He bowed his head to kiss lightly into your neck and the fading love bites that he had put there himself.

Your eyes wandered to your clock telling you that it was nearly 2 in the morning. If you had better judgement, you would’ve said no. But, these days, judgement wasn’t something that you took too seriously.

He kissed down deeper, and pulled at your skin just in the way that he knew you liked it. Changbin knew the ins and outs of you perfectly, as well as exactly what to do send you quivering under him. All he had to do was press his body into yours so you could feel his weight, and it made you fold just for him. He followed his kisses up your jaw where he then lead them into your bottom lip and over every angle that your mouth would crave him. He often didn’t mean to do it intentionally, but between your parted mouths, his tongue would sneakily find yours, and he would slowly slide it against yours.

“Do you want to?” He muttered between kisses.

Under the covers, his hand cascaded down your side in a way that tickled slightly, but also made you shiver.

He broke from his kiss to hold your eyes seriously. “We don’t have to.”

“No, I want to.” You reached up to hold his sleepy and puffy face in your hands.

Changbin said nothing more, but instead returned to weaving kisses back down your neck. Under your waist, you felt him angle up your hips higher and the heat of his tip teased at your entrance still slick with your arousal from before, and now renewed. He bowed his head down to your chest to pump himself with a few muffled grunts. After, he rose his head to hold your eyes with his own. The muscles on his arms flared where he held himself up, and those adorable little stretch marks in the corners of his arms moved with them.

“God, you’re so beautiful.”

You melted under his compliment. No matter who many times he had said it, you still weren’t use to it.

“So are youuuu.” You said with a dreamy tone. One other thing that you had figured out about him was that returning such comments to him made him a flustered mess. It was utterly adorable for someone as stoic as him at times.

“Psh.” He scoffed, then lowered his voice once again. “Beautiful how I fill you up sweetheart?” Changbin angled your waist up higher, then spread your thighs, finally pushing them into your body to tighten you. He aligned himself over you, then pushed himself in agonizingly slow. “Beautiful how I can fuck you so deep? How I can m-make you...”

He had given up on talking, but rather thrust himself further into you with his shaking breaths and little “mmm’s” getting caught on his tongue.

“B-Bin...fuck, f-feels s-so good--”

He pushed your legs up closer to your body, allowing himself greater access to graze your g-spot. Your busy fingers found their way around his back to claw all the way down. He still relished in taking his time with you, and would never rush fucking you--it was as if he had all the time in the world to unravel you. You returned around him, tightening has he fucked in and out with his own pace. After a while of doing the same, his hand crept around your neck to give you a couple choking squeezes that made you whimper out like a kitten. He would never keep it going for long however, but rather indulged himself in the way that your gasps would remind him of how good it all felt. After, Changbin dipped his thumb into your mouth to run the pad over your tongue.

The tip of his teeth caught the skin of his lip which he bit into hard.

“You feel so good baby. F-feels so good on my cock. It’s all for you angel.”

An unrestrained groan escaped from your mouth as he continued and your orgasm pooled steadily. In and attempt to steady yourself you clawed back into your pillow supporting your head.

He swiftly changed your position, taking both of his hands to turn you on your stomach. Without a pause he lead his swelling head back into your pussy where he kept on going at his favored slow pace. Your face smushed into the pillow with hips raised in the air. The fluffy fabric muffled your helpless moans.

“Louder for me princess.” He growled.

With one hand he arched over to tweak at your nipples with force: twisting and pulling, then he wet his hand with his own saliva to let your skin feel the cold and wet sensation. His other hand he used to reach around and rub circles into your clit. He was gentle at first, but worked your bud harder and faster. Your knees and legs shook the faster he rubbed, and you spilled your loudest and most unapologetic moans into the room that had risen in temperature.

“Fuck...” He swore. Changbin allowed himself to quicken his pace inside of you. The action alone sent you spinning wildly into your orgasm: a tear of white hot heat that shook your whole body and turned your swollen bud into a sensitive mess under his fingers which did stop, even when when he knew that you had just cum all over them. The harder he pressed, the more wonderfully painful it felt, and you let your tears fall hot from your eyes to the sheet. You attempted to call out his name, but no words that left your mouth made sense.

He turned your body once more, using brutish hands on your hips as he pulled you overtop of the sheets to fuck you into the bed once more with your sweating back stuck to the comforter. Your body shook with your orgasm still, and you needily brought his lips down to yours to kiss him with your thank you’s as he milked himself out in your tightening walls.

Changbin was animalistic in the way that he finally let his hips snap over you, at last reaching his orgasm mere seconds after he had pulled out and jerked himself over you. Ribbons of his white cum came spilling out over your gasping chest and stomach and dripped lazily from his pink and flaring tip. He took in shallow inhales as he did, and kept rubbing until the very end and he had nothing more to give. Even as his hand dropped, you took his dick in your own hand to just twist lightly and ride out the last of his orgasm. He softened in your hand with eyes closed in his focus and came down.

The combination of your lust held in the air for a few silent moments, then he collapsed back down next to you into a blushing and exhausted mess. His pink chest shook, and his soft heather eyes found you.

“We should...probably take a shower right?”

“Probably.” You grinned.

Changbin leaned over to plant even more sugary sweet kisses on top of your lips. He always was one to admire his work, so he chuckled lightly seeing the way that he had properly covered you in his cum.

“I can help you clean that off.”

The bed shook and he rose to get you something to clean up. You wished that you could’ve moved to see him saunter around your room without a single piece of clothing on. It was no secret that he had one hell of a cute butt.

Changbin helped you out of the bed, finding that your legs had started to shake and betray you a bit more harshly than you had intended. He ran the water for you both, inviting you in to take the task of cleaning you to himself. He took the suds in his own hands to brush them all over your body and took careful and gentle attention to the more sensitive parts of your body. He giggled a little at the way that even under the warm water, your nipples would still harden when he ghosted his fingers over them with soap.

“Don’t look at me like that.” You scolded him.

He took care of the little bruises on your neck and collarbones, giving them kisses under the clear stream of water as if he was healing them. After he was done, you did the same and cleaned out his hair with your shampoo. He always let out happy little groans when you would massage his scalp. He still had a couple scrapes on his face from a few weeks ago, so you kissed all of them too.

Changbin’s favorite part was how he could mess up your hair with the towel afterword and make you look as ridiculous as possible. Of course, you would do the same. You would brush your teeth together, and dress somewhat all of the way back again. A while ago he decided keeping clothes at your place was a good idea, but you ended up wearing them more than he did. You blamed it on dirty laundry, but you really did just like the way that they would smell all tangled up in your blankets on your nights alone.

With bare legs, you would tangle yourselves all up in eachother once more, and not even bother to look at what time it was then.

As it had become his habit, before the two of you drifted to sleep, Changbin would kiss into your forehead “l love you. You know?”

╚ ——————————————— ╝

Chocolatey goodness wafted up Felix’s nose, and he let out a happy little squeal.

“~Thank youuu~” He beamed to the waitress.

He took a careful sip not to burn his tongue, then turned his head to watch the way that the snow had started to flurry outside of the diner window. Minho flipped the pages of his book and pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose.

“Whatcha reading?” Felix said with a little tap of his feet under the table.

Rather than answering, Minho sighed out and closed his book. “Nothing now. If you’re gonna ask questions, then I’ll get distracted, so, nothing now.”

“Oh. Sorry.” Felix frowned.

Minho rolled his eyes, suddenly becoming exasperated over his new friend’s dramatic reaction.

“It was something that I’m assigned to read for one of my classes. It’s about economics or something like that. I’m kind of just skimming; reading because I have to....” He took a sip of his coffee. “Y/n should be reading the same book considering that we are in the same class...but I haven’t even seen you with it yet.”

You prodded at your plate of half eaten waffles. “About that...”

“If you think that I’m gonna give you the SparkNotes you are sorely mistaken.”

You writhed in your seat a bit like an upset toddler. “Come onnnnn, Minho, you know that I don’t have time for that, working at the library and such...”

“--More like stealing my roommate from me. I hardly see him at our apartment anymore.” Minho made his remark with a type of snark, but knowing him, he was still just as sarcastic.

“Yeah,” Felix piped up. “The three of us haven’t hung out in a while either!”

“...Sorry, I’ve just been getting...caught up in things.”

Minho cleared his throat. “I’m not saying that its a bad thing. It’s just something that I’ve noticed.”

Felix nodded, “Me too! I’m really happy for you!! So is Chan, don’t get me wrong. We haven’t seen you so happy and like, not serious in such a long time. Really, I’m so so glad that you have someone like him for a boyfriend.”

Your fork scratched your plate. “--Boyfriend?”

“Yeah!” Felix beamed. “Isn’t that what he is?”

Minho too held an expectant gaze.

“I-I don’t think...we hadn’t really talked about what it is that we’re doing...or are.”

“So you’re saying that he’s not your boyfriend?” Minho cocked his head in his confusion. “Well, you ask him and he’ll think that it’s a different story.”

“H-he talks about me?” You sat up straighter.

“Well, he hasn’t explicitly said anything, but the way that he never shuts the fuck up...” Minho suddenly became much more interested in his coffee.

“What? You don’t want him to be your boyfriend?” Felix looked just as confused.

In your hands, you crinkled up the napkin that you had resting on your lap. You hadn’t in fact, ever thought of such. Merely, you had thought that you loved him, and that you enjoyed being around him and that he had made you happy. Was it odd that the thought had never crossed your mind?

“And he hasn’t said anything about it either?” Felix leaned in. To his side, Minho nudged his arm in the most non-obvious way possible.

“...No?”

Your heartbeat quickened in pace.

“Af...after everything that happened back then? Didn’t you say that he like, confessed or something and you did the same? You’ve only been hanging out with eachother for weeks?” Felix pushed his cocoa away from himself to lay his hands flat on the table.

“I...don’t think that we should press the issue.” Minho patted down the boy sitting next to him.

It was the feeling that you had been avoiding for weeks: that kind of uncertainty and fear that you had pushed down so far after the night that it all came together, but you didn’t expect it to manifest like this. In your chest a knot tied itself together tightly and in a way that you couldn’t explain.

“I...just like what's happening right now between us, I didn’t think that he would want--”

Felix nudged Minho by the hip, motioning for him to let him out of his side of the booth. Minho rolled his eyes, but did so muttering, “I said we shouldn’t press the issue but here you go...”

Felix slid over to your side of the booth, nearly shoving you up close to the wall with how near he scooched to you. Carefully, he removed the napkin that you had scrunched up into your palm.

“Relax okay? You’re doing it again. Just calm down.” While his tone was sweet, you couldn’t help but find some condescending edge--real or not.

“Doing what? I don’t think that I’m doing anything wrong??”

Felix let you squeeze his hand tight, as patient as ever.

“Do you not want him to be your boyfriend?” He repeated. “But he treats you so nicely? There’s nothing to worry about.”

At first you were angry at yourself, angry at yourself for feeling the hot tears well up in your eyes in public,

I’m so fucking pathetic.

Secondly, you were furious at yourself for feeling anything less than the happiness that had made up your whole world for the past few weeks. You had worked so hard just to make something that made sense, and he made sense. Why did it have to be much more complicated than that?

“Y/n?” Felix bowed his head down with his softening gaze.

“F-Felix, I don’t want to talk about it.”

“I’m just trying to understand so I can help you out with this. Clearly there’s something that’s upsetting you about, I don’t know, putting a label on it? If that’s the right word--”

Minho sucked at his teeth, “He’s too nice to say that you’re self sabotaging again. Listen, you don’t have to have the answers right now, we’re just saying you’re getting in your own way at having something that could be really great.”

Felix shot daggers in Minho’s direction.

“I wasn’t gonna say this, but Bin’s been going through shit right now with his family that I’m sure he isn’t telling you about. Someone tipped them off about what he’s been doing and they’re furious. He’s been telling them that no one knows that he’s tied to them when he raps but they aren’t listening. Literally when he goes to see you it’s like, what’s helping him forget all that shit. He cares about you a fuck ton, and I’ve heard about it all. He wants you to be his girlfriend. Believe me. Don’t know why he hasn’t brought it up yet, but...”

Felix took in a shaky breath, then turned his attention back to you. “Besides all that, I think that you should at least talk to him about this all. I had no idea that you felt this way. I’m sorry for making assumptions. At least, if you and him talk about it, you can figure something out right?”

You took at the papery and crinkled napkin and dabbed it harshly on your eyes to dry your tears before they had a chance to run further down your face.

“Why the fuck doesn’t he tell me anything?” Your voice wavered.

Minho folded his hands on the table. “Knowing him, he probably thinks that it would be burdening to you. Selfless dick. He thinks that putting that shit on you somehow makes him seem like a handful or some shit.”

“B-but I don’t feel that way?”

“Then tell him!!” Felix’s volume rose. “When you talk to him, tell him that.”

“What the fuck is this, a drama?” Minho laughed a little. “These communication skills are god-awful.”

“Oh fuck off Minho,” Felix rubbed your back to soothe you. “This is real life, and we’re here to help out Y/n.”

“That’s fuck off Minho-hyung to you.” The older boy stuck out his tongue.

You wiped your nose against your hand, then Minho threw another napkin from the holder in your direction.

“I promise that things will get better when you talk to him.” Felix nodded. “Talking always helps.”

╚ ——————————————— ╝

Thursday afternoon came, and the forecast had called for snow, but none had come. Rather, the atmosphere had turned to be dreary and grey the whole day long, and the temperature dropped so low that some local schools had to cancel classes for the day. Your university had decided to do the same. While you had been thankful and decided to spend the day working on your various projects, you couldn’t bring your hand to the canvas.

All day long you had spent figuring out what it really was that you wanted to say to Changbin, and you still hadn’t figured it out yet. Even you didn’t know what it was entirely that scared you deeply. But, you knew that somewhere you did.

Why her?

You could do better.

Isn’t she...boring?

You hugged your legs to yourself as you waited on your couch. The memories seeped into your brain like some kind of poison diffusing its way.

No, no. You’re wrong. You tried your best to banish them.

You’re all mine. No one else’s. Don’t you ever forget that. Tell me. Who’s baby are you?

You squeezed your eyes shut, and dug your nails into the fleshy part of your knees where you held them.

You don’t own me. You don’t have the fucking power.

Three knocks clicked at your door, and you knew that it was Changbin. Your chest shook with a type of anxiety that felt like prickling thorns. You rose to open the door.

“Fuck. It’s so freezing out there.” Was the first thing that he said. “I wouldn’t mind not having to go back out there if you are?” He slung his coat over one of chairs to your two person dining table. As soon as he was undressed, you were overcome with the desire to be as close as possible as you could get to him. It had been your safe place.

Changbin let out a little surprised noise when you launched your body at him, but he just as quickly held you back firmly.

“Is everything okay?”

For a moment you let his rosemary and cedarwood cast aside all the ideas and words that ate away at you.

“Can we talk?” You mumbled.

“Yeah, of course. Can we sit down? Get a blanket maybe?” You nodded and let him do the work of going back to your room to get back your knit blanket that he knew you liked best. He threw it over his shoulders them beckoned you to join him in his arms. You snuggled right up into his chest where he had tucked himself into the corner of the couch. “Want to talk about it now?”

With glistening eyes you tried your best to look up at him. His cheeks were still bitten pink from the cold.

“Why didn’t you ever tell me about your parents? Or about what’s going on right now?”

Changbin sighed and bit at his lower lip in his discontent. “Minho said something didn’t he?”

“You can tell me, you know?”

Changbin shook his head. “It’s not your problem to worry about, so I don’t want you do.”

“But you’re my problem to worry about. Don’t you get that?”

He sighed once more, then rested his head atop of yours. Where he held you around your arms, he rubbed gently.

“And if...being with me helps you...I’ll come around anytime alright? You don’t just have to come here.”

He laughed a little. “My place isn’t as private as yours is.”

You toyed with the fraying fabric of the blanket. “You know that I can be quiet if I need to be. Or if you just want me to sleep over, I can do that too.”

“I don’t want you going out of your way--”

“--I don’t mind.” You nuzzled a little deeper. “So, your parents are giving you a hard time?”

He tsked. “Yeah. It’s just...stupid is all. They care so much about what I do and don’t do when I left so it wouldn’t bother them. They’re trying hand out some kind of threats to me like they have the right to do so....they don’t.”

“What are you going to do?”

Changbin helped you up a bit higher up his body so your head could rest on his shoulder. “Nothing. Keep doing what I’ve always been. No one knows except the people I have closest to me. They’re worrying over nothing.”

You formed a “oh” with your lips.

“But, it’s nothing to worry about. I promise.”

Already, you had forgotten what you really had decided to talk to him about. It had slipped from your mind just as quickly as you had let it arise. The two of you grew quiet, and you let yourself become overcome with the feeling and warmth that his body and the blanket gave to you. You wondered if he would’ve gotten mad if you had fallen asleep just then. It didn’t seem like the worst idea.

“As long as we’re talking about things, do you mind if I ask you something?” Changbin asked after planting a small kiss on your forehead.

“What’s that?” You said with a sleepy and cracking voice.

“You...don’t have to have the answer right now, but I just thought it would be worth it to ask, since we’ve been doing you know, this, for a few weeks now. You already know how I feel about you, I think that I’ve made it pretty damn clear, but, I was thinking that we could make things exclusive between us? Like, it just becomes me and you?”

Drip by drip, the drowsiness that had swept over your eyes dissipated.

“Would you be up for that? I just, it seems a bit odd to me that we haven’t talked about it yet considering...well, I think that it would be easier if we knew what we were so then we could, I don’t know, plan or something like that? It’s kind of a commitment, I know, but I want you to know that I’m willing--”

“Bin...” You pulled yourself up from his chest.

“What? Why are you looking at me like that? Did-did I say something wrong?”

Who’s baby are you?

“You want me to...be yours?”

“Well, not exactly, you know what I’ve said before, but, I would like you to be my girlfriend--”

A sob clogged your throat. Now that he had finally said it, the realizations came flooding over you like the deathly winter chill.

“Angel, are you scared again? I told you that you don’t have to with me, I swear that I don’t ever want to hurt you or anything like what happ--”

“--Like happened what? Back when I was so fucking stupid to get myself locked up in something that I thought would be good for me? Why is it that you want me to be your girlfriend, huh? I-is it because I-I fall over for you? I can’t run away from you? Am-am I just a good fuck for you? What is it?”

“What the fuck? Where is this coming from? Y/n, you know that I love you, I fucking love you like crazy and I don’t think any of those things!! I’m not trying to restrain you our use you or anything like that, I don’t know why the hell you would think that!”

“B-because you might not now, but what about later down the line...when I get boring or you figure out that I’m not as exciting like I used to be or--”

“--What?! No! That’s not gonna happen!” Changbin reached out to pull you back into his arms, but you shook him off.

Salty tears filled the corners of your mouth. “The last time that I-I did something like this, I--”

“--Well this isn’t last time, this is this time, okay? It’s different! I swear to God that I’m not that fucking asshole. I get that you’re scared, okay, that’s totally understandable, but I��m asking you to trust me alright? Can you trust me?”

Part of you wanted to trust him. In fact, a much larger part of yourself wanted to trust him so bad, it hurt. But, a smaller part of you, a much smaller part of you still screamed into the abyss that he was the last person in the world that you could trust; and that voice, was much louder.

“I want you to be my girlfriend, and I want to give you everything that I have. All my fucking time, my attention, hell, just minutes ago you said that I was your problem, can’t you be mine? Is that not allowed? I’m just...I DON’T get you!!!” Changbin growled out the tail end of his sentence and only after he had said it he realized it was much louder than he intended. “Oh God, I’m so sorry, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean...please. I’m not mad at you.”

Your body had weakened, so when he had reached out for you, you let yourself fall into his arms.

“Angel, can’t you see that what I’m trying to do is the complete opposite of what you think I am? Yeah I mean, it would be nice to call you my girlfriend, but not because I’m trying to control you or anything, but because...fuck, you make me happier, made me feel like I’m less lonely in this fucking crazy-ass world. I want to be that for you and you only.”

Poisonous thoughts. Why were they even more alluring than the antidote that you had right in front of your face?

Your limp body mustered up the strength of push yourself off his chest. Looking into his eyes you felt numb. With all the care that he held for you, you felt as if you didn’t deserve one single ounce of it.

Why her?

You figured that in some parallel earth, you would’ve been able to have said yes. In that parallel earth, nothing bad would’ve ever happened, and you wouldn’t have been crouched in that alley with snow melting into your dress. You would’ve lived a normal life without pain and doubt. Maybe you would’ve met him there too, and you would’ve been able to say yes.

“You...don’t have to have the answer right now, but can you please consider it...for me? I meant everything that I said, but I...I also can’t wait forever.” You heard his voice grow thick. “I know that if...you can’t do it, or iff you don’t know, then I can’t just make it happen. There’s not a lot else that I can do. But at least I want to try.”

You could do better.

“I-I think that I need to be alone...right now--tonight.” Two more hot tears fell down your cheeks with a sting like a papercut.

“Right now?”

“Yeah, just--there’s things that I need to think about, I don’t..I don’t know. I’m sorry.”

“No. I understand.” Changbin sniffled.

Slowly, your two bodies seperated, and the heat from his body faded. You thought to yourself, it wasn’t yours to keep in the first place.

You lead him quietly to the door where you watched him lace up his shoes and throw on his coat. His eyes had become puffy, as much as you figured you had looked as well. His grey eyes looked tired, just like the dreary day that you had spent all day hiding from. Still, he smiled.

“Y/n. I know that you think that you’re hard to love. But you’re not. If you take away anything from this, I hope you know that your past doesn’t define you, and that you can have happiness after it all. I want to be that for you. If you’ll let me. Only if you’ll let me.”

Your clogged nose made a horrible stuffed sound and you nodded. You had listened to his words, but had you heard?

He sighed with finality, then bent down to kiss at the salty taste on your lips.

“Call me, okay?”

You closed the door after him, then collapsed down the door. Your pent up sobs flew out of your chest with loud and ugly sounding sobs. Each one hurt more than the last to get out. You crumbled against the wood door, and didn’t even mind the cool draft from under the crack. Your world became a blur in front of your watery eyes and your hands shook as they took your phone from your pocket.

Words of self loathing filled your ears as you searched up the name, but it was the only one that you could think of in your blind emptiness.

If only things could go back to the way that they were.

╚ ——————————————— ╝

The walk to his apartment was cold, freezing even. You had worn the shoes that you had been scolded for, and the coat that provided you with barely any warmth. You knew the way to his apartment well--it was almost muscle memory by now. Streetlights passed you overhead, and finally the snow that was promised started to drift from the heavens and before you.

Your hands cracked with the cold when you pushed the button to his intercom, and he buzzed you in without saying a word. You showed yourself up the staircase with empty sounding footsteps echoing against the walls. Your eyes had welled with tears once you reached his floor, but you blinked them away harshly. It was a futile attempt considering that he would see how red your eyes had become.

His door was cracked with old paint, and the number had been scratched off with age. You knocked one time, no more than that. Somewhere a tiny voice had hoped that he wouldn’t hear the knock at all, and figure that you hadn’t even come up, and that you could quietly slip back away.

But he didn’t. He must’ve been waiting.

He too looked to be a mess: his cheeks and eyes had puffed up and he looked as if he hadn’t slept in days. He wore minimal clothing that hung loosely on his frame.

“--Jisung--”

Before you could say any more, he had leapt into you, and wrapped his arms around you so tightly that he could’ve rid you of all your breath.

“Baby, thank you so much for coming. Thank you so much. I’m sorry how I acted at the concert. I just missed you so much....I missed you so much.”

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lluvguts · 3 years

Text

Cool Blue ; Chapter One

⤹⋆⸙͎۪۫｡˚۰˚☽˚⤹⋆⸙͎۪۫｡˚۰˚☽˚⤹⋆⸙͎۪۫｡˚

through sunsets we wander

⤹⋆⸙͎۪۫｡˚۰˚☽˚⤹⋆⸙͎۪۫｡˚۰˚☽˚⤹⋆⸙͎۪۫｡˚

☽ warnings: none

☽ fic masterlist

⤹⋆⸙͎۪۫｡˚۰˚☽˚⤹⋆⸙͎۪۫｡˚۰˚☽˚⤹⋆⸙͎۪۫｡˚

By the time Alberto had rowed out into the furthest stretch of waters toward that quaint little island he'd been eyeing for months, it was already nearing dinnertime. He promised his foster father, Massimo, and younger sister, Giulia, he would return to the Marcovaldo home with a lovely new piece for their kitchen or else Massimo's hearty dish of alfredo wouldn't be served to him.

Alberto had grinned at the promise. He knew that even if he came home with a stick figure drawing of himself, sitting cheekily on a beach someplace, they'd hang it on the icebox and love it regardless.

He'd done a few paintings of the sunset from their home, sure, but it was the beautiful curve of greenery this approaching island offered that Alberto just couldn't refuse. There hung something familiar in it's many trees and overgrown bushes somehow, but Alberto just wasn't able to place it. As he neared he hurried to moor the boat by the section of the island mostly taken up by dark, porous shore rocks. He chanced to teeter at the bow before jumping onto the closest boulder, its surface nicking his heels in a few spots but he didn't mind. He hated to wear shoes ever since he was a child, and Massimo had even claimed when he'd discovered Alberto as a wide-eyed toddler, he was absolutely shoe-free. The ground was damp with the constant ebb and flow of the ocean, and for the heat seeping into Alberto's toes from the sparkling sun-kissed sand, he felt oddly at home.

Alberto glanced at the sun, hardly able to resist reaching out a hand to remark on the beauty of it. He spun back to fetch his bag of paint supplies, clutching the case to his broad chest so as not to let anything plop into the ocean. From where he was standing, precariously but full of glee on the rocky shoreline, there was a small alcove just beyond Alberto's line of sight. There were a few times he'd wished he'd brought at least a pair of sandals--or perhaps he could use his work smock and tie it around his heels--as he walked down the beach, because the ground was steadily rising in temperature as the sun baked the sand, but he tried not to complain much when there was so much to marvel around him.

He set his bag down on the ground by a rocky pool, which Alberto promptly sat beside and rolled his pantlegs up so he could dangle his ankles in the warm water. From where he sat, he was given a perfect view of the sun, creeping closer and closer to the horizon, so Alberto pulled out his pad of paper and a few pencils just to sketch for a while. He shaded the trees around him, drew each jagged rock, and perfected the way the sun kissed the ocean and left sparkling trails down the horizon. He could draw today, just to soak up the scenery and get his concepts down, then bring out the paints tomorrow. Massimo would probably joke and ruffle his already messed up head of curls once he got back, with smudged fingers and no canvas, but say all was fine. As he worked he hummed to himself, a song from some old record Giulia played on their gramophone (or, as a younger Alberto favored calling it, the magic-singing-lady-machine) after dinner and the kids were cleaning up. Still focused on the page, steadily filling, Alberto reached out a hand and groped around in his bag for an eraser without looking. When he didn't find one, he grumbled a bit and pulled his hand back, only to realize he'd shook loose a few sticks of charcoal and a paintbrush that rolled across the ground and fell, soundlessly, into the pool. The brush floated along the surface but the rest slipped below the surface.

"Merda!" Alberto hissed, trying to grapple one of the charcoals with his toes but it only sank further into the murky blue below. He shut his eyes and opened them again, more than willing to dive down there and retrieve those precious charcoal sticks. They cost him quite a few allowances and extra shifts at the Pescheria.

But then something happened that made Alberto leap from his spot and hold his dripping knees closer to his chest.

One stick of charcoal was flung from the pool and landed on the grass a few feet from Alberto's bag, soaking the ground in black. Then came up another, this time closer to Alberto. He flinched at the torrent of gravity-defying art supplies, allowing himself to inch closer to the mouth of the pool, reflecting his green eyes wide, breath held, waiting. Another reflection flashed across the pool's surface, something vibrant that made Alberto look up. But there were no trees or even a bird to cast the reflection.

Alberto let his head fall. And, blinking back at him, with the paintbrush that had been bobbing balanced on its nose, was what looked like a fish. But fish didn't have huge yellow eyes that made Alberto think of his cat at home, Machi, but not in an endearing way. Fish weren't that smart. Alberto had seen sea turtles and dolphins many times before, and they were intelligent, sure, but nothing compared to the humanlike stare this creature had fixed on him now. It stuck it's face out of the water, wincing at the harsh sunlight making its scales shine a deep teal. When its big yellow eyes trained back on Alberto, he saw the creatures features darken from underneath the water line.

"I think you dropped this," It whispered, in such a soft and shy way it made Alberto take in a ragged breath. Okay, fish definitely didn't do that. Was this thing...actually talking to him? The creature stuck its webbed fingers from the pool and took the paintbrush, staring at it for a moment before handing it out to a speechless Alberto.

"Woah! Uh...H-Hello?" Alberto breathed, gingerly taking back the brush.

The not-fish waved, only a slight shake of its hand above the surface of the water, and Alberto noticed the thin claws on the ends of its fingers.

"I'm not supposed to talk to you," It whispered again. Alberto watched the stream of bubbles that floated along the pool's surface as it talked. He still had no idea what he was conversing with, the creature seeming less and less like a fish and more as something from his imagination. It waded in the small pool, he noticed, forearms paddling softly without stirring the water. Its movements so effortless it left Alberto in awe. And if he gazed into the deeper parts of the water, he swore he saw a tail lazily lapping behind the creature.

"I...uh, I could only imagine why," Alberto squeaked. The paintbrush was still in his hands but he was now gripping it so tight his tan skin was turning white at the knuckles.

The creature stifled a giggle by placing one clawed hand to its mouth, but even still Alberto caught a glimpse of its sharp teeth. If he hadn't run away now, that was a pretty good red flag to be packing his things and high-tailing home--but he didn't. He wasn't exactly afraid of this thing staring back at him. Just a bit baffled by it, he was dying to look closer but the more Alberto craned his neck down into the pool to see, the creature shied back into the depths.

"What are you?" Alberto asked aloud, more to himself but still he knew the thing heard him. "Sorry! Was that rude? I'm not trying to be mean, but you aren't exactly the type of seal we'd see in Portorosso."

The creature's cheeks turned a darker blue, and it glared at Alberto. "I am not a seal." It hissed, its tiny lip pulled back to reveal that set of sharp teeth again.

"I get it! I get it! I said I was sorry! I'm just trying to figure this all out," Alberto scratched his head, looking back at his sketchbook for a moment.

"I don't even look anything like a seal!" It was still stuck on the stupid seal comment, with its blue eyebrows furrowed and eyes dark. The more Alberto heard the creature talk he realized, with a flush of embarrassment or something else, that it was a boy. Not a thing. Not an it.

"Okay, so you're not a seal. We've established this." Alberto was gathering his sketchbook and supplies to put back in the bag. The paintbrush was resting at the mouth of the pool. "Are you some type of...seahorse? Or an overgrown fish?"

The boy spit out a stream of water into Alberto's face.

"I'm a monster," He said promptly, his voice on the edge of staying shy or holding a grudge for the seal comment. "So...you should be afraid of me."

Alberto let out a laugh. This cute little thing? "Sure, sure. That makes much more sense." He stuck out his hand at the boy. "Well, nice to meet you, sea monster...Or, uh, whatever you are. I'm Alberto Marcovaldo."

"Alberto..." The boy repeated in a hushed voice, looking down at the water now as he said it. He flinched backward at Alberto's hand, looking up at his fingers with burning yellow eyes. Without knowing much of what to do, the boy kicked his legs until he was treading the water, letting the top of his head graze Alberto's open palm. The small fins around the crown of his head brushed Alberto's hand, smooth and slippery like seaweed. Alberto decided he was quite pleased with the weird texture of it.

The boy closed his eyes and let out a small noise, the side of his face now pressed to Alberto's hand. He had a fin on his cheek that neared his fingertips, and when Alberto touched it the boy trilled, almost in greeting.

"Oh, uh, are you ok? I think you're supposed to shake my hand." Alberto stated. He found his face felt uncomfortably hot watching the weird gesture the boy had just made, and even more so at the soft noises rumbling in his throat.

For a moment the creature considered extending his hand and taking Alberto's outstretched fingers, but stopped with a low growl, blushing blue.

"I'm--ugh! I'm not even supposed to be out here!" He wailed. "If they find me out here with, with a land monster? My mom's gonna kill me! I've uh, I've got to go, so um..." The boy looked at Alberto's paintbrush sitting within his reach and took it.

"Goodbye."

He ducked back under the water. In a second his head of blue fins dashed back up.

"Forever."

Land monster? Alberto could laugh. He'd never heard that one before. But he scanned the mess before him, the slimy puddle of water next to his leg that the boy had left when he took (stole) his paintbrush, the droplets scattered along his sketchbook, all blazing in angry red as the sun finished its journey along the sky.

Alberto scrambled up from his spot, mentally slapping himself. He had a hard time rowing the boat this far out while it was daytime, it was sure going to be hell finding his way home in the near darkness. As he stumbled along the shore and dropped his things into the boat, he wondered if he had the right paint colors for the boy's eyes.

Wait, he hadn't even gotten his name! Do sea monster-things have names? Like humans do? Oh, what did it matter? The boy said he could never come back to the island again. Their awkward five minute interaction was all they had. But Alberto was still stewing it all over as he made his way back to Portorosso, now relying on the oil lamp beside him and the glowing stars above.

/ / /

"Figlio, you're late."

Alberto rushed to hang up his bag and wash his hands. Giulia seemed to have been stuck with doing Alberto's dinner chores in his absence, setting the table and pouring waters. When he passed her she stuck her tongue out at him and smashed his offending pinky toe with her sandal.

"Ouch!" Alberto steeled his eyes at her from across the table, but she only grinned devilishly. Massimo was still expecting some sort of apology for almost missing dinner so he cleared his throat and pulled back the chair for his father to sit. "Sorry, Papa. The place where I set up my paints was pretty far, and I got carried away and lost track of time."

"Blech, Alberto, you stupido, at least change your clothes...you reek like fish..." Giulia sneered as Massimo handed them their plates.

"Hush, Giulia." Signor Marcovaldo gave her a small pat on her shoulder then turned to Alberto. All concern lost, he asked. "Where did you go to paint?"

"The island...?" Alberto chanced a look across his water glass to see their equal expression of shock and horror.

"The island?" Giulia shrieked. She let her fork fall and alfredo sauce splattered on the table cloth. "Fratello, that place is swarming with monstro marino!"

"Sea monsters, really Giulia?" Alberto tried to sound calm, but his heart rate picked up. "There's no such thing."

"Actually, Alberto, there is." Massimo pointed to the newspaper clippings decorating one kitchen wall, still frames of what appeared to be creatures with glistening teeth and bloodied scales.

"But Papa, those papers are fake! You said so yourself! Ercole's father only made those to scare people." Alberto argued.

"They are a menace to this town." Massimo stared into his plate of pasta. "My only hope is that you never get to see so yourself. They are killers."

Well, the one I met today didn't seem like a bloodthirsty monster, Alberto wanted to spit back, but held his tongue.

"Did you at least get to draw anything?" Giulia asked. Alberto sighed, glad they let the subject on sea monsters drop for the time being.

"Y-Yeah! I actually did," He boasted, rising from the table to fetch his bag. He undid the latch and took out his sketchbook, walking while flipping the latest page open for Giulia and Massimo to see.

Giulia's eyes widened and she barked out a laugh. Massimo smiled faintly, giving Alberto a solitary thumbs up.

"What? What are you laughing about?" Alberto turned the paper around and gasped. The entire page was warped and still damp, the lovely pencil drawings now only faint grey smears along the paper.

"That's-That's not funny!" Alberto growled at Giulia, who was wiping a tear from the corner of her eye. "It was the boat! A wave must have hit the side, or something!"

"Oh, yeah, Alberto. Blame the boat," Giulia giggled.

Alberto huffed and slumped back into his seat. That sea monster.

Machiavelli sashayed into the kitchen, smelling the dinner on the table or perhaps the laughter lightening the air. He curled up next to Alberto's leg on the ground, rubbing his cheek and whiskers along his bare ankle, purring for a taste of the alfredo sauce.

"No, Machi. You can't eat human food." Alberto chastened him, nudging his face away from the table leg. Giulia laughed harder.

"Hah! He smells the fish on you, 'Berto! Were you taking a swim with Papa's catch today, hmm?"

"Giulia, I said that was enough!"

He smells the sea monster on me, Alberto thought. He glanced down at Machi again and stiffened when he realized his purrs had really been growls.

/ / /

"Oh, Giuseppe, I'm so stupid!" Luca dropped his head into his hands and a flurry of bubbles chased his fins. "I can't believe I actually talked to him!"

The school of fish floated beside Luca, unblinking. Giuseppe, the goatfish in interrogation, only blew a tired bubble from his mouth and huddled closer to Luca.

"I saw these weird sticks floating into the water, and they stained the water black like those oil spills Momma had warned be about, but still I went to see what it was!" Luca took Giuseppe by the hand and cradled him to his chest. "I wasn't expecting to see a land monster up there. I just didn't want those things in the water."

"But," Luca continued to himself, as his herd of fish were clearly unable to do much of anything, least of all lend him advice. "That weird stick with the soft thing at the end was really pretty, Giuseppe. It was purple! The wood was purple! How did he do that?"

"It was Alberto that did that, I think. He painted it purple." Luca jumped up in glee, then floated gracefully back onto the rock he'd been sitting on, giggling at the dark sea above.

"Ugh!" Luca was a ball of emotions. "How could I be such an idiota? I took something from The Surface! I had to hide it, of course, but still!" He pet Giuseppe's scales and the goatfish blew some bubbles in Luca's face to calm him down. "He looked so much different than the way Momma talks about the land monsters. Alberto wasn't scary...he didn't have a harpoon, so that's a good sign, right?"

Luca looked to Giuseppe, and sighed. "I don't know what's happening to me..." Luca murmured to himself, gingerly touching his face and remarking how warm it was in the cool ocean water. It had been like that when Alberto was watching him too, with those bright green eyes. Green like the sea glass Luca had collecting on the rocky ledge of his bedroom cave. When he stared at Alberto, something tingled in his belly, burning low and delightful. He knew what that meant, though he tried to press it down into his abdomen until the feeling eventually drifted away.

"Oh, sharks, I'm just a dumb little crab, aren't I? I even tried to scent him! But I couldn't help it! That land monster smelled so...different. Like the sun, you know? All warm and fuzzy...it was so sweet. Oh, if Momma finds out about this...It's not good, Giuseppe. Not good at all."

"Luca, tesoro it's time for dinner!" Signore Paguro called from a few yard away in the Paguro home. Luca gasped and a trail of frightened bubbles drifted pass his eyes. He grabbed his moss-covered staff and herded the school into a more manageable spot for the night, and swam toward home.

#luca #luca movie #luberto #luberto fanfiction #luca paguro #luca fanfiction #alberto scorfano #luca x alberto #luca and alberto #luca 2021 #gay fish boys #luca pixar #disney luca

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deathisanartmetzli · 3 years

Text

Two for One || Bex & Metzli

TIMING: Current

PARTIES: @inbextween @deathisanartmetzli

SUMMARY: Metzli gets more than just a donation from Bex, and they really don’t like it.

CONTAINS: TW- Mentions of Child Death, Mentions of Parental Death, Mentions of Domestic Abuse, Mentions of Homophobia and Transphobia, Vampire Compelling-

It wasn’t technically nerves that coursed through Bex as the uber pulled up to the art gallery, but there was a sense of excitement tingeing her cheeks. On Bex, it could have easily been mistaken for anxiety or nerves, as she stared wide-eyed up at the sign above the doors. There were so many things she didn’t know about White Crest and it’s people, and she found herself almost desperate to know them. Desperate to know the world she was always supposed to be part of. Anyone who offered even a morsel of that was on her list of people to talk to, to befriend, to know. Metzli was at the top of the list, if only because they hadn’t beat around the bush with anything, and Bex appreciated the candor. As well as the shmoozing. It wasn’t necessary, she’d write them a check for whatever amount they wanted, but it was still...flattering. She was still letting herself get used to being okay with being openly out, and it felt nice, she supposed, to be seen in that way. Not that she needed it! Mina was more than enough, and Bex wasn’t that daft (though she still was holding out hope that maybe Metzli was just being nice, maybe they were just trying to butter her up and just wanted to be her friend), but as she always did, she wanted to give them a chance, first. She couldn’t help it, it was as much a flaw as it was a strength. She supposed it was only a matter of time before it bit her in the ass, but she was really hoping that wouldn’t be the case here.

Pushing the front door open, Bex glanced up as the bell chimed to announce her arrival. It was quiet inside, no one else was really around, and she was grateful for that-- she still had a hard time in crowds, fearing the magic that pulsed beneath her fingers, and what harm it could do to people. But Metzli was a vampire, and her magic was mostly harmless against the undead. Which, again, both good and bad. Sai hadn’t taught her any barrier spells yet, so she really had no way to defend herself, other than the can of mace she always carried in her purse. It was a last resort only, though.

Bex perked up when she heard footsteps approaching and grinned, smoothing down the fringes of her dress. “Hi! It’s-- you’re Metzli, right? It’s me. Bex. But you probably already figured that out. Sorry. I’m much better at talking online.” Held her hand out. “It’s nice to finally meet you for, like, real!”

The prospect of meeting Bex in person was one that Metzli looked forward to greatly. Not only was she going to donate to the gallery, but she was a possible fun friend to get…close to. Needless to say, when Bex walked through the door, the vampire was excited, no, tantalizingly thrilled. “Yes, I am. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Bex.” They took Bex’s hand, their hand firm and extremely cold. Acting on their dated customs, they bowed and laid a gentle kiss to the back of her hand. Their smile was one that could win the hearts of most, and could melt even the coldest of them.

Metzli always wore suits to the gallery, but chose the best ones this week in anticipation of this meeting. Today they sported a blue suit with a plaid pattern, a black tie, and black dress shoes to complete the ensemble. Trying to “put their best foot forward,” if you will. “You’re certainly an energetic one. I like that.” Their smile grew wider, not too wide as to cause alarm, but enough to make the warmth grow. “Welcome to my gallery,” Arms extended as they gestured to the open building. “Would you like anything to drink before I give you the tour? Water, wine?” They asked, adjusting the cuffs of their shirt.

“I keep an assortment of reds, but I have some sparkling whites if you prefer,” Metzli continued, trying to be the best host possible. Though Bex did say she would donate regardless, the vampire had to put on a show.

Bex had eyes, good eye sight at that, and they stuck on Metzli’s form as they approached, on the rather suave suit they were wearing, and she felt her inside begin to vibrate. Maybe this was a bad idea. This could go bad very quickly. Really, all she had to do to solve her problem was tell Metzli she had a girlfriend, but how was she supposed to insert that into casual conversation? And why was it that the words still stuck in her throat? She glanced around the gallery again and found it still empty and wondered how long it would take her mind-- and her body-- to stop sending alarms to run away when confronted publicly with her queerness. But it was just...looking. Nothing would happen. She could look. And so she looked.

“Oh, well, don’t get too excited. Sometimes my energy can be a lot. I don’t shut up half the time and then most of the time I don’t even realize I’m not shutting up or talking too much. It’s really kind of a drag. Blessing and a curse? It’s-- see? I’m kind of already doing it.” She took Metzli’s hand to shut herself up and felt a chill run up her arm, into her spine. They felt like Morgan’s hands, cool, soft, but where Morgan’s grip was always gentle, Metzli’s was firm. The swift kiss to the back of her hand just as cold, despite the warmth now in her cheeks. “I-I’m okay right now! Why don’t we just save the drinking for later?”

Her dress-- a nice dress, but certainly not her nicest-- was a blue number, with a floral pattern and frilly, short sleeves. She liked to dress up nice-- an old habit she didn’t really know how to break-- but now she was wondering if, maybe, a more casual outfit would’ve been a better idea. “So how long have you been doing art? Did you own a gallery before this? Where did you live before this?”

Metzli could always tell when they were being checked out, which was often. Confidence emanated from them as they ogled back, a little more subtly. The way Bex stuttered only made them feel empowered, like they had her right where they wanted her. It was something they enjoyed a lot, maybe too much. “As you wish, cariña.” They replied flirtatiously and motioned for her to follow them.

“Please, follow me. I’ll answer your questions along the way as I lead you through the current showings, and maybe if you want, I can show you…the secret gallery. But that’ll have to wait until the end.” Metzli guided Bex down a hallway that led to a large, open room filled with sculptures and paintings. “In this section, I have a collection of works by local artists. Several of which were donated, and many others purchased right from the artists themselves. And if you look in the back corner, you’ll see my most recent painting.” A large painting of a decaying crow was on display. So far it had received much praise and was one of their favorites as of yet.

“As for your current questions, I’ve been practicing art, painting in particular, for about 90 years. After roaming for a bit once I left my clan, I decided to open my first gallery, this very one. I traveled all the way from Jalisco, Mexico. I resided there until I heard of White Crest. It took a while, but I finally made it here. Word travels far when it comes to special places.”

It was just Metzli being nice, Bex told herself. Obviously that’s all it was. They were just being nice because people could just be nice without any ulterior motive. Bex truly believed that. She really wanted to believe that right now. She could convince herself of that. Why would anyone want to flirt with her anyway? Especially a vampire who owned their own art gallery and had probably seen so much in the world. Someone like Bex wasn’t worth that time or effort. They were just being nice because Bex was donating to their gallery, that was all. Surely that was all.

She followed behind Metzli and stepped into the large room that displayed, as they explained it, the local works. Her gaze traced across all the different pieces on display, mouth slightly agape. She hadn’t known there were so many talented people right here in White Crest, but, really, what did she know about White Crest? Not much. It had been stolen from her. She was drawn towards a sculpture in the middle, of some sort of nightmarish, amorphous creature. Her eyes skated over the piece and she longed to reach out and touch it, but held herself back, looking up again when Metzli pointed out their own work.

“Oh, you painted that one!?” She moved quickly towards it, drawn in by the glowing red eye of the crow. It looked half dead, perhaps decaying, encompassing the canvas, and Bex stared at it in wonder. She’d always wished her hands were disciplined enough to put down onto paper what was in her mind, her dreams. Drawing maps of made-up worlds hardly counted. She glanced back over at Metzli, realizing how close she’d gotten to the painting and stepped away. “It’s beautiful.”

Bex had almost forgotten Metzli’s undead-ness, and balked for only a moment when they announced they’d been at this for ninety years. Her grandmother wasn’t even that old. Hands skated over the ridges of the painting, only touching the air in front of it as if she were a ghost. “What did you do before, then?” Looked back over at Metzli, eyes wide with wonder. “Ninety years is a long time. I can’t even imagine being alive for that long, let alone practicing something for all that time…”

Metzli watched as Bex marveled at their painting. Their skill always did a number on women. It was one of the many benefits of honing it. “Before? Oh, well…I didn’t do much of anything besides what my master commanded. Going into those details is not something I will do, though.” Their arms rested behind their back as they spoke, and their voice took on a more serious tone. Memories of that time flooded their mind, making them squeeze their eyes shut to push them away.

Once their eyes opened again, they slapped a smile on their face and turned to face the other pieces in the gallery. “Thank you for your praise. It’s always a pleasure to see my art taken so well.” Metzli continued walking away, motioning Bex once again to follow them. “Next I’ll show you the works I’ve collected nationwide, and even internationally. The collection is smaller, but still striking.”

They felt a little off. The flashes of memories long past made their facade wane slightly and they used the short walk to collect themselves. Showing the gallery to Bex was supposed to be an easy way to get money and possibly a fun time for the night. It was not supposed to make them feel any sort of way. Especially not sad. Lucky for Metzli, the moment of sorrow quickly passed and they moved on. “Do you have any further questions?”

Bex drew her brows in concern, worried she might’ve said something that upset Metzli. She had never been any good at telling people’s emotions from their faces, but the one thing she could recognize aside from anger-- perhaps even more so than-- was sorrow. It passed briefly over Metzli’s face and Bex turned her gaze away, pretending to have not seen it at all. Sorrow was something felt in solitude. It didn’t need to be looked at the way art was. She shifted her gaze back up when Metzli spoke up again, and Bex moved away from the painting and towards them. “It’s incredible,” she said again, stealing one more glance at it before they exited the room. “You’re incredible.”

As they walked, Bex wondered. She couldn’t help it. Her mind raced away with thoughts all the time, and Metzli’s words were making trails through her mind like a flood. Their master, whatever that meant, had made them do things. Probably things they hadn’t wanted to do, from the sound of it. Bex could understand that. Maybe too closely. Her parents had controlled everything about her life, so much to the point that the freedom she now enjoyed felt wrong. She didn’t know what to do with it. She blinked from her thoughts when Metzli spoke up again and found herself in a new room. “Oh, um-- you mentioned that you do, like, community stuff. Art classes. What kind of classes are they? And how often? Do you do them here? If you need a bigger space, I could probably give you the money for that. And supplies. Really, just, whatever you might need. I think a place like this is worth investing in.” She smiled, gently, sweetly. Her father would’ve called this a waste and her mother would have scolded her, but they weren’t around anymore, and even if Bex didn’t know how to feel about her new found freedom, she wasn't going to waste it.

Bex’s comment didn’t go unheard, but with their ego, they were just going to gloss over it so they wouldn’t blow their cover. “Oh, the art classes are held in these two rooms.” Metzli trotted over to two doors next to each other. “Currently only one is being used for now. I’m setting up the other for sculpture classes. Everything has been purchased out of my own pocket, so it’s taking longer than I’d like. But, the painting classes are held every Tuesday and Thursday. Rookies on Tuesday’s and Novices on Thursday’s. With your donation I’ll be able to hire a sculpting teacher and continue to purchase the supplies necessary.”

The excitement in Metzli’s voice surprised them. Crest Works Art was their pride and joy. It was their dream to use art to heal, only themselves and maybe a few others inadvertently, but that was something for them to know, not anyone else. “I was honestly only expecting a donation of five grand, which is more than enough.” The truth of the matter was that they were lowballing in hopes of getting more. The money would help the gallery but the leftovers would go to them. But the more they discussed the matter, the more they wanted it for the gallery. What the hell was going on?

“Whatever you see best though, is just fine. It would be an honor to take a donation from Miss Not-So-Fragile.” Metzli referenced an earlier message the two shared, clearly turning on their charm again. It was an attempt to get back in the zone, get back to what they were supposed to be doing. Which was not getting lost in pointless emotions.

“Out of your own pocket? Wow, you must really love this place,” Bex sighed, a bit of a dreamy tone to her voice as she did. She reached out and slid her fingers along the cool wall, between two of the paintings. Sometimes, she liked to believe she could feel the energy in the world, she was supposed to be able to, as a spellcaster. When she was outside, she could swear she could hear the thrum of the earth, as energy flowed through it, like invisible rivers. It was in everything. She wished she could feel that all the time, like the moonlight with Sai, and the warmth with Mina. “White Crest is lucky to have you here,” she said again, smiling.

“Oh, only five-thousand?” Bex didn’t really know how much was a good donation amount, but in the end, she’d decided she didn’t really care. If it meant keeping a place like this open and running, she’d give whatever. If she could be the person helping someone achieve their dream, then of course she would help them. She turned away from the wall and headed towards Metzli again, in the middle of the room. She chuckled, hiding her face behind her hand for a moment. “You know you don’t have to keep buttering me up,” she stated, pulling her wallet out, “I wouldn’t have come if I didn’t like you or didn’t want to do this.” Because she had the ability to choose to do that now. No one to tell her how to live her life. “How’s 50k?”

“It’s not buttering up if I’m enjoying it.” The way Bex just didn’t see how Metzli was laying it on super thick with the flirting was astounding. Completely baffled, they chuckled and were going to continue to flirt when Bex gave her offer. 50k? 50k? They were expecting a higher amount than five thousand, but that? “Holy shit,” was all that was muttered in that moment. “A-are you sure?!”

Metzli didn’t mean to be so loud, but the plan had gone well, too well in fact. Sure they were confident, but it never got them something of this magnitude. “Sorry, sorry. Just wasn’t expecting that.” They chuckled out of pure disbelief. Fooling Bex had obviously paid off, but it was much more than that now. Having a donation of that amount meant they could do more than just the few things they mentioned. This could be the breakthrough the gallery needed to be as successful as they had dreamed. Their master, just like Bex’s parents had no hold on her, had no hold on them. Not anymore.

For a moment, the facade fell again, and actual gratitude showed on Metzli’s face. Bowing like before, they took Bex’s hand and pressed another kiss to the back of her hand. This time though, their hold was gentle, maybe even hinging on being soft. “Thank you, Bex.”

That look right there was what Bex cared about the most. Through the astonishment, it was the look of hope that made Bex’s heart soar. She wanted to give people hope. Hope that they could finally have something good. It was like she’d told Bly-- hope was never bad, it couldn’t be, by nature. Bex wanted to truly believe that. She did. It was nice, too, to watch Metzli trip over their words and stutter, instead of her. She was usually so bad at talking, but something about this place had rendered Bex relatively quiet as she observed the space around her. The paintings, the sculptures, the pictures. They were worth investing in, they were worth giving back to. “I’m sure,” she answered, smiling. She scribbled on the check, before tearing one out and handing it to Metzli. “I really hate saying this, but that’s barely even a dent in the wallet. Like I told you, no one needs this much money. I’d give you more if I didn’t think you’d pass out, or the government wouldn’t try and take it all for taxes.”

Bex wasn’t expecting another bow, and she stayed frozen a moment as Metzli leaned down to kiss the back of her hand again. It felt somehow gentler this time. She felt her face flush and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, chuckling nervously. “Y-you don’t have to thank me! Honest. I’m not doing this for the thanks. I just want to give back to the community and the town and-- and people. People who deserve it.” This was just what people did, right? This was just being nice. People had different customs, was all. “I-- I do expect special treatment when I show up to the beginner painting classes, though.”

And just like that, Metzli knew they had done it again. Another successful event that flustered the naive woman. That was what they were trying to twist it into at least. Gratitude filled their cold heart, but they were determined to believe this was all according to their plan to seduce a millionaire. “Special treatment for you? You’ll get that any time, anywhere, cariña.” A flair of their accent came through and they cleared their throat to breeze past it.

Taking the check, they eyed it with amazement before pocketing it into the inside of their suit jacket. “Maybe we can leave the secret gallery for another time. After such a gracious donation, I believe I’d like to celebrate with a drink. What do you say? The Bloody Stake is calling to us.” Metzli’s charm was subtle and had an air about it that made people want to listen, want to do what they said. Or was that just their compelling? No, that wasn’t it, not now. That was for very special occasions. This was just their natural personality.

Metzli just hoped their luck continued into the night. Having a woman like Bex at their disposal would prove to be beneficial. They’d have to monitor how they approached everything. A one night stand may not be in the cards if Bex was as sweet as she appeared to be. Not to mention that could ruin any chance of them reaping the benefits of having Bex on their side.

Bex stared for a long moment, pretending that the word was just a common thing people from Mexico said. It was just like when people called her sweetheart or darling. That was all. The heat in her cheeks was just from her anxiety, she was always anxious, Morgan said she needed medication for her anxiety. So, clearly, it was just that. She heard the tint of Metzli’s accent and wondered why they tried to cover it up, but didn’t want to ask.

“You know, I’m only a little worried about what might be in this secret gallery,” she finally said, clearing her throat, “more so curious, though. But-- you know, drinks sound nice, too. I could do drinks.” Metzli was smooth, Bex had to admit it, but she was still clinging to the idea that this was just two people getting drinks and nothing more. Like they said, they just wanted to celebrate. Bex could get on board with that, and the idea of drowning the stupid thoughts in her head about her mother for just one night was the most compelling part of it all. But there was also just something...compelling about Metzli, that made Bex want to just say yes and follow them and ignore the alarms going off in her head. They were stupid alarms and she wanted to stop listening to them. She was free now, she could do what she wanted.

After a moment, once the check was tucked safely away, Bex curtsied slightly as she motioned towards the door. “Shall we? Is it close enough to walk?”

The crimson on Bex’s cheeks was noticeable on visual alone, but Metzli heard the rush of blood after her heartbeat picked up. With a bright smile, they walked over to a light switch, and turned it off. Upon this action, a blue light was activated, subtly revealing a door. Due to the light from the windows and other fixtures, it was a little hard to see. “The secret gallery is right behind this door. There’s nothing to worry about, though. Many protective measures have been taken so that the cursed works stay put. Maybe after drinks, we can come here and I can show you.”

As instantly as the door appeared, it disappeared just the same with another flick of the switch. “The bar isn’t walking distance, but I have a car that I can drive us in, if you’re comfortable enough. It’s the black Mercedes out front.” Metzli said, using a tone as smooth and sweet as saccharine. Clasping their arms behind their back, they guided Bex back to the front so they could get to their office. “Give me a moment so I can dress down a little.”

Metzli faded into their office for a moment, removing their tie and suit jacket, and unbuttoning their shirt to their sternum. It revealed a portion of their clan tattoo, a custom ankh with three strikes through it. A tattoo they were ashamed of, but figured there was no use hiding it. With a shrug, all the lights were shut off and they exited their office. “Have you decided whether or not you’ll ride with me, Miss Not-So-Fragile?”

Bex felt that insatiable tug of curiosity again when the lights flickered out. Her heartbeat quickened even more as she looked at the door, now illuminated in blue light-- even took a step towards it-- before the lights were turned back on and Metzli was ushering her back towards the front. “Cursed!?” she asked, brows raising. She wanted to see those, she definitely wanted to see those. She wanted to know if they felt like magic, if she could sense the magic infused in them. She wondered what kind of curses they were. She wondered who put them on them. There was so much she wanted to know.

Instead, she stood and waited patiently while Metzli changed, her eyes flicking back and forth between the office door they’d disappeared behind, and the hallway that led to the room with the secret door. She perked back up when Metzli returned and beamed a smile. “Well, considering I didn’t drive here, I think that might be the best idea.” She didn’t need to mention that she couldn’t drive, and a small part of her worried how she might be getting home later, but a bigger part of her just didn’t care. Maybe the walk would be nice. She headed towards the door, motioning towards Metzli, hands clasped together as she leaned back against the door, hearing the little bell chime once again when it opened slightly. She glanced one more time towards where the secret door was. “Ready?”

“Ready indeed,” Metzli said, following Bex out the door, and promptly locking it. The alarm was set and they were good to go. As per usual, they opened the passenger door for Bex. It was another dated custom, but it always did well with the female population. “Your chariot awaits,” They joked, and went on to the driver’s side once Bex was set up.

Metzli never bothered with a seatbelt, there was no point. The only thing that could hurt them right now was that damn sun, but they would be rid of that monstrosity in a matter of minutes. Turning over the engine, they shifted the car into drive, and began the commute to the bar. “We’re not too far by car, so we’ll be there soon.” A smile spread over their lips as they moved their hand towards Bex’s thigh, no, the gear shift actually. With a flick of their wrist, the gears changed and the car sped closer to their destination.

Just like they said, the two arrived quickly and Metzli winced at the exposure to the sun again. “Let’s get in quickly. The sun…stings.” Thanks to the time of day, which was 5pm, the toxic sphere would linger for a few hours more. But soon they’d be greeted with a dark room and the perfect drinks, with a woman they had just taken 50k from. Happily, they gently pressed their hand to the small of Bex’s back and guided her towards the door.

It was just polite, really, for someone to open the door for her, right? Bex slid into the car, just as suave and nice as she thought someone like Metzli might own, and folded her hands into her lap, adjusting the edge of her dress to rest over her thigh. She swallowed. This was fine, it was just someone taking her for a drink, it didn’t have to be anything more than that. She kept telling herself that. She would never do anything to be unfaithful to Mina, she loved Mina, this wasn’t anything like that. After all, all Bex wanted was a friend.

She kept her eyes on the road, barely noticed Metzli’s hand moving towards her, as she tried to keep her mind calm. It kept going back to that secret room, or to the way Metzli looked at her, or to Mina back home, still frightened over the warden. Or to her mom. They were all things she wanted to forget about for tonight. She just wanted one night where she didn’t have to think about anything stressful, anything painful, anything hard. Finally, the car pulled up and Bex felt her body loosen, not even realizing how tense she’d become.

She slipped from the car and adjusted herself again, feeling a shiver run up her back when Metzli’s hand came to rest on it. She shuffled slightly, but didn’t move away, instead moving quickly towards the door and slipping inside. Metzli’s chivalry was a little old-fashioned, but that was what Bex had grown up with. The inside of the bar was dark, and red-- a lot of red. Bex glanced around, as eyes turned on her. They could smell her, she realized, her humanness. Could they smell her magic, too? She looked back at Metzli. “Where uh-- where should we sit?”

The effect Metzli was having on Bex was obvious in every flutter of her heart, and every hitch of breath. She didn’t need to utter a word of her attraction, they already had it confirmed. With eyes on the two, they bent down at the waist to whisper on Bex’s ear. “No one will touch you so long as I’m around. You don’t have to worry, okay?” They attempted to reassure her, knowing she was probably a little nervous. No. It was to show their dominance in the bar. It was an attractive trait. That’s all. “We can sit in a booth in the back corner. I see that it’s free right now, but let’s get drinks first.”

With their hand still in place, they guided Bex to the bar and requested a special red wine for themselves, and then motioned to Bex. “And you? What would you like, cariña?” An elbow propped them up as they leaned on the bar, removing their hand from her back finally. The bartender made Metzli’s drink as they waited for Bex’s request.

It was comforting to know and Bex felt herself relaxing a bit more. She wondered if it was the check in Metzli’s pocket that was providing her sanctuary here, or something else. Not that Bex was scared-- it wasn’t fear of someone trying to hurt her, she’d been attacked by a vampire before, but that woman had been cruel, perhaps feral, and she wasn’t going to let one incident color her views on vampires-- but the attention drawn to her made her anxiety rocket. She wasn’t used to being perceived like this, it made her stomach churn a little. She wished she wasn’t always so self-conscious. Did they know? Could they see? Could they tell?

She shuffled closer to Metzli subconsciously and looked across the bartop towards the bartender. “Uh, vodka cranberry,” she ordered, leaning against the bar. Drummed her fingers on the bartop. This is where Kyle had worked. In fact, the alley behind it was where he’d attacked her, causing the scarring that was probably visible on her chest. She tried not to think about that. “So you come here a lot? I can see why. Totally has that vampy vibe. Do they serve actual blood here?” she asked, curious.

“Yes, they do. That’s what makes my wine special, actually. Makes partying much more fun when the drinks taste divine.” Metzli replied, sipping on their wine. Instantly, their eyes turned red and fangs extended from their canines. “Hope this doesn’t put you off. It feels like taking off a mask when I can do this freely.” They smiled and requested a special shot and a tequila shot for Bex. Gathering the shots and their wine, they pointed with their head and walked towards the booth they mentioned when the two first entered.

Metzli sat across from Bex and carefully placed all the drinks down. “Okay, I got these for us. Don’t drink this one though. You’ll hate it,” A small chuckle escaped their lips as they scooted their shot closer to them. “To art and to new friendship,” They raised their shot, which prompted Bex to clink hers with Metzli’s. Today had been fantastic so far, and they hoped it would only get better. Much better.

“You did say you wanted to get too wasted, right?” Another chuckle escaped right before taking their bloody concoction of inebriation.

“Can you taste normal food? I know a zombie and they say they can’t taste like, normal human food anymore. Is it like that for you?” Bex was blurting the questions before she could help herself, staring perhaps a little too excitedly as fangs formed in their mouth and eyes shimmered red. She remembered how the other woman’s face had looked when Bex had seen her outside the library, eyes glinting through the dark at her before teeth sunk into her neck. She blinked and looked away. “Oh, no! You’re totally fine! I don’t mind at all. I think it’s actually pretty cool,” she said, smiling. If she could trust Milo, she could trust Metzli. She was trying to get over all that, anyway. If she could trust Kyle, she could trust others. And she did, trust Kyle. “Is it, like, painful? To hold it in?”

She already felt more questions bubbling in her throat, but held them back for now, following Metzli back to the booth they’d pointed out earlier. Her eyes fell from Metzli’s face to the drinks and the shot that was handed to her. She had said that, hadn’t she? “To art and friendship.”Lifted her shot glass and clinked it to Metzli’s before downing it in one gulp, wincing only a little. “Tequila always burns more than I remember,” she admitted, chuckling slightly as she bit down into the lime that had come with it.

“Do different blood types taste different?” she asked, watching Metzli partake in their special wine, eyes wide, once again, with curiosity.

“You sure have a lot of questions, don’t you?” Metzli teased with a smile, and continued on to answer everything once the shots were taken. Bex’s face at the shot made them laugh right as they answered. “Can’t really taste normal food. Haven’t been able to since I was…I guess 20? I don’t remember. I really do miss conchas and coffee though. They were my favorite.” Memories of the late night sweet bread and coffee made them smile to themselves. Some memories were just too sweet to not smile at. “As for different blood types, yeah they do taste different. Blood from slayers tastes especially euphoric.”

Even more memories raced through their head, until a particular memory made their face fall. The one and only slayer they had killed themselves wasn’t even a slayer yet. Their master convinced them it was for the betterment of the clan, that it would save countless of vampiric lives. “But I’ve only ever had a few tastes,” Metzli attempted to shake free of the sorrowful hold the memory had on them. It frustrated them that they kept behaving this way.

“Um…are you going to finally tell me what you are? It’s only fair since you know what I am.” Their signature smile wasn’t as strong, but the attempt was there. They just wanted to move on.

“Oh, s-sorry! I can totally stop if it’s making you uncomfortable, I just kinda always do this,” Bex stumbled through the explanation, “I ask a lot of questions. I don’t mean to! I just get-- excited?” She gave a sheepish grin. “I like learning about new things and people and, well, I mean, you’re just such a fascinating person! I’ve met a lot of people here that I think are interesting or amazing, but none like you. I do even know another vampire, but they’re kinda new to it.” She paused, stopped herself from rambling more by picking up her drink and hovering it by her lips as she took a large gulp. That felt better. She needed to stop being so annoying. Fingers wrung together for a moment. “Sorry. I ramble a lot.”

The mention of slayers made Bex stiffen. She didn’t really think about how vampires-- and zombies, in turn-- could hurt hunters in the way the hunters themselves tried to keep them from doing. She swallowed. She wanted to ask more, but that distantly sad look was on Metzli’s face again, so she clenched her jaw shut instead.

When the subject turned on her, she welcomed it, even if it made her heart beat a little faster again. “What? You haven’t guessed yet?” she teased, smiling, hoping to lighten the mood after her slip up. “Obviously I’m some sort of human. A special kind.” A kind she was still learning to love, but her magic didn’t have to be a terrible thing-- that was the lesson she’d finally learned. Her magic could be special, if she let it.

“No, no. Don’t be sorry. You know what?” Metzli groaned, feeling like they were behaving like a vampire with a stupid soul. What they did was nothing. It was in their nature, so what did it matter in the long run? “Rambling is good. At least what you have on your mind will get out. Better that way.” Before continuing, they motioned for the bartender for refills and two more shots. Drinks would help, they were sure of it. “You did nothing wrong. It’s just—and you know, we’re gonna get back to what you are, but—“ They cut themselves off with a sip of their wine.

“Look, I don’t have a soul. And I did that by killing a slayer. But the kid wasn’t a slayer yet. Actually, they weren’t a slayer at all. My master said they were though. Greater good for my clan and all that. My master wanted me to believe that, so I did. I’m not supposed to feel bad, and for a stupid second, I did. What’s a stupid kid’s life matter anyway?” Metzli practically spat the last few words out, sounding like they were trying to convince themselves more than anyone else.

As they always did when they were frustrated, they combed their hand through their hair, making it fluff up a tiny bit more. Metzli was feeling. They were actually feeling. This wasn’t right. “Now I’m rambling. Puta madre.” The drinks came at just the right time and they downed the wine in their hand before reaching for the shot and taking it. “You can leave now if you want. Nice vampire facade over.” For once, they had actually given up and didn’t care about an easy lay or even about the benefits they could reap. What the hell is going on.

Bex was quiet was Metzli explained. She didn’t really know or understand what it meant to not have a soul, or that vampires could get rid of them. Could zombies? Could fae? Could humans? What was a soul, anyway? Was Bex just a soul whenever she left her body? What did a soul give a person, or make a person? She ruffled her brow, tapped her fingers on the side of her glass in thought. “I don’t want to leave,” she finally said, and, really, there’d never been any point in Metzli’s explanation that had made her want to. Maybe that was the wrong response, but like Bex had said several times before, she wanted to give people chances. As many as they needed. And Metzli had done nothing to Bex to indicate that they wanted to hurt her or anything like that. So what reason did Bex have to leave? “None of what you said makes me want to leave.”

She smiled gently, licking her lips as she took another sip. “I don’t, I mean-- that’s a lot. That you just-- told me. And, really, it feels nice to know you trusted me enough to tell me that. And I don’t think any of it makes you, like, a bad person? If-- if someone made you do it, it’s not your fault, you know.” They were words she’d said to MIna, as well. It didn’t matter how many people her father had led her to help kill, that blood wasn’t on Mina’s hands. She had been manipulated by someone who she thought she loved, and she had been a child. None of that was her fault. None of that sounded like Metzli’s fault. “It’s not bad for...believing in something someone you trusted told you to do. If it was, then I guess I’m bad, too, because I spent pretty much my entire life doing whatever my mom wanted me to do, only to find out that she wasn’t even my real mom.”

And then, in a relatively bold and perhaps stupid gesture, Bex leaned forward and reached across the table, putting her hands over Metzli’s on their glass. “People are just people,” she shrugged, “nice and good and bad are circumstantial things.”

Bex’s little speech made Metzli want to rip off their ears and end their misery. It was a load of bullshit. They couldn’t do that though, and so they continued to suffer. Having no soul made them have no empathy and not feel much of anything really. But somehow, someway, Bex made something snap. “You’re crazy, you know that? Having no soul means I have no remorse. I have no empathy. Everything I do is self serving.” They tried to get that point across, more so to see what she would do. The curiosity won over any want to keep her around for the benefits.

“Even knowing that, you don’t wanna run?” It baffled them, but it also amused them. Bex was so naive and innocent. Her touch only further proved that, and fed into the want to do more with her. “Frankly, it does make me a bad person. I do bad things with no remorse. Hypothetically, I could kill you now and it wouldn’t bother me. I’d feel nothing.” Knowing this might incite fear, Metzli rose from their seat and got into her booth. “Does that not scare you, even a little?” Their brow arched in curiosity and their arm swung around the top of the seat, letting a hand rest on Bex’s shoulder.

“Sometimes people aren’t just people. Sometimes, they’re cold monsters.” This was the most honest Metzli had been all night, but were fairly positive it would fly over Bex’s head.

“Empathy is a learned skill,” Bex said, tracing her finger along the rim of her glass. Everything Metzli was describing just sounded like the kind of person her mother was, but her mother had chosen to be that way, even with a soul. She didn’t know what it meant, that Metzli seemed better even without one, but it crinkled her brow and made the anger that was always in the pit of her stomach taste sour. She took another long sip of her drink, ready to feel the buzz. “Even if you can’t feel it, you can still know it and understand it. I think you...want people to think you’re a bad person.” But Bex didn’t believe bad and good were so simple, so easy. Maybe society told Metzli they were bad, but, really, what made them bad? She drummed her fingers on her glass again. The more she drank, the less anxious she got. The more bold. She licked her lips.

“If that’s how you want to live your life, then that’s fine. I don’t really have any room to judge. It doesn’t matter to me, anyway. Not really. So, no,” she stated firmly, her eyes watching as Metzli stood up from the booth, “I don’t want to run.” Even if her legs began to tingle and her heart pounded as Metzli slid into the booth next to her. She turned her face away and took another drink. “If you really wanted to kill me, you would’ve done it right after I handed you that check.” She pointed towards Metzli’s breast pocket, knowing it was in the suit jacket they’d left back in the gallery.

“I don’t think you’d kill me,” she said, “I’m not afraid of you.” She turned to look at Metzli, meeting their eyes. “People choose to be monsters. With or without a soul, it’s still a choice.”

Brows furrowed at Bex’s speech. Not out of annoyance or even anger, but actual understanding. How much Bex had gone through was unknown to Metzli, but it was becoming abundantly clear that the two were more similar than they had initially thought. They didn’t like this. They didn’t like how her words were having an actual effect on them. “Some choices come easier to others. The harder choices. The ones no one wants to make. The—” Words got stuck in their throat. Metzli felt incredibly flustered even with the agitation building. Bex was being the firm and confident one. She had successfully flipped the script right in front of them.

Lost for words, and lost in thought, Metzli’s free hand fell to their sternum lightly grazing their tattoo. “What are you anyway? Besides all this confidence in knowing my character, you’ve got to have some form of power that makes you feel safe, right? You’ve asked all the questions, it’s my turn.” They hoped the attempt to get back on track would work. It felt so off to feel. How on earth was she doing this? Might as well ask.

Metzli waved for another round that was brought swiftly to their booth and they took their shot, scooting the two untaken ones to Bex. “You’ve missed out on two,” they tapped on the drinks, feeling better now that it seemed the conversation was being swayed another direction.

“Sure, yeah,” Bex nodded, “but that’s just life, right? Some of us have to make harder choices. I guess what I believe is...what choice we make is who we are.” And while she’d made the wrong choices at first, she was making the right ones now. She was choosing to fight for herself and her own life, and she was free now. She would always be free. She even felt relatively satisfied when Metzli was lost for words, and she grinned over the rim of her cup. Her eyes followed their hand as it traced along the tattoo on their chest, and after only a moment of staring, Bex realized herself and turned her gaze back to the table and the drinks on it.

“I’m a spellcaster,” she finally answered, reaching out to take one of the two shots that were still calling her name. It warmed her stomach and she licked the lime off her lips. “I sort of just found out recently, but I’m getting better at it. And, to be clear, it’s not that I have magic that I’m not afraid. I just...don’t think of the world in the way other people do, I guess. I’m not afraid to die, if it’s for the sake of learning. My mom used to always say my curiosity was insatiable and that it would ruin me one day,” she breathed in and picked up the last shot. “Probably the only thing she was right about.” She downed the shot and felt her fingers begin to tingle and her head became lighter. She smiled.

“Better?” she asked, scooting the two empty shot glasses toward Metzli.

Bex definitely had a way with words despite how naive she first appeared to be. Hell, she’d somehow moved Metzli a little, and completely baffled them. “You’re not afraid to die? I guess you and I have that in common. Most of the time I just think existence is pointless. Some parts are fun, but most are so mundane or…painful,” The last word came out a little strained, like it hurt to say it. Quickly though, they glossed over it and teased Bex. “You staring at my chest? Perv.” It was a lousy effort, and she could probably see right through it. But probably not too. Metzli wasn’t sure anymore and it could honestly go either way at this point.

“You’re full of surprises, you know that?” With widened eyes, they watched as she took her shots and caressed her shoulder with the hand that draped over the top of the booth. “Spellcaster, huh? That’s impressive. Sucks that most magic is useless against me though. But you did say you’re not scared, right?” More teasing. But now, they wanted to prod more. See if she felt anything other than compassion for the vampire.

With their compelling in full effect, they locked eyes with Bex and continued to speak. “Tell me though, are you as gay as you give off? ‘Cause my gaydar has been going off from the moment we spoke online.” They figured they might as well see if she’s even interested before they move on to more interesting questions.

“Not really, no. I-- don’t want to die, of course. I have people who would mourn and be hurt if I died, but I don’t think I’m afraid to. It’s just a part of life, right?” Bex explained, still unsure herself what it truly meant or why she felt that way. There were so many other things to worry and wonder about in life, death didn’t seem like something she needed to fear. Maybe that was the problem with it all, but she couldn’t bring herself to. If she died right here, right now, then that was simply it for her. There was probably nothing after. She’d probably never know. It wouldn’t hurt her. She didn’t fear her own death, she feared other people’s death. She feared loss. She swallowed, barely aware of the hand on her shoulder through the haze of alcohol now in her stomach. Cheeks tinged and she shook her head. “No! No, I-- I was just-- your hand--” she stuttered out, hiding the blush behind her cup again, subconsciously leaning over the table.

She opened her mouth to say something more about her magic, but those weren’t the words that came out. Instead, she said, “I’m gay. Very gay. I just sort of recently came out, it wasn’t safe before, but it is now. Sort of. Mostly. I think? It’s-- complicated. Because I’m also trans and not everyone is, um-- okay with that, even in the queer community.” She swallowed back the rest of the words. Why had she said all that? She did seem to have looser lips the more she drank. Still, she took another drink. “Do I really give off that much gay vibes?”

Metzli could relate to that, too much even. Their master frowned upon their sexuality, and even forced them to keep their hair long. Finding their identity didn’t come until after they left their clan. That was a freedom that only they could attain by escaping. “Well, you’re very much safe now. And you’re a beautiful woman. Anyone in the queer community that isn’t okay with that is not truly a part of the community.” Every word was honest, and even had hints of sympathy to them. Being who you are can come with a cost, and it looked like Bex had paid that in more ways than one.

“Your gay vibes are off the charts, but that isn’t a bad thing. Not to me at least.” A charming smile was strewn on their face and they gently laid their hand atop hers. If it was out of actual sympathy to comfort or to continue to flirt, they weren’t sure. Not anymore. They wanted to believe it was the latter, so that’s how they approached it, still compelling. “Tell me though, is it just me, or have you actually wanted me to be this close all night? To maybe even kiss you? And if so, just do what you’ve wanted to.” Metzli continued, thinking out loud this time. “I find you attractive, very much so, and you find me attractive too, so why hold it off?” It was rather bold, but now was as good a time as any. Especially with the buzz they had going now.

Bex felt her cheeks growing more flushed at the compliment. She couldn’t ignore it anymore-- Metzli was coming onto her. Suddenly, her heartbeat picked up and her fingers tingled and the alcohol mixed in with her nerves and she felt exposed, in this corner, in this booth. The idea that people could look at her and know, sense it, that she was queer, frightened her. It shouldn’t have. She wanted to be brave. She’d told Mina she could be brave, that she wanted people to know. But not like this, not like this. Still, something compelled her to stay seated as she looked over at Metzli. “I-- I’m glad it’s not a bad thing. Not that I thought you would think that! But, y-you know. It’s-- a lot. Being visible. Knowing that people know.” Especially when she’d tried so hard to hide it. She didn’t have to hide it anymore. She was free. She let out a long breath.

Her body stiffened again at the words. A hand over top hers on the table. Her mind raced, every thought landing on Mina. Still, she said, “I have. You’re very attractive and maybe I did want you to, a l-little.” The words tumbled from her mouth and she felt sick saying them. She didn’t know what to do anymore. “I have a girlfriend!” she squeaked finally. “So I shouldn’t want any of that and I don’t know why I said that and I-- I’m sorry. I’m sorry.” She didn’t know why she was apologizing, but she was. She pulled her hand away and clasped them together. How could she have been so stupid? Of course Metzli wouldn’t simply like her for her. Why would anyone?

Bex rambled some more, and it overwhelmed Metzli this time. The feeling of victory didn’t last long as they saw how all of their actions had actually affected Bex. Fuck. What in the fuck was happening. Did that actually care? No. Yes. No. They saw themselves in her. That’s why they cared. “Girlfriend?” The next few words were important. Especially if they wanted to keep her around. Why did they want to? “Should’ve known a woman like you would be taken. Sorry for the advances.” Moving back to the other side of the booth, they gave Bex space.

“You’re a good person. One of the only truly good people.” Their words were trembled and unsteady. Was this disappointment from feeling like they lost, or because they actually began to genuinely like her? There were way too many questions. None of which had answers. Not answers that came easy, or that Metzli would like. “I should go, shouldn’t I? Don’t mistake this for anything but…but embarrassment, okay? I’m not being nice here. I have no soul, I feel no remorse. Got it?”

“I-- no, it-- it’s okay.” Bex wasn’t sure if that was true, but the disappointment was palpable. She bit her lip and held on tight to her drink, wondering if it might shatter under her grip. She knew how to make it shatter if she wanted to, she was getting good at that. She looked across the table at Metzli. “You didn’t-- you didn’t know. I should’ve just said something earlier. I’m sorry, I just--” but she stopped talking, because she didn’t actually know why she hadn’t said anything earlier. Fear? Anxiety? Or something else? Maybe she’d like it, the attention. She shouldn’t have. She really shouldn’t have. But she had and it tinged her cheeks and she looked down at her lap. “I’m trying to be better, but I’m not really comfortable being so out yet.”

Then Metzli said that thing that so many other people had said to her-- that she was good, maybe too good, truly good-- and Bex let out a long huff of air. “I’m not,” she mumbled, and this was proof, wasn’t it? Because she didn’t want Metzli to leave. She liked them. She wished they’d liked her, too, in a ‘let’s just get drinks’ way. Why did it always have to end this way? Bex wasn’t used to this happening with people who weren’t guys. But Metzli was like her, they understood a side of the world that most people couldn’t. Not even Mina. She met their eyes as they began to stand from the booth.

“I don’t believe that,” she said to them, but it was quiet, and she wasn’t looking at them anymore. “But I can pretend to if that’s what you want.” She swallowed. “And this doesn’t-- change anything. Not for me.” She downed the rest of her drink and pulled out her phone. “Do something good with that money, okay? I like your gallery, I think you deserve the chance.”

The disappointment in Bex’s voice was evident, and again, somehow she tugged at whatever humanity was left in them. “How do you do that?!” Their tone was frustrated but not inherently angry. Usually once Metzli had gotten such sensitive information, they could use it to their advantage. But this information was sensitive in a way that meant something to them too. Both of them were two different results of the same tragedy. And even though tragedy came in different ways, it hurt the same.

“Stop being so…fucking similar! I—I keep seeing the similarities and I just want to actually…whatever!” Metzli wasn’t yelling, but they were whispering loudly in frustration. Sitting back down, they locked eyes with Bex and sighed. “I’m…I’m sorry.” It was a sincere apology. If anyone deserved one, it was Bex. “I think I’m still gonna go, but I want to make it clear that I guess—I guess I want to be friends. No more flirting either.”

Bex was surprised by the sudden outburst, and while it wasn’t loud or angry, she still startled, sitting up straighter. Metzli was grumbling things at her, about her, something about being similar, but Bex had a hard time concentrating through the haze in her head. The shots were hitting her quickly. She needed to be careful about this, or she’d say something she regretted. Like, ‘Don’t go!’ or ‘I don’t mind the flirting’. Because she did and she should, but alcohol made things like that seem okay. Seem better. She blinked, nodded. “Sorry,” she said again, the word a bit slurred. “I do really like you. I want you to be my friend, too.”

There was a genuine surprise at the apology, though, and Bex couldn’t help but smile. It seemed like she was right. Metzli could blab all day about how they had no soul and didn’t feel remorse or guilt, but here they were, apologizing for making advances on her, for possibly ruining something. Not that it would have. “We can be friends,” she agreed. That was what she wanted most, anyway. “You can go, if you want, though. I’ll be okay.” She tapped her fingers on the table, little sparks of magic dancing on her fingertips. The other vampires in here didn’t scare her. The tequila shots had emboldened her, drawing a lazy smile on her face. “No one touches me anymore unless I want them to.”

If Metzli had a heart, it would probably jump a little, but luckily they didn’t. “Ah, fuck. Look, I’ll take you home. You’re drunk, and I—I guess I would feel a little…a little bad if anything even remotely happened. Lurking in the dark is my job. But this doesn’t mean I feel shit. Okay?” They extended their hand, hoping she’d take their offer. There would be no funny business either. She’d get home safely and that would be the end of it.

“You can also visit another time for the secret gallery. Promise.”

Bex took Metzli’s hand. She trusted them, and maybe that would bite her in the ass, but Bex truly believed that they were a good person, at least by her definition. Maybe other people thought they weren’t, but Bex didn’t care about that. As she was becoming a part of this world, she was figuring out for herself what everything meant to her. There were too many different things about, human morality, human values could be applied to much of it. And even if Bex was human, she wanted to understand. She wanted to know. She would let her curiosity guide her to her death. She took Metzli’s hand and stood up, wobbly.

“Well, you did make me take 3 tequila shots in rapid succession,” she slurred, smiling. She prodded Metzli’s shoulder. “I’ll hold you to that promise,” was all she said, before she headed for the exit. No one else had to know about this, she decided. This could just be hers.

#wickedswriting #tw child death #tw parental death #tw domestic abuse #tw homophobia and transphobia #tw vampire compelling #bex

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angelkurenai · 5 years

Text

Draw me, like one of your French girls - Steve Rogers x Reader

Title: Draw me, like one of your French girls

Pairing: Artist!Steve Rogers x Reader

Warnings: None

Summary: Visiting your good friend in his small apartment every time means you get drawn to his art, amazed by whatever he has created and curious about his inspiration which he always hides that it’s you. You don’t insist, and thing remain the same. It’s only when you finally ask him to draw you that things really change; maybe in a way you could never expect. Surely drawing you naked wouldn’t be a problem, right?

“Incredible.” you breathed out, your voice filled with awe as you ran your fingers over the new papers scattered across the room “This is... truly incredible.” you couldn't contain a small laugh, which was only half a second later joined by another one, soft, sweet and so warm to your heart “And, my gosh, Steve it's so beautiful. I've- I have no words. How- How did you manage all this?”

“It's not really... much.” he mumbling, shrugging for just a second, the papers in his hands filled with sketches nearly slipping from his fingers, but the sight of that adorable smile was enough to distract you from everything happening around you.

“Are you serious? Steve I was here two days ago and these weren't here. Two days, you did all of this in only two days and it's... my dear, stunning.” you bit your lip, eyes wide an filled with wonder as you tried to keep yourself from reaching out to trace your fingers over the charcoal on the canvas “Sometimes I think this isn't humanly possible, that you've found some kind of- oh I don't know, some...” you trailed off, your smile turning into a mischievous one as you looked at him over your shoulder “Magic potion? A serum? The kind that makes supersoldiers but only in your case you're something like-”

“What, a superartist?” he asked, his smile more of a teasing smirk.

You scoffed, crossing your arms over your chest as you tried to stay mad at him but failed “Not the words I was going to use, anyway. You said it.” you shrugged “Besides, I think that with that kind of built and height a supersoldier serum would have been unnecessary. You easily steal hearts wherever you go as it is.”

A laugh, soft and almost shy but certainly able to make your heart skip another beat, followed soon afterwards “I don't think that's entirely possible or the case but thank you.” he said, gathering more papers and sketches in his hands to make room for you to finally be able to sit.

“Nonsense. Everybody knows it. With a heart of gold, so loving and caring unlike anybody else, a body that even ancient Greek sculptures wouldn't be able to capture well enough and a talent that even Da Vinci should be envious of, just face it-” you smiled, snatching the sketches before he could even react – though he did protest and tried to prevent you from having them but you both knew it was a familiar fight that you won every single time “You're a catch. It's a well-known and commonly accepted fact. Hey, are these recent too? I've never seen them before.”

“Those are not-” he tried to lie, oh how he wished he could lie about it, no matter how hard it was at first he had managed to do so real well when it came to his feelings for you. Granted, that was more hiding the truth than lying to you about them but it was up to some degree practice.

He wanted to tell you that no it wasn't all things drawn within the span of three hours, after only an hour of you leaving his place. He wanted to lie, to pretend that you weren't the embodiment of inspiration, of beauty, love, everything wonderful and important in this world for him and everything else his heart longed for too. He wanted to lie about it so much, just so that he could hide the embarrassing fact that whenever he saw you, whenever you visited him even if it was for a cup of coffee and a casual talk because you were close by or you run into him I the street, it was like a breath of fresh air after being underwater for too long, nearly dead and starving for life.

He needed to lie to hide that he looked forward to moments spent with his eyes closed, picturing the way you had been laughing and smiling and looking at him – and only him – just a couple minutes prior, before grabbing any and every piece of paper, sketchbook and canvas he could find so that he could draw you or any other part of you, from the way the sun shone over your eyes and lips to the flowers on your dress or the hands on your lap. That didn't mean that he got theprivilege everyday, though. There were times when he tried to do that with the memories he had of you of a week or two ago, and it wasn't like he didn't ave plenty to last a lifetime, but there was always something different about getting new images of you; new memories. He had resorted to using the older memories only for when it came to creating a new piece that was either meant for a customer, for the upcoming exhibition or even the new art gallery he was planning to set up in town again. All in all, paintings that drew you as inspiration but could in no way directly linked to you – not unless someone was reading Steve's mind – were the ones for display, for the world to see, while the rest were only for Steve. The ones that reflected all the ways he saw you and all the things he felt for you were still tobe kept hidden, far too personal for anybody else to see yet.

Lying or hiding the truth was one way to go about it, but not in this case. So he decided against it in the end. With a soft sigh he smiled as he watched you flip excitedly through the various drawings, taking in every expression – especially on the ones you lingered most on, as you made yourself at home. Shoes off, bag falling at the feet of a chair carelessly as you dived in the art and made yourself comfortable on the bed. Steve only held his breath as he forced himself to stay put for a second longer instead of grab a brush and start capturing as much as he could.

He cleared his throat and looked away, focusing on making you your cup of coffee “Yes, actually. I did those last night.” he said the truth, not daring too look up at you. Keeping busy was the key.

“Oh Steve.” he could still hear the smile in your voice much like the awe “These are...” a breathless laugh, he couldn't hold his own smile “You know, I don't understand how you do this, how you suddenly find such inspiration but Steve you should use it more often. These have such potential, they could end up in the biggest art galleries all around the world! Not like your work isn't already there but, you know, these could be thee most popular works of the year! If not decade.”

“That's just too much, (Y/n). Not possible again.” he said with a laugh.

You narrowed your eyes at him, taking the cup he offered you “In all the time you've known me, when have I ever been wrong, Steve? Never.”

“I must admit that's true, though I fear I will regret it later.” he said with an adorable smile “And I'm guessing that same goes for everything else?”

“Considering you're a catch?” you raised an eyebrow, taking a sip “You bet.”

He only hummed, taking a seat on his chair by his desk, close but far enough to take all of you in before he asked softly “Is that what goes around in the office too?”

“Aha so Romanoff has spoken then!” you exclaimed before laughing, earning a laugh from Steve as well even though he tried to seem as innocent as possible with his shrug “I should have known she was going to out me at some point. Gosh I'm gonna kill her, can't believe I asked her to keep quiet about it and she just-”

Steve would have gladly stayed in that moment forever, admired the look of you sprawled in his bed amongst his rumbled bedsheets, the sun casting perfect shadows and light wherever needed, the insanely adorable flush on your cheeks captivating and intriguing as ever. So intriguing that he couldn't help but speak to ask you in the end “Well, honestly, she only said a couple of things. Natasha doesn't really let things slip, so I'm guessing this is something she wanted to happen. It was just the... necessary ones and they were uhm... interesting to say the least. I didn't know I was so popular.”

He tried to hide the smile behind his cup of coffee, mostly because he hoped he could hide his lie. Of sorts at least. Natasha had barely said anything, truth was he had little to no idea, but seeing you get so flustered over it, so damn beautiful was the only thought his brain provided, he needed to know more.

“Only you would say that Steve. Which begs the question, are you going to get another apartment or what? You could afford any and every house and loft in town, you know. This place is so small you can barely move as it is but with all this art, it feels tiny. And I love cosy places, you know it, but there is a high risk of getting some work lost or ruined in here.”

This time he couldn't nor wanted to hide his smile. Pulling his cup away from his lips he gave you a look “Are you trying to change the subject (Y/n)?” he asked but you shoo your head, shrugging to innocently it wasn't innocent anymore “Anyway, to answer your question, I'd take my mother's old apartment any day. Your turn and I want a direct answer.”

You narrowed your eyes at him “That's oddly... dark of you. Serious and possibly hot. I like that.” you smile despite your nerves and shyness “Well, to answer your unspoken question: It all started when Sharon asked me and a couple other girls out for drinks, you know ladies night, but you and I had already made plans. I couldn't lie because they'd think I was avoiding them so I told them. And then of course combined with all the times you've come to pick me up from work or I've spent my lunch with you or I've accompanied you to your galleries and exhibitions, well-” you huffed, looking down at your mug before placing it away “I wasn't aware of it until recently that they've started talking about us and thinking we're a couple. I could- I've tried to clear it up but honestly nobody seems to believe me and, you know, it doesn't help that you're so famous and sought after. Plus, we act the way we do it's just- It's all just a misunderstanding, it'll clear up.”

“I didn't mean to...” his voice was sad, almost filled with regret, even though his heart was beating too fast and eagerly in his chest “(Y/n), I'm sorry for-”

“What?” you gasped “Oh no, no Steve. There's nothing to be sorry for, it's not like it's.... a problem for me. I mean I never cared what others thought or said, not unless it was my friends, and besides-” you smiled, or at least tried to through your nervousness “Am I really that bad for you, Mr Rogers?”

“No!” that came out embarrassingly fast “No, of course not. I mean, (Y/n) you are the kindest and most loving person I know. You light up the entire room when you're there and if I'm completely honest, you have been my anchor more times than I can remember. More... so much more than that actually. I don't know where I'd be without you. So, if anything... you are the catch.”

“Alright, let's stop right there before it gets out of control and I am unable to stop myself from kissing you.” your smile was playful much like the wink you sent him but oh how he wanted to believe it was all real, but he got carried away by the way you laid down on the mattress, stretching softly as you focused back on the sketches in your hands, some already laying around you “Which reminds me: Where did this all come from? I mean, last time we talked two days ago you said you were behind on schedule with the pieces for the new gallery and now two days later you have pieces and ideas for ten more galleries.”

“I suppose... that's how inspiration is. Comes and goes. I was lucky enough this time, although, they're still just random works. I guess... the flowers and the eyes could turn into something good.” he shrugged.

“And may I ask, what is the source of said inspiration? Or is her name a secret?” you asked, your voice having lost some of the lightness in it “I could feel jealous of her if I wasn't so taken by your work. Lucky her, though I'm sure she must bereally special to be your muse.”

“H-her?” he stuttered, his posture straightening. He'd been careful to hide any and every sketch or painting that clearly depicted you in any way that you could easily tell. But there was just so many that it was very likely that he had missed one or two. Butt then, why would you refer to yourself as “her”? Thinking about it and as he said the next words, he noticed a sketch of your face and subtly but hastily made sure to hide it, by placing other blank papers on top of it.

“Muse? You know I- I don't have one.” whenever he had to lie to you once or twice he did feel guilty but he always told himself it was for the best. This time however it was joined by such a great wave of regret and sorrow, the only one that could describe his belief that he was somehow betraying you.

“Really?” you sounded really curious “Then who is this?”

He tried and he hoped he did a good job of hiding his relief. It was an older one, of you curled on his bed not too long ago, face deep buried in his pillow as you had all but collapsed there after a hard day at work. It was meant to be a visit but you ended up sleeping there, only for Steve to stay awake all night drawing like there was no tomorrow.

“Nothing. It's nothing.” he smiled “I saw a sculpture the other day and it was inspiring, that's all.”

“Oh. Oh. Sorry, I-” you almost looked relieved “For a second I thought... well, nevermind.” you shook your head “It's still very beautiful too. But-” you frowned, turning your head just slightly to look at him again “I've noticed that while you do draw people on the occasion, it's never the same ones, not for long for sure and even more not ones we know. Not ones I know. What I mean is that... why not, Steve?”

“I don't...” he looked out of the window, forcing himself to tear his eyes away from you despite how captivating you were in that moment “Well, there is something about painting people I know. You know I put emotions into my paintings but when it comes to my friends, to my family, to the people I care for and have memories with then I feel like it's all on the canvas there too. And sharing that with virtual strangers feels... I don't want to expose myself so much.”

“Well, then maybe it's because you haven't tried it out yet?” you suggested softly, making him tilt his head “Maybe, you have to... learn how to put out specific feelings. I'm not saying none at all, maybe some that will make the painting stand out, not like your art already doesn't, but you know so that it is still part of you like every other painting of yours. However, you could decide to keep the things that are most important to you about it only for you. Like, certain feelings, it doesn't have to be all there for everyone to see. It could be things you only get for once.”

“That sounds good (Y/n) but sadly easier said than done.” he said, already fidgeting with a nearby brush.

“I didn't say it was but with practice everything becomes easier at some point, right?” he could practically hear the small voice in his head saying that this wouldn't end well but he couldn't help but be entranced by the small hopeful smile on your lips “I mean, it could be hard at first, but it's only because you haven't tried it yet. Or practiced that much yet, whichever. But with time you could get used to it and I, well, I think it would be really interesting to try it out. It's something new and if you find it doesn't fit your style then you could just... stop. It's up to you.”

“It is, I know, I'm just-” he paused, pressing his lips together as he studied your expression for a couple more seconds “You already have something in mind, don't you? What's going on?”

The questions were mostly rhetorical but he asked anyway. And you shrugged as innocently as you possibly could “I mean... I might.”

“And are you planning on ever telling me or what?” he couldn't help but chuckle “Why don't you just ask (Y/n)? All you have to do is say it and I-”

“Why don't you ever draw me?” you cut him off gently but with a clear voice.

“I- What?” he could swear his heart leapt to his throat.

“I mean-” you cleared your throat “It's not like you haven't tried it at all to begin with. I've seen the portrait you did for Sharon, though not for your galleries, it's still beautiful and-”

“Sharon asked me to do it.” he said a little too fast, but his need to justify himself to you was far too great “She was- I was working on a new drawing when she came to visit and it was of- of a random couple I had seen that she asked me if I could draw her. It was more of a quick drawing than anything else. It's not-” he let a small breath, glancing down at his hands “It wouldn't be the same.”

“Well-” you started, looking down for a few longer seconds but he did notice the smile on your lips, making him feel happy with his words despite his initial worry “Then... you could try to draw me? If only for practice. I wouldn't mind at all. You've done amazing portraits before, I think you would do great again. I mean, if you'd like to of course. You're-you're the artist. If I don't insp-”

“It's not-” he started with a soft exhale, getting up from his chair and slowly making his way to you “What would you like?” he asked instead, smile soft as he let himself brush a few stray strands of hair out of your eyes. He could swear he heard you take in a shaky breath but his own heart was hammering in his ars so he couldn't know what he heard for sure.

“To know... how much I'd inspire you.” you confessed, voice small and almost fragile in a way that made his heart clenched beautifully in his chest. Oh if only you knew. If only he could really tell you everything.

“And...” he started again in a soft voice, fixing the bedsheets only a bit around you; he wouldn't dare touch a thing nor change it, he wanted you more than anything to stay exactly the way you were “You would like me to draw you. Well then-” he didn't realize it when his fingers had found your face again, now on your cheek tracing the line of your cheekbones as the excitement made his stomach fill with excitement, he could finally get to do this “Good, I thought you were never going to ask.”

You scoffed a laugh which turned into a warm big smile that stayed on your lips for good even though you rolled your eyes at him “Isn't the artist supposed to be the one to ask those kind of things?”

“Hm” he shrugged “I'm pretty sure we've always been a bit unconventional on some things.”

“Fine then. Since we are unconventional on some things, and not all, how about we start making a few exceptions now?” a smile had started to creep up on your lips, one that he could almost swear was too playful already to look anywhere near innocent as you planned for it. And maybe, just maybe, it didn't help that the way you were looking up at him through your lashes, sprawled on his bed, as he hovered over you so close – too close for it to be so comfortable or anywhere near appropriate and his mind almost screamed at him to take a step back but the rest of his body refused to move – it was all all but innocent.

“Again...” his voice came as something barely above a hoarse whisper “Something tells me you have something in mind already. It's beginning to feel like this has been your plan all along.”

And then you smiled more as if to look like you were sorry, but the way you were biting your lip was far away from sorry and nearly too seductive it should be alarming “Well-” your voice snapped him out of his thoughts “If you put it that way, and if... you like the thought of it then, who am I to deny it? You know now. Yes, I've carefully planned everything from the beginning and you've already fallen into my little trap. Again.” you laughed, your eyes sparkling with possible mischief and yet so much joy it almost made you look innocent. He could look at you like this forever if he could.

You clearly didn't mean it but there was always a part of him that thrived in moments like this. A part of him that eagerly looked forward to seeing you relax so much around him, when it was only you and him, that you ended up becoming so playful. Some would call it downright flirty, and it no doubt looked like you were trying to seduce him and oh he wished for that to be true, but he knew that it was nothing more. And he was content with that, if only for the time being, as he enjoyed the proximity it more often than not allowed him.

“So, what am I to endure this time?” he asked, a smile tugging at him lips.

“Endure?” you frowned, almost pouting “Stevie, you say that like my plans are ever anything but fun. As if-” you stopped when you noticed the raised eyebrow he gave you and then continued “Well-” you shrugged, grinning “For me at least they are. Though you always enjoy yourself so don't act like that.”

“Are you going to tell me what it is you want to or what?” he asked instead, and despite his words his voice was soft and calm “This exception of yours.”

“Well, you know me. I'm a hopeless romantic at heart so I want a few things to be, let's say, classic.” your voice softened but your eyes still held that playfulness “I said I want you to draw me, yes, I'd love to see myself through your eyes for once and through your incredible art but-” A moment of silence that stretched on for longer than needed but that neither of you realised, not as Steve got lost in you, fingers still caressing your cheek. He almost didn't realise it until you were more than just propping yourself up on your elbow and it was already too late. Nearly in a sitting position, you'd gotten closer to him, free hand pressed on his abdomen and face close to his belly as it was tilted up to face him.

“Wh-what is it?” he took a step back, or what was a pathetic try at it.

You smiled, pulling your hand away and laying back on the bed, eyes on him the whole while “Like Rose once said...” a moment of real hesitation “I want you to draw me like one of your french girls.”

“I- Wha-what?” he blinked, this time taking an actual step back but not too fast. Of all the things he had imagined, this was not one of them and he was fairly sure it could never be.

“Well, you know what I mean.” you still smiled “I didn't- I don't suppose you'd have a problem with that? I mean, art is art, any and every form is equally important and we both believe so. I mean I've seen you-”

“(Y/n)” his mouth had gone completely dry “That's not what I mean. You-”

“What?” you tilted your head “I'll be fine. I mean, I know you, I trust you and we both know it's not like you are going to put this painting in any exhibition to begin with. It is only going to be for me to see and... for you. So, no, I don't have a problem. I'm alright with you having it. If anything, I believe I would want you to be the only to have it. That is... if you'll draw me.”

“I-” he started but all words died out in his lips. Seeing the small if not barely there smirk on your lips, he couldn't help but let his mind wander back to his previous thoughts. What if this was all part of the two of yours game, part of the teasing and joking. Only a way for you to get a reaction out of him – which in every other occasion he had had the pleasure of giving you – since you were always the only one to push the boundaries. Was it the same or was there more truth here than he could think of?

Letting a calm and soft expression rest on his face, he knelt in front of you, fingers running over the line of your jaw and looked straight into your eyes before he whispered “Alright.”

He could almost feel the electricity that shot through you, he certainly saw it in the way your body almost jolted before he pulled away, but left you no time for you to speak; instead “Take off your clothes.”

“Wh-what?” he heard the whispered question behind his back, barely audible but definitely there.

“I said, alright I'll do it.” he barely glanced at you over his shoulder as he got to his art supplies “You take off your clothes, (Y/n). I will I get everything I need ready for the painting.”

Maybe it was time for him to see your reaction this time, whatever sort of consequences it ended up having in the end. It could all be damned or it could all be worth it.

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oytnp-moved · 3 years

Text

Just a little thing I was inspired to write by this post

also here's the song i had stuck in my head while writing it because of the painting im working on irl :)

TL;DR fully grown man calvin f.ischoeder makes a nuisance of himself because his spouse is trying to paint instead of kissing him

Griffin startled as a glass of water entered their vision. They stared at it for a moment, uncomprehending, until it jiggled slightly, ice cubes tinkling against the sides.

"Oh." They slid their paintbrush to sit between their middle and ring fingers and accepted the glass gingerly, taking an automatic sip. "Thanks love." They turned their head a little as their husband pressed a kiss to their cheek.

"You've been at this for hours," he said, a hint of a whine in his voice. "You should take a break." He kissed them again on the jaw.

"I'm in the zone, Cal, I can't just take a break," they scoffed. Calvin grumbled wordlessly, snaking his hands around Griffin's waist and pulling them back against him as he moved his lips to their neck. "Calvin I'm holding paint," they warned, gesturing with the palette in their left hand. "I'm gonna get paint on you."

"Mmhm." He nosed at the spot where their neck and shoulder met, placing another soft, lingering kiss there.

"Calvin you're wearing white."

"Mmmhm." He slid one hand up their chest and hooked a finger into the neck of their ratty old t-shirt, pulling it aside enough to expose new shoulder real estate to cover in kisses.

"Calvin."

"Hmm?"

"Cal."

"Mmn." Dissatisfied with what he could reach from his current angle, he shifted his grip to their hips and spun them around, drawing a yelp from them.

"Calvin!" Griffin held their hands as far away from Calvin's body as possible, meeting their husband's charming grin with an unimpressed look. They sighed, a smile creeping onto their face despite themself, and rested their forearms over his shoulders carefully. "Are you really this desperate for my attention?" they teased.

"I think you know the answer to that," he responded primly, his fingertips dipping under the hem of their shirt, tracing lines on their back.

"Big bad Mr Fischoeder can't handle being apart from me for a couple hours?" They kissed him briefly, chuckling when he chased their lips. "So needy."

"Well, don't go spreading it around, but I happen to rather like you," he murmured.

"Luckily for you, my love, I rather like you too. In fact it's why I married you." Calvin's face softened as it always did when they mentioned being married - it had been several months since the ceremony and he still felt giddy at the thought of being their husband. He leaned in slowly, wondering whether they were done teasing him. When all they did was stare at him with fondness in their dark blue eyes he closed the gap, kissing them deeply.

"Okay, darling," said Griffin after a long moment, pulling away a little. "Am I going to get to drink the water you so kindly brought me, or are we just going to stand here making out until I pour it down your back?"

"Oh! Yes, right, of course." He withdrew somewhat sheepishly, allowing Griffin to put their palette down and take a drink, gaze shifting to their canvas. Their mouth thinned into a line as they became immediately lost in thought.

Calvin observed them fondly. As much as he loved seeing them dolled up, always wearing extravagant, fashionable outfits regardless of their suitability for the actual occasion, there was something intimate about getting to see them relaxed like this. Their hair was pushed back from their face by a headband, the glasses that they only wore at home were slightly askew on their nose, and their outfit was nothing fancier than a threadbare shirt and jogging bottoms, both splattered with old dried paint.

He absolutely adored them.

"So, how goes the art?" Their canvas was mostly layers of dark blues, purples and greens, amorphous shapes, and one solid neat circle of black.

"Fine, fine. Just thinking about what I have to do, what order I need to do it in." Their paintbrush drummed nervously in the air, flicking spatters of alpine green against the hardwood. Calvin prudently decided not to mention it, instead looking around at the sketches taped up on the walls, trying to get an idea of what the finished piece would look like. Unfortunately the abstract squiggles of colour and pages filled with gesture drawings of pigs didn't help him much.

"Well I… suppose I'll get out of your hair," he said begrudgingly, stepping close to place another lingering kiss on their cheek. Griffin looked at him with a surprised expression.

"You don't have to leave if you don't want to, darling." They leaned into his chest, seemingly to emphasise their words. "You're welcome to stay and watch me paint - can't promise it'll be entertaining, though."

"If you're sure I won't be bothering you." He tried and failed to keep a grin from spreading across his face. Griffin shook their head, draining the last of the water and setting the glass down.

"Here." They turned to a nearby chair, speculatively eyeing the pile of paper, pencils and paints on the seat - then swept it all onto the floor. "Sit yourself down. In fact," They glanced at Calvin as he sat, crossing his legs just so. "Would you sing me something, since you're here?"

"Oh, well, if you insist," he said brightly, doing a miserable job of containing his excitement. "Let me see…"

Griffin returned to their painting as he mused over his song choice. Before too long their brush strokes were accompanied by Calvin's rich voice, then almost subconsciously by Griffin's own, softly singing along with the songs they knew. As the day lengthened, the pair sang the painting into shape, and Calvin thought it looked beautiful.

Griffin thought it looked just okay, but that's artists for you.

#if ur curious in my head cal picked something by sinatra or cole or smth like that #bc 50s love songs are my favourite like they just GOT IT. the yearning. the joy. the rapture. they Got It folks.#calvin tag #im out here allowing myself the fantasy of being loved 😳😳😳😳😳#A Content

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zabrak-show · 4 years

Text

The Magnificent Twin Suns

A/N: Hello, omg this is my ObiMaul Magnificent Seven Crossover Fic. what have I done?!! Please do not hate me for this. I actually worked hard on it and honestly wanted to do more character work with all of the “seven” but ultimately, only ever wanted this to be a short one shot.

This is an AU of AU’s which if you know the history of Magnificent Seven is fitting. (it’s a remake of a remake of a remake) Which is also fitting of Star Wars being that it is essentially a remake of western films that were remakes of samurai films LOL anyway, expect much OOC weirdness and just whatever I felt like, OK! There is an OC, but she is mostly just filler as are the rest of the characters beyond Kenobi and Maul.

This was heavily inspired by one of my favorite artists on here @savagesleftarm Cowboy Art of ObiMaul this art broke my brain and the aforementioned fic ensued. I hope you enjoy it and if not, go easy on me cowpokes. I am but a simple fic writer tryin to get by.

Also, because I obsessed over this for a week, here’s a playlist I made while I wrote this 😆 I made it to play on shuffle, but I’m not the boss of you, play it how you like if you like!

Warnings: Violence, Blood, Death (no major character death, but still), Curse Words, Alcohol consumption, Cigarette smoking, Angst, specifically ObiMaul Angst

Word Count: 5.7K

gif from tombstone another western gem

The desert suns blazed unrelenting into the face of a crimson zabrak with intricate obsidian tattoos accenting his hardened and chiseled features including a crown of small horns. He brought his Colt Paterson revolver over his shoulder, still hot from the kill shot performed. Another bounty successfully tracked down and bagged. A half smoked cigarette hung from the zabrak’s lips, his face scowled from the smoke and the sun. Gunpowder, cigarette smoke, and death permeated the hot air. The zabrak took one last drag from his cigarette before throwing it down into the sand next to the dead body, the butt still slowly burning until finally it ran out of tobacco and paper to ignite, puffing out into a dusty pile of ash.

The zabrak holstered his gun and roughly wrapped the dead body in a canvas tarp and strapped it to the back of his pale grey horse, Scimitar. He mounted the horse and took off down the dusty path, hoping to get to Mos Eisley before sundown. The zabrak rode fast atop Scimitar, his black leather boots digging into the horse’s sides. His black jeans and black vest collected dust and sand that flew up from the horse’s galloping.

They rode for hours, until finally the zabrak pulled back on the reigns signaling Scimitar to slow down as they entered the Mos Eisley city limits. The city was still growing, with several buildings under construction around the edge of town. The main street area was bustling with different galactic species. Some native jawas and tusken raiders milled about amongst, rodians, weequays, twi’leks, and humans. Many turned to stare at the strange zabrak. His bright golden eyes staring straight ahead, not giving any mind to the civilians around him. He rode Scimitar up to a red brick building, dismounted and tied her to the hitching rail at the front of the building.

He slung the body over his left shoulder and entered the brick building with a calm authority to his every movement, a slight limp to his gait. He dropped the body at the feet of a weequay, leather brown skin matching his long leather overcoat. The weequay’s off-white shirt unbuttoned to show much of his chest; dark dirty jeans and mud covered boots, told their own story of hard work and life on Tatooine.

“Maul!” the Weequay exclaimed with jovial comraderiere, reaching out to grab the zabrak’s shoulder.

“Hondo.” Maul responded flatly.

“Eh, Money for blood’s a peculiar business wouldn’t you say?” Hondo pressed as he peeked inside the tarp and quickly obtained the credits for Maul’s bounty. Maul grunted in response as he stashed the credits inside his vest, and made his way for the door.

Nighttime was approaching, the sky a painted medley of pinks, oranges and yellows as the suns dipped down past the horizon. Maul headed for the Mos Eisley saloon for a well needed drink and to look for his next job. He stepped into the saloon doors and headed straight for the bar.

The saloon was lively and most paid no mind to the ruby red zabrak as he sauntered into the establishment. A red Nikto sat at the piano playing a twangy melody, while animated voices and glasses clanging together filled up the saloon’s auditive atmosphere. The smell of old beer, must, and disappointment assaulted the zabrak’s nasal cavities.

“Whiskey. Neat.” Maul ordered the blue Twi’lek at the bar. She eyed Maul suspiciously and slowly made his drink and slid it down the bar to him. He took out a few credits and dropped them on the bar as he walked away to find a place to sit.

Maul limped to the back of the bar to sit in a small table by himself in the shadows. A light skinned bearded man with a brown cowboy hat, brown poncho, tan shirt and pants burst through the saloon doors, drawing the attention of most people in the saloon with his dramatic entrance. He walked up to a rodian at the bar and they had a quiet conversation, the rodian clearly uncomfortable by the man’s presence. In a flash, the rodian’s head slid off his body as a beam of blue light cut through his flesh. The man was wielding a lightsaber and the show stopping stunt had all but silenced the bar as the patrons all looked on in horror and shock.

“Jedi scum.” Maul growled quietly to himself.

The man having everyone’s attention, now spoke to the crowd.

“Greetings. I am Kenobi, a warrant officer in 3 systems and a licensed Jedi Peace Officer in 10. This rodian was a wanted criminal,” he held up a worn piece of paper with the rodian’s likeness on it. Maul squinted his bloodshot amber eyes at the man and slowly recognized who he said he was. It had been almost ten years and he almost didn’t recognize his old nemesis.

“Jedi. I have been waiting for you,” Maul spoke in a deep commanding voice as he stood and walked over to the man.

“I’m not sure I’ve made your acquaintance.” Kenobi said, barely acknowledging the zabrak.

“I am surprised you could have forgotten me so easily after I killed your boss and you left me for dead on Naboo.” Maul spat out at him.

“It is you.” Kenobi replied in astonishment now looking directly at Maul.

“You may have forgotten me, but I will NEVER forget you.” Maul bared his teeth practically growling at Kenobi, before he stopped in his tracks, hand hovering over his holstered gun. Kenobi stared into Maul’s bloodshot amber eyes with his own ice blue eyes studying the movements of the zabrak.

“I have defeated you before and I can defeat you again!” Kenobi declared, his hand on his lightsaber hilt. Kenobi ignited the lightsaber as Maul drew his gun and took several shots, Kenobi blocking each one with fast as lightning reflexes. Several patrons yelled in terror at the commotion, but the dueling men paid no mind.

“I almost didn’t recognize you, but you’re still half the man in my eyes.” Kenobi leered at the zabrak. At once, Maul jumped towards Kenobi, firing his revolver until he was out of bullets. The Jedi grabbed the zabrak mid air and threw him to the ground, straddled his chest and held his lightsaber to his neck. Maul hissed and Kenobi put his full weight on the zabrak and turned his lightsaber off. To everyone’s shock and amazement, especially Maul’s, Kenobi began laughing hysterically.

“Can I buy you a drink, old friend?” Kenobi stood up over Maul, extending his hand to help the zabrak up.

“You realize I still hate you with every fiber of my being.” Maul snarled at Kenobi as he rose back to his feet.

“Ah yes, ever dramatic as always.” Kenobi replied, putting his hand on Maul’s back and leading him to the bar. Maul growled quietly and drank with the Jedi despite his distaste for the devilishly handsome man.

“Excuse me are you bounty hunters?” a strong feminine voice rang out from behind them. Both men turned to look at the short slender human woman speaking to them. Her brown hair was pulled back into a braided bun and she wore a plain light blue dress that hugged her torso in a worn-in way.

“No, we are not for hire. Move along.” Kenobi brushed off the woman.

“I have money. It’s everything I have.” the woman pleaded her brown eyes searching both men for some acknowledgement.

“It’s not enough.” Maul grumbled and turned back to his drink.

“I’m willing to give you everything I have. Don’t you want to at least hear what the job is?” the woman rang out attempting to appeal to the two rugged men.

“There’s a village. Not far from here. Peaceful folk. Moisture farmers, just trying to get by. The Hutts are trying to take our land out from under us. Killing innocent men, women, and children in cold blood in the streets.” she stated firmly, throwing a satchel into Kenobi’s hands. He opened it and peeked inside at the credits.

“Miss, you don’t need a bounty hunter. You need an army.” Kenobi responded as he threw the bag back into the woman’s arms.

“Missus. My husband was shot dead in the street by Jabba along with several other innocent civilians.”

“So it is revenge you seek?” Maul inquired piqued with interest now.

“I seek righteousness as should we all, but I’ll take revenge.” she responded cool and stern.

“The Hutts you say?” Kenobi perked up a bit, “What’s your name Missus?”

“I’m Jade Abernathy.”

“How many folks are still at your village?” Kenobi inquired, leaning back onto the bar with his arms crossed.

“60 or so. These folks are farmers. Not fighters.” she clarified.

“And how long until Jabba returns to your village?” Maul questioned.

“He said he’d be back in 3 weeks 8 days ago.” Jade stared at them both as she spoke. Maul let out a chuckle and downed a shot of whiskey.

“Well we best get started then.” Kenobi declared. Maul almost spit out his drink at this declaration. Kenobi slapped his back,

“Relax, old friend. We will recruit some help along the way.”

“I am NOT your friend.” Maul shot back with a glare.

The next day the 3 of them rode towards a settlement to which Kenobi was privy, where an old friend would be camped out. They came up to an old sand hut and each dismounted their horses to have a look around. The smell inside the hut was putrefying and large flii buzzed around, fat from whatever death they’d been feeding on. Jade walked into a room where a decomposing body of a tusken raider slumped on the floor. She covered her face and ran out of the room gagging. A figure of a man appeared from the darkness of the hut.

“He was dead before I got here.” a deep booming voice reached out from the shadows.

“Mace is that you?” Kenobi questioned walking further into the room to try and see.

“Obi Wan?” The strange man stepped forward into the dim light. He was a tall, bald, dark skinned man wearing a tan shirt, brown vest and brown pants. The two men embraced without thought of the decomposing body next to them.

“How did you find me?” Mace questioned Kenobi.

“I acquired a tip at Mos Eisley.” the jubilant Kenobi responded. Maul stood back and rolled his eyes at the reunion.

“Jedi scum,” he mumbled under his breath.

“What’s the job?” Mace stepped back, taking a serious tone.

“Going against the Hutts to help out a farming community. Paying us everything they got.” Kenobi replied matter-of-factly.

“What are our odds?”

“It’s suicide.”

The team of three plus Jade made their way now to recruit their next team member. Another friend of Kenobi’s, who went by the name of Anakin. They entered into a small town, where a congregation of people surrounded a young togruta woman giving a show throwing knives at burlap sack dummies. She had orange skin with white markings on her face, blue and white Lekku instead of hair, and wore a maroon vest and pants. A drunk kel dor man stepped out into the area where the togruta woman was performing.

“Yes, you can hit a dummy. Where’s the real show? Hit something live.” he slurred and stumbled towards the togruta.

“Keep talking and I’ll show everyone how easy it is to take someone down.” she threatened.

“oooh I’m sure they’d all love to see it!” he declared raising his arms in a mocking gesture turning his back to her to try and gain favor from the crowd. The togruta reached for the knives stowed at her back and threw them with clean precision into the kel dor’s back immediately taking him down into a pathetic slump. The crowd gasped and cheered.

A man dressed in all black, a scar running down his fair skinned face over one eye, walked around to the crowd with a hat extended taking payment for the show.

“Anakin?” Kenobi asked as the black clad man made his way around to them.

“KENOBI?!!” the man’s blue eyes lit up and reached out to hug Kenobi, nearly spilling his hat of money, “What are you doing here? How’d you find me?”

“Well we are recruiting for a job. Who is your companion? I’m surprised to see you relinquish yourself to the sidelines like this.” Kenobi asked with a concerned look on his face.

“Oh that’s Snips, er Ahsoka. She saved my life. And I help her navigate the wild terrain of Tatooine. She goes anywhere I go.” Anakin explained.

“Well we’d be happy to have you both. We’ll need both of your skills for this job.” Kenobi smiled.

They camped out that night outside the small town where they found Anakin and Ahsoka. The night air was crisp and cool, insects buzzing while Mace built a small campfire. Maul laid out his makeshift version of a bed and propped himself up to attempt resting. Kenobi walked over to his spot and sat down next to Maul.

“I already question why I have agreed to work with the likes of you. Do not try to make it worse with meaningless banter.” Maul scoffed barely looking over at Kenobi.

“I mean no harm. I only wish to bury our past and attempt to start over.” Kenobi spoke softly and sincerely.

“Start over?” Maul ridiculed, “are you going to grow my legs back? Am I to bring Qui Gon back from the dead? We have a past Kenobi. We will never have a future. And I mean never.”

“Such a Sith.” Obi Wan laughed, “it doesn’t need to be like this. We both did what we needed to survive at the time. The war is over. Let it go.” he started to stand as he spoke and walked away from Maul, who growled at the Jedi.

“You are such a pain in my ass.” Kenobi finished while shaking his head and walking to the other side of the campfire. Maul’s eyebrow ridges furrowed in anger as he stared at the dancing firelight in front of him. His body filled with rage and wanted nothing more than to kill the despicable Jedi, consequences be damned. He could not bring himself to do it, frozen to his small patch of desert. He hated the Jedi. He hated Kenobi more than anything. Yet, he respected the Jedi’s skills and combat techniques. The handsome and charming Jedi somehow infiltrated his way into Maul’s impermeable heart and that was what really drove him mad.

Jade sat to the side of both of them and watched the whole thing go down curiously. She gnawed on a dried piece of meat, before finally lying down on the hard rocky terrain to attempt getting some rest. The fire crackled and the soft hum of voices around the fire slowly died down as everyone decided to get some rest. Obi Wan took the first watch of the night, sitting atop a ledge and looking out into the darkness.

They packed up their belongings at first light to set out to find another old acquaintance of Obi Wan’s. Jade rode next to Maul and asked him about the Sith.

“Why don’t the Sith like Jedis? It seems like ya’ll are pretty similar.” she asked innocently enough, but it made Maul gnash his teeth together before responding.

“We are nothing alike. Jedi are fools and liars. They brainwash everyone into admiring them, and for what? For the power they claim they do not desire.” He scowled and spat the words out in his deep theatrical voice. Anakin over hearing this, let out a big laugh and Maul whipped his head around to glare at the smiling young man.

“I would be careful to make too much noise, Anakin.” Maul shot back at him and looked over to Jade, “This man took out an entire tribe of Tusken Raiders.”

“They were enslaving good folks, I did what I had to do to bring justice.” Anakin shouted back.

“There were innocent women and children that died at your hand. Was that for the good of everyone? Justice is merely the construct of the current power base.” Maul’s response was cut short by Obi Wan stopping the team with a fist up in the air.

“We are being followed.” Kenobi voiced quietly while everyone reached for their weapons. They were on a path surrounded by tall rock ridges on either side of them, everyone’s eyes darting around to watch for who was following them. A slender bald pale woman walked out beyond an outcropping guiding her horse on the rocky terrain. She carried a bow and arrow, wore tattered black and red form fitting clothes and had tattoos around her eyes and mouth.

“Quite a mix of strays I see.” She declared as she sauntered over, all eyes on her.

“Ventress,” Kenobi almost sighed out the words, “What are you doing out here?”

“I should ask the lot of you the same thing.” she suggested as she looked around at everyone.

“We are on a mission to drive the Hutts out of a peaceful farming community. Care to join?” Obi Wan asked the pale woman.

“Like you even had to ask.” she smirked.

“When did you become one of the good guys?” Kenobi questioned with a look of surprise on his face.

“Don’t flatter yourself, Kenobi. I’ll take any chance I can get at tormenting you.” she winked and mounted her horse now next to Kenobi. He rolled his eyes and they rode on down the dusty path.

They arrived at an old hut tucked away off the trail and Kenobi dismounted his horse to walk up to the two Jawas milling about outside the front door. They had a short conversation in Jawaese.

“You killed the old man who lived here?!” Kenobi asked them in astonishment. Suddenly, a green lightsaber flew through the air at the 2 jawas, cutting them down where they stood and then flying back into the hand of a short wrinkled green creature wearing torn furs and leathers.

“Left me for dead, those two Jawas did.” The old creature announced as he slowly walked towards Kenobi, dried blood covering the side of his face.

“Yoda, we are assembling a crew to take down the Hutts.” Kenobi cut to the chase and explained the mission to the small wizened creature.

Once Yoda was on board, they planned their initial attack into the town. Jabba was not currently there, but he had several of his cronies watching over the town so they’d need to carefully infiltrate at first. Then it would be a matter of days to train everyone there to fight back once Jabba did show up. The dangerous appeal of the mission was now starting to set into feelings of daunt and apprehension for everyone.

The team rode toward the town with everyone’s mind full of what their mission was as soon as they got there. It was late afternoon and the suns blazed onto the team of misfits. The air was arid and smelled of horses and nervous body odor. Kenobi and Maul rode side by side leading the group. Much to Maul’s bedevilment, as his body and face tensed up at the Jedi’s presence next to him.

“Kenobi.” Maul acknowledged him finally through grit teeth.

“Maul, don’t you think this is childish to still hold onto such a grudge?” Kenobi scrutinized the zabrak.

“I am unlike you foolish Jedi, sequestering your emotions. I was cast aside, I was forgotten, but I survived. Fueled by my singular hatred for you. ” Maul snarled at the Jedi.

“And yet here you are tagging along with us; some former and current Jedis and me, the bane of your existence.” Kenobi pointed out.

“I have my reasons.” he quietly retorted back and they rode on in silence for some time.

As they neared the town, the team split up and everyone besides Obi Wan took the back way into town led by Jade who knew the shortcuts and where Jabba’s infiltrators would not be monitoring. Obi Wan rode his horse directly into the town, it felt like a ghost town. Windows shuttered and barely anyone out and about. Finally, he reached the main drag and several armed beings; humans, twi’leks, and many gamorreans stood in a line on the street. The tall blue twi’lek spoke first,

“We don’t allow weapons in town. Check them in and we’ll return them after you leave.” he stretched his hand out, his long nails glinting in the sunlight.

“Of course. I wonder why it is such fine folks as you should be armed to the teeth when no one else is?” he asked as he reached for his lightsaber to hand over.

“We are this town’s protection against any outside force that wishes to bring harm to these townspeople.” the twi’lek responded looking agitated and spitting out a wad of tobacco as he finished. Obi Wan saw Ventress signal to him from on top of the building behind the men without letting them see his acknowledgement.

“That is not the story I am told. And not the story my friends believe.” Kenobi looked past the line of armed beings and they all slowly turned around to see they were surrounded. Kenobi ignited his lightsaber and cut down the twi’lek while Ventress shot several more from the rooftop with her bow and arrow. More Gamorrean guards rushed out into the street at hearing the commotion. Mace and Anakin shot several down narrowly missing getting shot themselves by a couple guards coming in from the sides. Ahsoka threw her knives at the guards in an instant hitting them in the throats and killing them on impact. Yoda and Maul stood on opposite sides of the street taking down the rest of the guards with calculated precision. As fast as it started, it was over, the warm air overcome with gunpowder, blood, and smoke.

Jade rode in on her horse, yelling for the townsfolk to come out of hiding.

“Everyone! Come out! They are here to help us!” her voice rang out as she rode her galloping horse through town. The townsfolk cautiously came out of hiding, looking around like scurriers expecting to see a rancor or other predator. Kenobi started to walk towards the congregation of people forming when he sensed a hidden Gamorrean under the wooden stairs to the bank building. He reached down and forcefully grabbed the Gamorrean by the arm to drag him out of hiding.

“You work for Jabba?” Kenobi shook the gamorrean in his hands and he squealed in response.

“You tell your boss if he wants this town, come see me. Tell him Kenobi sent you.” He instructed the Gamorrean who grunted in response and ran off with a squeal.

“These folks have assembled to help our town.” Jade’s voice rang out to the small crowd.

“The Hutts will be back in two weeks. How can we go up against them? We are simple farmers not warriors.” a distressed voice called out from the crowd.

“We are going to train you. Sleep well tonight. It may be the last good sleep you’ll see for awhile.” Kenobi answered the disembodied voice and a murmur of nervous voices rose in the air like steam.

The townspeople assembled at dawn to start training with the team of strange warriors. Kenobi had asked them to bring all their weapons and while many showed up wielding guns, axes, and knives, some only carried shovels.

“Oh good they brought shovels. I was worried about our chances otherwise.” Maul snarked at Kenobi, who tried to ignore the zabrak, but had to turn his head and hide his soft chuckle at the jeer.

The days were split up into different lessons. Tactical planning with Kenobi, short range shooting with Anakin and Mace, long range shooting with Maul, bomb building With Yoda, bow and arrow lessons with Ventress, and finally knife wielding with Ahsoka.

The days were long and grueling. The townsfolk were not lying about not being fighters. Everyone’s patience was thin, but Kenobi couldn’t help but notice Maul’s steadfastness with the townsfolk. He was patient and kind, but not afraid to motivate them through controlled aggression.

“You have to hate what you’re shooting at!” Maul yelled out behind the line of townsfolk armed to shoot dummies.

“Maul you have quite the knack for this.” Kenobi later remarked to the zabrak.

“A knack for survival? Yes. I care nothing for these simple minded people. You must know that about me by now.” he scoffed.

“Yes, I think I am getting to know you quite well.” Kenobi raised an eyebrow and moseyed away. Maul’s already hot internal temperature went up and he felt flushed and frustrated from the small interaction.

The week went by in a flash. a day like any other, Mace rode back to town after his watch to alert everyone the Hutts were a few hours away. It was go-time. The children and others unable to fight were hidden in the basement of the general store. The shovels had proven useful after all and many of the fighters hid in trenches that had been dug to camouflage their location. There were mines and bombs set along the path to town to take down as many of the Hutt soldiers as possible before they were able to enter town. Ventress and anyone who excelled at bow and arrow or Maul’s long range shooting course were perched atop different buildings in town.

The tension in the air could be cut with a knife. Kenobi swallowed his spit and it ran slowly down his esophagus seemingly snowballing into a hardened knot of anxiety until it settled into his empty stomach like a stone. He pulled the brim of his hat down to shade his face from the sun, and looked over at Maul. The zabrak’s golden eyes soothed him in an unexpected way, a calmness washing over him like drinking a warm shot of whiskey. A little intoxicating, but just the one did not dull him too much to think and respond clearly.

Maul nodded at Kenobi as he rode Scimitar down to the trenches, a smile creeping along his face for no one to see. He thrived in the chaos and sensing Kenobi’s nervous energy brought him a small amount of joy. He checked in with the trenches and made sure they understood their directions and to wait for the signal.

Jabba and his soldiers stood off in the horizon. Even from a great distance one could see the enormous slug-like nature of Jabba, laid out onto a big floating sled. He gave the signal and a line of soldiers on horseback ran towards the town.

“Steady, Steady.” Yoda’s voice rang out into the trenches. At last, Yoda gave the signal and shots were fired at the incoming soldiers. Once they reached the marked line of bombs Yoda pressed the lever and a giant boom deafened everyone. Horses and soldiers flew into the air in a cloud of dust and body parts. The survivors broke through the dust and ran forward into town. There was no time for anyone to think. Bullets whizzed past ears and into body parts. More bombs were set off taking down several clusters of soldiers at once.

The surviving soldiers made it into town, firefights ensuing all around. Ventress and the others on top of the building taking down soldier after soldier from their vantage point. Mace, Anakin, and Ahsoka all on foot on the street below shooting down anyone in sight. Kenobi and Maul, still on horseback, rode through the town shooting down their assailants at every chance they got. Yoda and the others from the trenches ran back into town to keep fighting as well.

If there had been only one or two waves of soldiers from Jabba, things would have been looking pretty good. Unfortunately, someone as rich as Jabba had an endless resource for anything they desired in life, including soldiers and weapons. More and more soldiers descended onto the small town. Already, many townsfolk had sacrificed their life for the cause. The foul stench of death and direness infiltrated the air of the town, quickly taken over by the smell of fire.

The General Store was set ablaze and the children were all trapped under the building. Without thinking, Maul shot his way through to the store. Inside, smoke filled his lungs and burned his eyes. The trap door to the basement had a burning beam on top of it, trapping anyone underneath it. A swift, force-ful kick and the beam was slid across the floor. Maul crouched down to lift the door and help pull up the children out of the basement. Jade had now made her way to the store to help and her and Maul led the children and others to safety outside of the burning building. They shot down several soldiers on their way as they protected their helpless herd.

Once the children were safe with Jade, Maul mounted Scimitar and rode over to Kenobi.

“We have to take down Jabba. These soldiers only fight because he pays them, if he is gone they stop fighting.” Maul did not even let Kenobi respond as he reached down and grabbed a stack of TNT from the stockpile, and galloped off on his horse.

“Maul, wait!” Kenobi finally yelled after the zabrak, now disappearing into a cloud of dust.

“You chaotic ass!” Kenobi huffed and rode after Maul. As far as Kenobi could tell, Maul’s mission was suicide and he rode to catch up with an urgency never quite felt before. His jaw was clenched, hands formed tight fists around his horse’s reins, and heels dug into the sides of his horse signaling the beast to go FAST.

Maul already had practically made it to Jabba and narrowly avoided being shot too many times to count. The bullets whistled past his ears but he was running on too much adrenaline to be stopped. He dismounted Scimitar about 50 meters from where Jabba lay out on his sled surrounded by his fiercest guards.

Maul held his hands up in the air in an act of surrender, and slowly walked towards the evil slug. Before he got halfway there, one of the overzealous guards shot Maul in the stomach. The impact of the shot stopped him in his tracks and he fell down to his knees in shock clutching his stomach. He pushed the pain aside to stick a cigarette in his mouth and fumbled with his matches. His hands wet with blood and sweat and shaking found it impossible to light the damned cigarette. Several guns were still pointed at him, but Jabba instructed them to hold off, and one of the guards was sent to light his cigarette for him as Jabba laughed at this foolish zabrak dying in front of their eyes.

Once Maul got his cigarette lit, a feverish smile curved his lips. He reached for the dynamite strapped to his back and fell face down ass up into the ground. The guards all laughed at his death and turned away from the pathetic slump of a corpse. Maul sensed when they weren’t looking, lit the end of the dynamite fuse, and threw it at Jabba’s sled before anyone had time to register what was happening.

As soon as the dynamite left his hand Maul was ripped off the ground and on top of a horse fiercely galloping away. The explosion set off narrowly behind them deafening them both.

The fight was over. The remainder of the guards and soldiers left alive ran off now that Jabba had been destroyed in the explosion. Kenobi slowed his horse’s pace and eventually stopped to assess the situation of Maul’s injuries. He gently carried Maul off the horse and into a soft patch of dried grass. Blood was spilling out of the zabrak’s midsection at an alarming rate. Kenobi ripped his shirt off to apply pressure to the wound. Maul groaned fighting off the urge to pass out from the pain and exhaustion.

“You almost got yourself killed, you fool.” Kenobi exasperated holding down on the wound.

“You know first hand how hard it is to kill me.” Maul coughed out.

“Yes, very well, you are incredibly lucky to have survived that just now.”

“Of course I survived.” Maul reached up to touch Kenobi’s face tenderly. Kenobi took his hand in his own and pressed it into his face, blood dripping down from his hand, his eyes filled with tears.

And so they saved the little town. Jade Abernathy gave them all the payment as promised and they stayed to help clean up the town and give burials to those lost in the battle. Kenobi never left Maul’s side as he recovered in the small doctor’s office in town. Eventually, the rest of the team headed out for their own separate next adventures.

Maul slipped in and out of consciousness for several days. Kenobi figured it was the first time the zabrak had actually rested in his whole troubled life. Eventually, Maul’s strength was enough to fully wake up. He immediately saw Kenobi in the corner of the room napping. Kenobi was sitting in a wooden chair, his legs propped up on a footstool and his hat covering his face.

“Kenobi!” Maul growled. The cowboy in the corner of the room slowly reached up for his hat and a relieved grin spread across his handsome face.

“Maul, I am so happy to see you have your strength back enough to be angry again!” Kenobi laughed.

Maul got out of the small bed and limped over to Kenobi with a menacing look. Kenobi stood tall to meet Maul’s fiery amber eyes attempting to cut through his watery blue gaze. Maul, now close enough to touch Kenobi, slowly leaned in to kiss Kenobi on the lips. Initially, Kenobi slightly flinched so taken aback by the act of affection. He couldn’t help the swelling of his heart, wrapped his arms around Maul’s waist and passionately kissed him back. The moment so pure and beautiful, Kenobi finally softly pushed Maul back.

“Maul, I care deeply for you. But you have got to brush your teeth.”

-.-.-.-.--.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.

once again thankee sai for reading my humble writing! Please do leave a comment or heart, it warms my soul.

Tag list: @brilliantbutbatty , @maulieber , @botherbother-blog , @emissarydecksetter , @marvel-starwarsfangirl , @wolfpack-arts-industries99 , @formerly-darth-now-just-maul @mayday1284 , @justalittlecloud ,

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snow--blanket · 4 years

Text

painter and eclipse

word count: 4099

collab with @otumbalt~ my piece for the @ikevampzine!

characters: vincent van gogh

fandom: ikemen vampire

tw: implications of depression, suicide ***

The end of everything felt like a warm bowl of soup, Vincent realised.

When he woke up, he felt his body sway like he was being bounced in the hold of his mother, with her soft face and her sparkling eyes. Vincent came to realise that he was on a ship, something he'd never been on before. He stood up, pausing when vertigo took him, and walked to the edge of the ship, where he saw the water was murky and indecipherable. It was so dark and still, despite the ship breaking its waves. He couldn't even tell if there were fish underneath.

He walked alongside the rim of the ship, and then stood over the bow, where he felt no cool breeze or wind to grace him. Odd. How did it move without wind? His eyes wandered above. He could not tell if it was dusk or dawn. The sky seemed to be gray as glue, and there was a hazy mist of smoke that seemed to spread itself thick, rendering the horizon distant and unknown.

“I will not allow you to become a gift to these waters,” said a voice behind him, and Vincent nearly fell overboard. His hands found purchase in the grit of the grainy wood, and he leveraged his arms to look behind him.

Vincent blinked. There was a woman, and she was dressed in a white dress with dark red and black lace. Vincent recalled painting an eclipse before. He was staring at one. “Hello,” he answered back. “Where am I?”

“We're headed elsewhere,” she replied. She held a rather blurry smile, like a smudged painting.

Vincent opened his mouth, but hesitated. “Is it someplace I know?”

She was quiet. “Yes.”

He nodded. “Then, that's alright.” He pushed himself up from the gunwale and extended a hand. “My name is Vincent.”

She reached out hers and held his. “You can just call me whatever you'd like.”

“You don't have a name?”

She shook her head.

Vincent thought about it, and then smiled. “What about Lisse?”

Her eyes widened. He realised that they were like dark chocolate. “Like… Elise?”

He shook his head. “Like eclipse.” Vincent pointed to her clothes. “Your dress reminds me of an eclipse.”

“Oh,” she said it so softly, like a gentle wake up call. “That's very pretty.”

Vincent smiled back. “You're a very pretty person.”

Lisse smiled at him, and it further proved his point. She had a lovely smile. It was less like a painting now and more like charcoal on paper. She fitted well amongst the black waters.

It was hard to tell the passing of time on the ship. Vincent had tried to count the seconds, then the minutes, then the hours—but like her smile, the numbers smudged in his mind in a blur and he could not tell where one started and two began.

He had tried to go into the hold of the ship before, but she was there like a ghost before he could enter. She simply smiled and shook her head, as mysterious as the Mona Lisa. He did not know why she smiled.

There was a plate of pancakes in front of him, doused with syrup that looked like the glue of the sky in its thick ribbons, and the sticky way it clung to the pancakes. Vincent turned the plate this way and that, wondering if there was a trick of the light that had convinced his eyes golden.

Lisse was sitting across from him, a plate of thorny stone fruits in her lap. They resembled sea urchins, but when she cracked open the hazardous exterior, there was a golden nugget there. She took it and put it in her mouth, her tongue swiping her bottom lip. She looked at Vincent. “Aren't you going to eat?”

Vincent woke out of his trance, her voice the sound of heels snapping a twig on a forest floor. He smiled sheepishly. “In a second. I'm curious about something.”

She regarded him carefully. He had tried to make conversation with Lisse before, but she was a quiet person, making do with only smiling as her method of communication. When she spoke, he could barely hear her above the sound of the sloshing water. “I didn't poison it.”

His heart climbed. “N-No! I don't… That's not what I meant. I was wondering if this was really syrup.”

Lisse blinked. “You can taste it…”

Vincent smiled bashfully. “That is true, however, I'm accustomed to looking at things.” Of course, if he was back home with Theo, he would not have hesitated to gobble down the dish in a second. Here it was different. When he looked closer to the water, it was not murky and black like tar, but foiled like silver ribbons. As if someone had cut a portion of the night sky and tied it to the barren earth. “It's a bit silly, isn't it?”

She cocked her head. “Why would that be silly?”

He felt red flush to his face. “I guess it's not.”

She was quiet for a while, and then stood up. Vincent followed her with his eyes, and he didn't resist when she took the plate of pancakes from his hands. She headed to the rim of the ship, and Vincent followed suit when she beckoned. “Look.” She took the spooned syrup and let it dribble slowly into the water, which then turned to small rivers of gold. The syrup that had touched the surface of the water did not have the transparent sheen of honey, but rather the gilded luster of a crown.

If Vincent were to open his mouth any wider, he was sure his jaw would lock. He looked over to Lisse. “That's amazing…! And I can eat something like that?”

Lisse nodded. She didn't look as impressed as Vincent was, but he was too absorbed in watching the path of gold slowly trail behind the ship slowly, like the touch of Midas.

She handed him back the plate of pancakes and returned to sitting on the deck, where she cracked open more of the thorny fruits. In the end, Vincent ate his whole stack of pancakes (he felt rude if he didn't), using the remaining syrup left and opined the shimmering water on his new canvas, his spoon the brush.

It was the next meal, and Lisse did not eat.

Vincent looked at her—mostly in concern, but also out of curiosity. “You're not hungry?”

She shook her head. “I don't feel hunger.”

His breath was in sync with the gently swaying ship and the crests of the waves. “I sometimes don't feel hunger, too.”

He has gotten to know her a little better. When she is shocked, her ears flex slightly, and her jaw becomes… much softer, rounder. As if she was made from flesh and not sculpted from stone. Her eyes shone like tempered chocolate, a sheen finish glossing them. “Humans are always hungry for something,” she said. Her stare pierced him, the glass cage around his heart shattering by a single well-placed nail. “What is it like to not starve? To not want anything?”

“It feels like…” Vincent's hand took to his belly. “Like there is only night in my stomach.” He did not look at Lisse. He did not try. “Like it is an eternal solstice. Like I am in an endless desert and all I could do was walk for hours on end.”

Vincent could not bear to look at her. They were both in each other's company, walking through the desert and only tasting sand.

Her voice broke the silence, and he could hear it clearly this time. “I will pray for you.”

“For what?” Vincent toyed with the spoonful of syrup and the tanned pancakes that reminded him of his mother's wedding ring. It was not like the golden river of syrup at all. It was dull and muted, a sign of an unhappy marriage.

“That whatever causes night in you might leave stars.”

Vincent was quiet. “I will pray for you, too.”

Lisse tilted her head, puzzled. “What for?”

“That whatever causes the ocean in you might leave pearls.”

She laughed, a gentle sound. The breeze carried, then, and it was as if her voice was a summer wind-chime and he had been waiting all his life to return to.

The moon changed her face, and Vincent could not breathe.

He felt his lungs fill, felt his throat seized by a snake binding itself around his neck like grapevines to wood. He made wounds in the water, as if it could liberate him from the smothering hold of the sea. The water was neither kind nor gentle, and he was foolish to think otherwise. The tides kept rising, and Vincent only now realised that even underwater, shadows could form.

He would seek a water sleep, then.

He ignored his pained eyes—strange how they burned, still, amongst moistness—and closed them. Lisse was wrong, he realised. He would not be a gift. He would be an intruder. Vincent let his body convulse and throttle uselessly against the current. It was dark below the water, and even without opening his eyes, he could feel the glow of the sea lanterns and its orange light guiding his way deep, deep down.

Suddenly, he felt the harsh glare of the sun on his face. Strange. There was no sun to be seen above. Vincent slowly opened his eyes, regaining focus. The water wanted to exit his windpipe, so he allowed himself to cough and sputter onto the deck. His hands were too weak to push himself up, so he remained there, the ridges of the wooden planks hard against his back. His chest heaved like a spazzed fish out of water.

He breathed, and it felt as if he was being sewn together tightly. He could feel the metallic tang in his mouth, needle and thread closing the seams between his ribs. Air returned to him like an unwilling old flame. Lisse watched him silently, and when Vincent had enough strength, he sat up.

Lisse stood up, walking into the hold of the ship. When she came back, she was holding two plates of pancakes. She placed a plate near him, and started to eat her own helping.

Despite the cold water, Vincent did not get chills when the slight gust of wind passed through him like a paper doll. He let a sigh slip past his lips, and then he took the plate of pancakes and began eating.

“It tastes normal,” she said in between chews.

Vincent looked at her. Surely, the pancakes were dull in comparison to her who ate gold and thorns for a meal. “It tastes better after a hard day's work,” he said. The words were not foreign, for they were not his. He was merely recounting Theo's from memory. He had missed him so.

She stayed her hand, and then looked at Vincent. “Did you want to become the night sea so badly that you dove in without thought?”

“I—” Vincent stuttered, “I'm sorry.”

“I did not ask for an apology. I was asking for an answer.”

He felt himself flush red under her attentive stare, feeling like he was back home again, where the nuns and sisters would reprimand him for his lack of focus. “I thought dying would be easy.”

She was quiet. It was a strange thing. Whenever other people were silent, he could usually hear their voices in his head. He could hear Arthur's lopsided grin and Theo's blaring, sarcastic voice. Even William's bass-like words, like the sound of cello strings being played on. When he was with Lisse, he could not hear her voice or the voice of others. As if her silence itself was a language, and his mind quieted itself trying to understand it.

“Death will not be easy for you,” Lisse finally spoke. Vincent blinked at her. “To die means to leave something behind, to be on a pilgrimage to the unknown.” She leaned closer, then slowly, she traced his stomach to his heart with her finger. The movement sent his heart tickling and butterflies fluttering in his belly. She looked him in the eyes, and her eyes were not chocolate, but the colour of soil. The colour of a grave dug up, a wound in the earth. “What is left in you to leave?”

She knows. Vincent felt his heart pound, strangely alive in irony. She knows. She knows that I'm empty. She knows, she knows—

Vincent's breath quickened involuntarily, and Lisse retreated her finger, pale like the moon. Her eyes returned to normal, but he could not look at her in her eclipse-like sight. He felt that if he did, he would go blind. “Do not try this again.”

I will not allow you to become a gift to these waters. She had kept true to her word, so why did it feel like his lungs were full of water again, and not air?

It is however-many days after his attempted suicide, and like a spider, he spent his time eating his own heart.

He weathered the night in him like one might weather an oncoming storm. What is the difference, anyway? The sea at storm in her might as well be eternal night in him. Vincent felt that if he were to give shape or words to the darkness that plagued him sick and hollow and unbaked like mud, he would sooner fall into the ocean again.

He remembered what Arthur had told him. The young doctor pseudo-detective told him about the things he had seen during his time in the War, and he personally recounted his own experiences to illustrate his example. He called it post-traumatic stress disorder. He said it was a common illness amongst soldiers, but not limited to them.

Vincent remembers the somehow-always-damp room and the way Arthur had threaded his voice from sensuous silk to comforting, fuzzy wool. His voice was warm like simmering milk. “Sometimes I get these… signals.”

“What kind?”

Vincent was not a very good student in school, and often daydreamed as a means for an escape. His leg started bouncing, and he stilled his knee with a hand. “I don't know. Like—like I start feeling jittery and I feel like… Like there is a stone on my chest. Like I am barely above water, and I forgot how to swim.”

Arthur leaned, resting his chin in his palm. A quiet swept them both, and Vincent let Arthur's voice echo inside his head like a rattling bell. “How long does it last?”

“I think, a few minutes. It's—it's really weird. I feel like a feral—beast whenever it happens. Like, you know one of those mythological creatures? Werewolves or vampires or something? Like one of those.”

Arthur hummed. “Do you feel like you're in danger whenever that feeling comes?”

Vincent shrugged, turning his attention to the dusty shelves, finding them very interesting at the moment. “Not… exactly. I just feel like I'm about to die. I know that my life isn't being threatened, but my—mind just fizzles out after being lit like a firecracker, and then it shrivels up into smoke. I find myself unable to do anything for a few hours just because of how tired I get.”

Arthur poked Vincent's nose with a pen. “I think what you're experiencing are called panic attacks.”

“Panic… attacks?”

He nodded, then pushed his glasses further up. “Panic attacks are actually more common than you think, and they happen to a wide demographic of people, not just people who have been in war.” Seemingly having gotten an idea, Arthur left the room in a hurry, and then came back with two glasses of iced tea.

He gave one to Vincent, who accepted it with a small thank you. Arthur reached for an ice cube and showed it to him. “Whenever you're feeling like that, press an ice cube to the roof of your mouth.”

“Why?”

“It's the quickest way to shock your body in a harmless way. Some people use pain—via elastic bands—but I find ice cubes to be most effective for me. Of course, it varies from person to person on how well they work, but this is a good start, no?”

Vincent looked at the drink in his hands, then reached for an ice cube. He contemplated it for a few seconds, then popped it in his mouth. His eyes widened, and he looked at Arthur. “It's really refreshing,” he said.

Arthur grinned that perfect, toothpaste-commercial smile. “Isn't it? It also helps because it's likely that you're dehydrated.”

Vincent could not tell the time, so he did not know what day or hour he woke up not being able to breathe.

He was drowning again. Drowning in the midnight waters, just as he had before.

His whole body was shaking. He was not in the hands of the gently swaying ship anymore, but a leaf in a thunderstorm. Vincent tried easing his breaths into following the rhythms of the ocean crests, but he could not follow. What is left in you to leave?

Lisse was here this time, for the second time he had drowned. She crouched in front of him, and as if embarrassed, Vincent hid his face in his hands. Don't look at me, he thought. If you look too closely, all you'll see is an empty box.

He could not form the words to tell her to go away, nor had he the heart for it. Lisse realised that fact fairly quickly and capitulated on it. She was unending in her cruelty, but Vincent found even that part of her beautiful. She sat cross-legged in front of him, only staring in silence. She did not smile or speak or hush him kindly. Any port in a storm, as they say. He could not have Theo's grounding hand or Arthur's silver tongue to tether him, but it was okay. She was an anchor. She would not let him drift.

When his breaths returned to him in gulps, he wiped the sweat off his brow and felt his muscles relax. He lied on the wooden deck, like a squeezed out dishrag that had grown tired and damp from use. Vincent's chest felt different this time. Not like he was drowning, but as if his lungs were see-saws, and there were children playing in the cavity of them.

Vincent pushed to sit straight and faced her. “Thank you,” he said.

Lisse did not smile. He learned this, too: if her silence was a language, her lips gave them tune. When she did not smile that indecipherable, Mona Lisa smile, it was something new he had to pay attention to. “I didn't do anything.” This fact was not untrue.

“Just being here helped,” Vincent insisted. He smiled at her.

Lisse looked away, and her hair caught the light in a metallic glow. “You are stronger than you think,” she said.

Now it was Vincent who looked away from her. He could not reject her kindness, so what he said was: “Thank you.”

He could feel her stare even without looking. “I have never met someone who thanked me so much for doing nothing.”

“Not nothing. You pulled me out of the water twice already.”

She blinked. “Twice? It was only once.”

“Nevermind that.”

“Only dead things stay afloat,” she whispered, like a gust of wind blowing through a ghost town. “You sank. Does that not mean there is something in you?”

He started to fiddle with his fingers, humming and hawing. “Nothing worth looking at.”

“Must you be someone worth looking at to exist freely?”

“If I—” he started, but quieted when he realised he had raised his voice. Lisse seemed like a person that was able to accept you for everything that you are to the point that it was all too easy to mistreat her. Vincent took a deep breath. She did not deserve his frustration. If it was even that. “If I am not… worthy of looking at, or creating things worthy of looking at, then there is no point.”

The world was full of beautiful things. Therefore, the things he created had to be beautiful by proxy. He dared not give a shape to the night inside him. No torch to light his path, lest lesser creatures might prey on his mind that was brittle like glass, cracked like defected vases. He had tried to cover the gaps with sand, with clay, with the blood under his nails. But the water kept coming onto him like tides, as if it was the harmless August breeze and he crashed into himself like windchimes.

“Even if you are not beautiful, the fact that you have lived is true.” She paused. “You may not know what is in yourself that is worth looking at, but… aren't you creating? Aren't you giving value to this world, if only for yourself?”

It was an inevitable conclusion that he had to voice out. “But what value is there in being myself?”

Lisse did not avert her eyes. “I… don't know. I have seen many people on this ship, many who did not cross the river in the end. I cannot say many of them are worthless people, even if they are horrible to others or to themselves in their lives. But they are living, and isn't that something? That's why…” She stood up, dragging him by his hands. She walked to the gunwale, and smiled at him one last time.

“You must wake up now.”

Lisse shoved him overboard.

Vincent woke up heaving. He squinted his eyes shut when he did, not used to the light after spending so much time on the ship with only the moon as his lantern. When the nurse came in, her eyes widened like saucers, and the clipboard she held in her hands fell to the floor. She called for the doctors, and then men and women in white coats fussed themselves over Vincent, saying something about kidney failure and miracles.

After the doctors left, Theo trudged into the room with the heft of a soldier but the face of a mother, and Vincent knew he was where he was supposed to be. “Good morning.”

“If you even think about putting another bullet through you again—”

“I won't—”

“What makes you think I'll—”

“I won't,” he said, smiling. He had missed Theo dearly. The grit of his gravel voice like walking down a forest path. “I'm sorry, Theo.”

Affronted by his honesty and the genuine repentance in his eyes, Theo's breath halted in frustration, then he sighed. “I won't ask why,” he said, “I already know the reason. I just—” His face scrunched in pain, and Vincent's chest stung again, water in his lungs. “Don't put me through that again, Vincent. Please.”

Theo's cruelty and Lisse's were the same. Vincent almost laughed. “I promise I won't try anything like that again, but I can't promise I won't worry you anymore.”

“I don't need that kind of promise. I'd rather worry about your sleep schedule every day for the rest of my life than cry about a bullet that went through your brain.” Theo's rough manner of speaking was like sand, too. Remembering himself, he pinched the bridge of his nose. “I'm sorry. I don't mean to be crass.”

Vincent laughed. He found it surprisingly easier to laugh now. “What else can you be but crass, Theo? It's who you are.” He looked at Theo with a newfound love and tenderness, and he did not know where this love had escaped him when he could not breathe. What nook of his body was unexplored, fugitive to his hands? He did not know. Perhaps he would spend his life figuring it out.

Vincent didn't know himself well enough yet, but that's who he was. A painter, and a person who thought the world was beautiful. He looked outside of the window then, and he did not flinch when the glare of the afternoon sun yielded itself to him. He stood up and walked towards the window, looking downwards to see a dog barking at him, slack-jawed and salivating. The dog continued to bark and yelp, even as the onlookers walked away, announcing his existence so clearly.

His name was Vincent van Gogh, and he had a place in a family of things.

When he was finally released from the hospital, he sat in front of his canvas and painted the moon in eclipse and a black river like the night sky. In those waters, he would not be a stranger.

#ikemen vampire #ikevamp #ikevamp vincent #ikemen vampire vincent #vincent van gogh #ikevamp writing #ikevamp fanfiction

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tiliamericana · 3 years

Text

Muay Thai: 1.09

Nairi double checked the address Linden had texted her and looked back up at the set of buildings. They were squat and stuck together, looking kind of like a demountable set up someone had made permanent as best they could. The foundation was brickwork that looked more recent than the dirty siding, and about halfway up the wall it was all old windows, half of which were propped open.

The number she was looking for was around the side and about halfway down, and Nairi could smell cleaning supplies and cooking food, and hear discordant music as she walked up the ramp towards the door she was looking for. It was propped open a couple of inches by a worn paint can filled with concrete, a little angry face painted on it in red. She knocked on the window panel in the door. “Linden?”

The door swung all the way open, and Linden poked her head out, smiling at her. “There you are! Found it okay?”

She was completely bare faced for the first time since Nairi had met her, and while the denim cut offs were a familiar part of her wardrobe rotation, the oversize grey t-shirt was new, shapeless and paint spattered. There was also paint all along her forearms, some of which had managed to get onto her legs as well.

“Yeah,” said Nairi, holding up the paper bag. “And I brought lunch, as requested.”

“Oh, I’ll have to keep you around,” said Linden, grinning as she stepped back and opened the door properly to let Nairi in. She took the bag as Nairi stepped past her, digging in to retrieve her enchilada with a pleased noise.

“Having a… productive Tuesday?” asked Nairi as Linden let the door fall back into the paint can with a muffled clang.

Even with all of the windows propped open and the extractor fan wheezing loudly, the room still stunk of turpentine, paint, and something else chemical and sweet that she couldn’t quite identify. There was an unfinished counter running along one side of the room, cluttered with tubs of paint and half-filled bottles of oil, dirty jars and mugs, with an industrial sink at the end with an old microwaved plugged in next to it. One of its hinges was held on with electrical tape. The shelves under the counter had a lot of plastic tubs filling the space, labelled in masking tape and marker.

Linden crossed the room to a section where the floor was covered by an old bedsheet, sitting down on a wheeled office chair with the back broken off in front of an easel holding a canvas that was mostly pale green. She nodded as she picked up a tall ceramic mug with a lid, and she drank deeply from it, gesturing at a ratty couch under the windows on the wall. The mug had a strip of masking tape wrapped around it, ‘NO TURPS >:|’ scrawled on it in thick marker.

“Yeah, I got my wash layer down for the base of this bad boy,” said Linden, setting the mug back down and jerking her thumb over her shoulder at the canvas. “I spent a good chunk of last week fucking around with thumbnails, but your housewarming gift is officially on the way as of now.”

Nairi, sat on the couch. A strut creaked under her, threatening to crack. “You don’t have to—”

Linden waved her off. “I told you, your walls are too bare, and this is literally my area of expertise. How was your morning anyway?”

Nairi shrugged. “Okay, I guess? I really only got out of bed when you texted me.”

“Nice for some,” said Linden, grinning at her. “Layabout! How do you and Aggy get anything scheduled? She’s up by six and in bed by ten sharp.”

Nairi shrugged, unwrapping her own lunch and shifting uncomfortably on the terrible couch. “I guess we’ll find out; I’m having dinner at her apartment tonight.”

“Co-sy,” said Linden sarcastically, setting her enchilada on the folding table next to her ‘not turpentine’ and a clear jar filled with what was presumably turpentine. She picked up a flat paintbrush and dabbed it at her palette, rolling her chair forward and making a couple of light, decisive strokes on the green. “You two are enjoying yourselves, then?”

“I think so,” said Nairi, not entirely certain if she’d messed something up or was missing something. “Have you got plans for the night then? Or are you working?”

“Both,” said Linden promptly. “Got a hot date with a cool hook up, and then a much hotter date with the rest of next month’s rent check. Can I ask you a favour?”

“Sure,” said Nairi, chewing slowly. “For your cool hook up or next month’s rent?”

Linden turned her head and bounced her eyebrows at Nairi. “Next month’s rent check. Si’s kind of a dickhead, but he’s only dangerous if you don’t like T.S. Eliot or are allergic to, like, papercuts, or lignin, or something. I need a safety check in for when I finish my job. I have a couple of people I’d usually ask, but the one I normally go to during the week has a daughter in hospital for her appendix, and Flo takes melatonin to keep her schedule, like, regulated during semester so asking her to wait up on a school night is a no-go.”

“I should be able to do that,” said Nairi, nodding, partially because her only other option was asking what the hell ‘lignin’ was. “What do you need for it?”

“It’s just waiting for me to call when I’m finished with my job, or calling to check in, just to make sure I haven’t been murdered or whatever,” said Linden, leaning back a little to scan the lines she’d marked out on the canvas. “I’m booked for eleven, so I should be done before one. I’ll like, send you the address and the number for my work phone and stuff.”

Nairi nodded again. “Okay, sounds easy. So, if I can’t reach you by one, what do I need to do?”

“I’d tell you to call Nick, but he’d only call the cops so you can probably just cut him out of the equation and go straight to them. I’d like, rather not with them, like at all, ever,” she emphasised this with a slashing motion of her paintbrush, “but if it comes to that, then tell them like, I’m on a first date with a guy my dad thinks is creepy and I promised to check in or something, I don’t know.”

If she had the address, then… well. “Why would Nicholas call the cops if he knows you’d hate it?”

Linden rolled her eyes extravagantly and set her brush down, going for her enchilada again. “Because he believes in the power of the system, doesn’t approve of my job, is convinced that one day cops will magically stop being shitty to me, and also he apparently still thinks I’m sixteen.”

“Right,” said Nairi, slowly balling up the foil and paper of her lunch. “He uh, cares a lot about you, huh?”

“Yeah, he’s an old friend of my dad’s,” said Linden, nodding and swallowing. “Looked out for me when I was a teenager, you know? He’s still convinced that every time he turns around I’m gonna run off and nearly get myself killed again, it’s a real pain in the ass.”

“Again?”

A rueful smile flickered across Linden’s face. “Yeah, I ran away from home when I was about fifteen. Jim’s the one who found me and got me off the streets at first, but Edie and Nick were the ones who really made sure I got on my feet.”

“Right,” said Nairi, and she hesitated. “Jim’s a friend of theirs?”

“Was, yeah,” said Linden, glancing down at her lap to brush off an invisible crumb. “He died when I was about nineteen. Lung cancer, you know. It happens.”

“Damn,” said Nairi, not sure what to say in the face of that. “I’m sorry.”

“Me too, sometimes,” said Linden, her smile a little lopsided as she looked up. “It was a long time ago, though—water under the bridge and all that.”

“Yeah,” said Nairi, glancing at her hands briefly. “So what, Nicholas is worried that you’ll end up in a gutter?”

“Street corner, more like,” said Linden, dryness creeping back into her tone as she popped the last piece of her enchilada into her mouth, shaking her head. “He was pretty pissed off when I got out of college and went straight back to hooking.”

Nairi snorted. “Yeah, he doesn’t strike me as the kind of guy who’d ‘approve’ of that.”

“Real stick up his ass, yeah,” said Linden, nodding again. “Edithwas the fun one when I was a teenager, so you can imagine what a downer life was back then.”

“A little, yeah,” said Nairi, her mouth twitching. “I didn’t know anyone like that as a teenager, maybe it would’ve helped me out some.”

“Oh, I know that feeling,” said Linden with a laugh, giving Nairi a carefully measured side-eye. “He’s very useful to have around sometimes—my taxes get filed on time every year and all that.”

Nairi laughed. “Nothing shows you care like robust budgeting, huh?”

Linden cackled with laughter, a loud, startled noise. “Yes! Exactly—god, you should have seen him when I got my first apartment. He came with me to sign the lease and he interrogated my landlord, did his own goddamn tour, took his own photos of the place when I moved in and hunted the guy down to sign that he’d seen them, made copies of my bond payment, and thenhe was on me every single month to make sure I had a receipt for my rent.”

“Ferocious,” said Nairi, grinning at her.

“And wildly disappointed in me the first time I got evicted,” said Linden, grinning back at her.

Nairi laughed without expecting it, the lines around her eyes creasing. “You’re a menace, then?”

Linden was smiling with bright eyes; head tilted a little. “Damn right I am. Nick’s been putting up with my shit for ten years, I really thought he’d’ve clued in by now.”

“Maybe he thinks you can be better than shit?” suggested Nairi.

Linden’s smile softened a little as she picked up the paintbrush again. “No, he’s a little better at managing his expectations than that. I mean, he sticks up for me with dad, but it’s not like I get away scot free when I fuck up!”

“Your dad’s not a fan of the hooking I take it?”

Linden made a wheezing sort of noise as she went for her paint again. “Oh god, no, my dad doesn’t know about the hooking, he’s an attorney, he’d kill me. That’s part of why Nick fucking hates it, he doesn’t like lying for anything, least of all my sorry ass.”

Nairi nodded again. “Okay, so, your dad’s just kind of a dick, huh?”

Linden paused and turned her head to look at Nairi, giving her an annoyed look. “No, he’s fine. We don’t get along that well, is all. And that whole thing where I was a missing teenager for four years and then came back queer and punk didn’t exactly help things either. We’re fine, I’m going up for dinner with him in a couple of weeks, actually.”

“Right, sorry,” said Nairi, holding up a hand. “I never met my parents, I don’t know what’s like, normal or whatever.”

“It’s fine,” said Linden, shrugging at her. “People get the wrong impression sometimes, is all.”

Somehow Nairi wasn’t shocked by this. “Will I hit another pothole if I ask about your mom?” she said instead.

Linden laughed. “I never knew her. I asked about her a bunch when I was a kid, but my dad was kind of really evasive and I stopped asking—I sort of got the impression she died when I was extra small or something. Edie reckons that whoever she was they were never really, like ‘together’, ‘cause apparently I was a surprise baby for everyone who knew him.”

“Oh, I don’t think kids work well as surprises,” said Nairi with a wince.

“Definitely not,” said Linden, grinning widely. “He did okay, though.”

Nairi shifted uncomfortably on the couch again. “You turned out okay, so he must have.”

Linden snorted.

Nairi’s phone chirped in her back pocket and she tugged it out to check the message. The couch creaked ominously as she shifted again, and she paused, glancing down at it. “Just out of curiosity, how much did you pay for this couch?”

“I didn’t, I nicked it from a guy who was throwing it out,” said Linden, taking a drink of not turps as Nairi’s phone chirped again. “Who’s texting?”

Nairi glanced down at her screen, tapping open the messaging inbox. “Agatha. She’s just checking that we’re still on for tonight.”

“You’re not gonna disappoint her, are you?” teased Linden.

Nairi looked up at her, not sure what to make of the way her tone had dipped. “No?”

Linden hummed, her mouth twitching. “Well, don’t party too hard then,” she said in the same tone again, and she turned her attention back to her canvas.

#serial fiction #lgbt fiction #109 #series honey tree #book muay thai #book 1

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hypnoshatesme · 4 years

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Portugal

Porto

Michael flinched as he watched yet another person jump from the bridge. He had barely managed to stifle a yelp when he had seen the first person jump when they arrived at the riverside. It didn’t get any easier, no matter if he knew they were fine and climbing out of the river moments later just to go again.

So Michael looked away instead, focussing on Gerry, who was sitting across from him and was enjoying the skewered Portuguese marmalade and cheese. He had somehow managed to already get a tan and it stood out against the light blue flower-patterned shirt. He looked content, sitting in the half-shade, hair pulled into a low ponytail. Michael smiled.

“Enjoying the view?”, Gerry teased after a while passed with Michael just staring at him dreamily. He wasn’t even blinking.

He did blink, then, cheeks turning slightly red, “Uh...yes.”, his smile was bashful, “You...it’s nice to see you in colour? With your tan. It...looks good."

Gerry grinned, taking another sip from his glass, “Don’t get used to it. I’ll be back to black as soon as the sun stops trying to cook me.”

Michael chuckled, tucking a curl behind his ear, “I’m sure that’ll still look striking.”

“You’ve got a bit of a tan yourself, by now.”, Gerry decided to point out, nodding towards the arm laying on the table where Michael was playing with the toothpicks left from their food.

Michael followed his gaze. He shrugged, “Barely noticeable, really.”

“Mhm, maybe, but the freckles are. And I love them.”, Gerry ran his finger over the freckles on Michael’s arm, now much more noticeable than they were only a week or so before.

Michael watched his finger, blushing lightly at the words, “I mean...those are always there, it’s not really-”

Gerry sighed, “Hush. Accept the compliment and eat.”, he held out the last little skewer to Michael’s lips.

He hesistated a moment, but ate it. Gerry grinned, satisfied, and Michael smiled back at him. The freckles in his face were also more visible by now. It looked wonderful and Gerry smiled.

Aveiro

Gerry wasn’t really listening to the guide, eyes lazily taking in the little stands along the riverside, letting the strange voices wash over him. They had wandered the market earlier, spontaneously deciding on joining a boat tour through the city after lunch. The gentle movement of the boat was making Gerry sleepy and he sighed.

“We should check out the salt museum later.”, Michael whispered, leaning in a little so Gerry could hear him.

Gerry took a moment to find his way back from his reverie. He looked at Michael, sitting next to him in the boat, wearing a too bright turquoise shirt he had bought the day before, eyes alight and excited as he continued to listen to the guide. His nose was going slightly red despite of the straw head giving some shade to his face. He looked lovely.

“We should.", Gerry said, looking at the salt mounds the guide was pointing out, "Are you feeling warm or are you starting to get a sunburn?”, he asked, gently touching the tip of Michael's nose with his fingers.

“Both. I was thinking that I should have brought sunscreen…", he chuckled, "Our boatmates were smarter than us.", he added as the family sitting across from them was passing a bottle of sunscreen between them.

Gerry watched them. They were pale, all four of them, but speaking Portuguese with each other. Gerry spaces out a little, only noticing when the girl shyly held out the sunscreen towards him. It took him a moment to understand.

"Oh, uh, thanks.", he mumbled, taking the bottle from her, "Ah...obrigado."

She smiled at him, before going back to talking to what looked like her mother next to her.

"Was that correct?", Gerry mumbled, giving Michael the bottle.

Michael nodded, taking the bottle and squirting some cream into his hands before spreading it on his face, "Yes, and you should take some yourself, your shoulders are a little red."

Gerry smiled, taking some sunscreen himself before giving the bottle back to the girl with another thank you.

“Did I spread it all?”, Michael asked, looking at him.

Gerry grinned as he saw the bit of cream on his cheek, “Close.”, he carefully brought his hand to Michael’s face, spreading the rest, too.

“Thank you!”, Michael smiled, before looking back at the guide, lacing his fingers through Gerry’s. Gerry leaned back again, watching the sunlight play on the water, squeezing Michael’s hand softly.

Serra da Estrela

“Gerry, let’s keep one.”, Michael giggled as another fluffy puppy joined the pile he was sitting in and licked his face.

“I think they get a bit big for the London apartment, don’t you think?”, Gerry chuckled, amused, scratching one of the dogs behind its ear, trying very hard to to keep the tongue from reaching his face.

Michael sighed, hugging the one still licking his face close and burying his face in its fur, “But they’re cute, Gerry. Maybe we should move.”

Gerry laughed, and the puppy took the opportunity to lick his jaw, “Do you want to start anew as a sheep herder?”

“Why not?”

“Quite a lot of change just to keep a dog.”, Gerry grinned and ran his fingers through the soft, black fur of the puppy licking his neck.

Michael looked up from his furry pillow, petting a different puppy that was nosing his side curiously, “You like sheep.”

Gerry laughed, “Well, I can’t debate that. I do like sheep. Guess it’s decided then.”, the puppy licked his hand, “I want a black one, though.”

Now Michael laughed, clear as bells, “Of course.”

Gerry might seriously consider it if it would mean hearing that laughter more often. He smiled, getting up from his crouching position and dusting himself off.

“Getting some water from inside, I assume you’d rather stay where you are?”, he asked, looking at Michael still trying to please every fluffball eagerly trying to play with him, to get his attention.

He was dusty and full of dog hair and saliva, the wind making his hair stick to it. It was really quite disgusting, yet Gerry felt very warm at the sight. He had to remember not to kiss Michael before he had washed his face, though. Michael nodded, giving him a bright smile, a strand of hair sticking to the corner of his mouth. Gerry sighed and shook his head, smiling. He headed inside the café to wash his hands and buy some water.

Penacova

The rain had stopped, gone as quickly as it had started, and they finally left the café they had ducked into when it had started.

“Do you smell that?”, Michael mumbled when they stepped outside.

Gerry took in a deep breath, “I do. What is it? It’s...fresh.”

Michael looked around, “Probably the trees? The rain it just made it more intense...pine and eucalyptus, I think.”

“It’s amazing. People should get unto this and make scented candles.”, Gerry mumbled with another deep breath.

Michael smiled, “Oh, I’d love that…”

They walked over to the windmills they had come to check out, many old and in ruins, but quite a few were still whole. They took some pictures of them as they walked around, occasionally stopping to enjoy the view over the valley, mostly trees with the occasional cluster of houses. Peaceful. Gerry sat down on the rocky ground and closed his eyes, sighing. The temperature was perfect after the rain, and the air smelled amazing, and he might just stay here.

Michael took a picture of him, trying to capture his serene expression without disturbing him. Gerry noticed, though, and opened his eyes again, “Well, at least come here and take a picture of us both, Michael.”

“You know I don’t look good in pictures.”, Michael mumbled.

“No, that’s what you say, I never agreed with that. Move your ass here, it’s the best view.”

Michael sighed, walking towards were Gerry was sitting, “Is that why you had your eyes closed?”, he mumbled, taking in the view that was, indeed, impressive. Everything looked so vivid after the rain, the trees a brilliant green.

Gerry got up, “So, do you want windmills or that in the background?”

“Both?”, Michael smiled.

Gerry chuckled, “So much for no pictures.”

They took a couple pictures facing both ways. As they were facing the windmills Michael saw something white move in the corner of his eye. He looked towards it and one of the windmills had started to move, the only one that had canvas on the blades. Michael had wondered about that earlier, assuming it served to show how they used to look like when still in use. He didn't think it would actually still be able to move.

“Gerry, that one is actually working!”, he pointed at it, barely able to contain his excitement. He looked at Gerry in awe, “Do you think we can go inside?”

Gerry grinned and took Michael’s hand, “Only one way to find out…”, pulling him towards the turning windmill,

Coimbra

“Oh wow, that one looks like a tiny piece of art.”, Michael said when Gerry set down the plates, “What’s this one?”, he added, pointing at the pastry in front of himself.

Gerry sat down himself, starting to add the sugar to his coffee, “It does. And I’m not going to even try pronouncing that, I kept the bill to show you.”, he put the small piece of paper on the table and slid it towards Michael, “That one’s mine, so yours is this.”, he pointed to the text on the paper.

Michael knit his brows, “Feijão? Didn’t we have that word a couple days ago at lunch? Wasn’t it...beans?”

Gerry shrugged, “Maybe? Look it up.”

Michael did just that, phone already in his hand before Gerry had finished speaking.

“It is beans!”, he smiled, clearly proud he had managed to remember the word. Then he looked at the pastry again, “But it’s sweet?”

Gerry sipped his espresso, “They don’t have much non-sweet pastries here, do they?”

Michael looked at him, “That’s a lie, you’ve eaten like two kilogrammes of rissois since we arrived.”

Gerry raised an eyebrow, “Okay, first of all, that’s an exaggeration. Also, it’s not true, I’ve eaten those other ones. With fish and those green spots?"

Michael drew his eyebrows together, thinking, "The codfish ones. Hum…bolinhos de bacalhau, if I remember correctly."

"Those.", Gerry nodded, "You on the other hand have had rissois literally everywhere we went.”, he added with a grin.

Michael blushed a little, but his mouth pulled into a smile, “I have to see where they’re the best in case we ever come back.”

And Gerry was surprised at how casually Michael said 'we', how nonchalantly he spoke about possibly coming back in the future. Michael was usually so careful to not allow himself to say something like that, to give himself hope, only for it to possibly be crushed. But his smile was easy as he put half of the sugar packet into his espresso before giving the rest to Gerry. Gerry took it, still a little surprised, and added it to his coffee.

Michael eyed the pastry a little suspiciously while stirring his coffee for a moment. It looked normal enough. He wasn't too sure about sweet beans, though. He wasn't even a big fan of non-sweet ones, despite having quite liked the ones served for lunch a couple days earlier. He was biting his lip , nervously. Michael wasn't too good with new foods, but he had been determined to get better at it. And he had. But they still made him anxious.

"Should I try it first?", Gerry asked, biting into his own pastry.

Michael watched him as his lips pulled into an approving smile before biting into the pastry again. There had yet to be a pastry Gerry didn't approve of, but Michael liked trying to rank the smiles, trying to guess whether Gerry liked this one more than the one before, if his eyes lit up just as much or if it was more of a satisfied 'good, but not as good'. Michael loved seeing the childlike joy on his face as he ate himself through Portuguese sweets. He'd never tire of seeing that.

Michael shook his head, though, bringing his own pastry to his lips and biting down, still a little reluctantly. Gerry finished his coffee and his own pastry, trying not to add to Michael's anxiety by watching for his reaction.

"Oh! It's good!", he said eventually, smiling. "Very sweet though. Help me with the rest?", he chuckled, holding the rest out to Gerry across the table.

Gerry grinned, taking a big bite out of it. It was good. Definitely on the too sweet side for Michael.

He licked his lips, grinning, "What would you do without me?"

Michael chuckled, "Apparently, I'd have a lot of half-eaten pastries.", he popped the last bit of the pastry into his mouth. He smiled, taking in the old buildings and cobblestone street. A group of students in uniform were setting up at the corner across the café they were sitting at.

"Ah, they look like they'll start playing over there…", he mumbled, nodding towards the group and finishing his coffee.

Gerry followed his gaze, "Want to go listen?"

"I know you don't like it much."

"But you do. And really, I only dislike the actual singing. The guitars sound nice.", he got up from his seat, "Come, we'd be heading that way anyways."

Michael got up, too, taking Gerry's outstretched hand and walking with him as the first gentle chords were plucked on the guitar across the street.

Figueira da Foz

Micha shivered as a gentle wave reached his feet. Gerry grinned, but he, too, felt the gooseflesh spread from where the water reached his ankles. It was a hot day and they had both decided they needed to cool down after laying in the sun for so long, but the water was a little cooler than anticipated.

"Frigid.", Michael hissed as a second wave reached them and he took half a step back.

Gerry looked at him. Michael was hugging himself, face obscured by curls that had escaped his ponytail during his nap earlier. There was still sand stuck on his face where he had somehow managed to shuffle off the towel in his sleep, despite Gerry doing his best to stop him without waking him.

"I think a lot is just you being, quite literally, very hot.", Gerry winked at him and gently splashed a bit of water at Michael's legs with his foot.

Michael squeaked, jumping back which only upset the water further, splashing more of it up his legs, "Gerry!"

Gerry laughed, "What was that noise?"

"Oh, shut up!", Michael mumbled, face red - probably not just from the heat - and splashed some water back at Gerry, making him hiss.

Gerry grinned at him, mischievous glint in his eyes, before splashing more water back at Michael. Michael looked at Gerry with something akin to a pout at that, eyebrows knitted, before his face slowly morphed into a grin himself, tentative but playful, before he splashed back. Gerry huffed a laugh before running further into the ocean, splashing more water from there. Michael laughed, a little high pitched, trying to splash Gerry without getting too much further into the cold water himself.

It was a back and forth, hisses turning into laughter as both of them got used to the temperature somewhat. Gerry tried to get closer when he was basically drenched himself, tried to pull Michael into a hug, but Michael slipped away and ran. Gerry chased him, slowed by the slightly deeper water but he didn't really care, laughing as Michael nearly stumbled into the water himself. Gerry took the opportunity of Michael steadying himself to finally close in, wrapping his cooled arms around Michael's mostly dry and warm neck, grinning widely.

Michael bit his lip hard, stifling a yelp and recoiled, pushing Gerry away, making him lose balance. Gerry tried to let go of Michael, but didn't quite manage, pulling him along as he fell. Michael couldn't quite stop the surprised squeak escaping him as they hit the ground.

Gerry’s back hit the sand in the shallow water, and Michael gave his best to not land on top of him with his full weight, landing half in the sand instead with a wet thud. He propped himself up, looking at Gerry with a worried expression, “Are you okay?”

Gerry looked up at him and giggled, and Michael's eyes widened in surprised because that was a noise he never heard before. Gerry was squinting a little, the sun hitting his eyes, turning them to dark honey, and he looked happy and relaxed, beautiful, and Michael bent down to kiss him. He felt Gerry smile against his lips, and his heart fluttered.

Óbidos e proximidades

“That liquor was amazing, wasn’t it?”

Gerry grinned, watching the trees go by as they drove on, “I didn’t think you’d be much of a liquor person, Michael.”

“Well, I’ve never had it served to me in tiny chocolate cups!”

“So, that’s what it takes, huh?”, Gerry looked at him in the driver’s seat.

He had gotten used to driving on the wrong side - well, the right side - and while his face was still the definition of focus as he looked at the street in front of him, he at least didn’t look horribly tense anymore, eyes no longer permanently wide behind his sunglasses, fingers no longer clutching the wheel, but laying there elegantly, comfortably. Michael shrugged - holding a conversation had been quite impossible in the beginning, too, though Gerry didn’t mind silent car rides - and smiled, and Gerry hummed appreciatively, before turning to look out of the window again.

The trees became smaller, and endless, “Where are we even? Are those peaches?”

Michael mumbled, “I’m afraid I probably took a wrong turn or something…”, he glanced at the trees, “Do you want to look at the trees?”

Gerry nodded, “They look tasty, stop the car.”

“Gerry! You can’t just steal peaches.”, and the usual edge of nervousness was back in his voice.

Gerry grinned, “There’s nothing and nobody around, I’m sure they won’t be missed.”

Michael gave him a nervous glance, but did pull over.

“You can stay in the car, if you want?”, Gerry said as he got out himself.

Michael looked at him, panicked, “What? No! Somebody could come and-”

“Okay, okay, get out, then.”, Gerry chuckled, closing the door and stretching as he waited for Michael to walk around to meet him.

They walked for a bit, just because Gerry knew Michael would be more at ease when they were out of sight of the street, and also because it was nice. The air was sweet, it was warm but not too hot, and the trees were pretty. Michael’s nervousness was replaced by awe as he looked around, took in the vivid colours of the leaves and fruits.

Gerry finally caved in and plucked a peach, biting into it before Michael had the time to do anything besides looking at him in shock.

It was sweet and juicy and Gerry wasn’t even bothered by the fact that it was a little warm from the sun. They had already established that fruit was just better here, but this somehow even managed to outdo what they’d gotten at the markets around the country.

He licked his lips, looking at the peach in his hand in amazement, “Oh wow, I think...I think I’ll just be sad next time I eat a peach at home.”

“Didn’t you say that about the pear you ate this morning?”, Michael asked, unable to really keep the amusement out of his eyes as he was still trying to give Gerry a disapproving look for stealing fruit.

Gerry grinned up at him, handing him the peach, “Try.”

Michael stared at it for a moment, conflicted, but ended up taking it with a sigh, biting into it. His eyes widened, “Oh, okay...yes. Wow. I don’t even like peaches that much, but this is good...”, he took another bite.

Gerry laughed, “Well, if you’re going to finish it, at least get me another one.”

“Get one on your own, the trees are small enough.”, Michael grinned, licking the juice of his lips.

“Oh, now you’re going cheeky on me, I see…”, Gerry chuckled, taking another peach from the tree before walking on. Michael followed, already finishing his own.

Nazaré

Michael was standing dangerously close to the edge. Gerry got it, it was quite the view. The beach looked emptier now than it had in the morning, only a couple people left. They looked like ants. The sun was reflecting on the water, waves leaving glimmering foam on the sand. It was all very beautiful to look at, but Michael was standing unnecessarily close. He looked enraptured, eyes big, staring at the waves crashing against the rocks right beneath them. Well, many meters beneath them.

It was starting to unnerve Gerry, so he took Michael’s hand. Michael snapped out of it and took a step back. Gerry couldn’t keep in the sigh of relief. Michael looked at him, confused.

“You looked like you might jump.”, Gerry tried to say it in a teasing voice, but didn’t quite manage.

Michael looked surprised, “Oh...sorry, I think...I think I had some intense call of the void experience.”

Gerry sighed, “It’s fine.”, he squeezed Michael’s hand, “How about we sit down on those steps and eat those...cakes or whatever we bought from that old lady earlier?”, he pointed at the steps in front of the church, where another couple was currently basking in the sun.

Michael nodded and started walking towards the steps, “Oh right, we didn’t try them yet…”

“I mean, kind of got distracted with the view, really.”, Gerry said, sitting down with Michael and getting the plastic bag he’d purchased earlier out. He broke off a bit of the cake - maybe more like a thick bisquit? - off and gave it to Michael, taking some for himself.

“That was quite the crack. Is it that hard?”, Michael asked, looking at the piece in his hand, as he always did with unknown food before eating it.

Gerry bit into his own. “A bit, but it’s not too bad. Tastes good.”

“Is it sweet?”, Michael asked, looking at him curiously.

Gerry nodded, “Not too much, though.”, he broke off another piece and popped it into his mouth.

Michael tentatively bit into the piece in his hands. He smiled, “It is good. Can’t go too wrong with peanuts, I guess.”

Gerry raised an eyebrow, as Michael ate the rest of his cake in one bite, “Didn’t know you like peanuts.”

Michael looked at him and smiled, “Now you do. Can I have more?”

“Sure.”, Gerry smiled back and gave him the bag.

Almada

Gerry was trying to see the screen of the phone, but his vision was completely obscured by hair. They had spent the whole day exploring the city on the other side of the river - apparently no longer Lisbon, but still part of Lisbon, somehow - and had found a bar with a very nice view over the river and Lisbon.

It was absolutely impossible to take a good picture of it. Well, of it they had managed okay, but not with it. The bar was called something along the line of ‘the wind’s mouth’, if Michael had translated correctly - which he had, Gerry was sure, because the name was more than fitting.

Michael chuckled as Gerry let out another frustrated sigh, putting his phone on the table to tie his hair back again.

“It’s pointless, Gerry.”, Michael had to speak a bit louder to be heard over the wind, despite standing right next to Gerry.

“Yeah, I think they really named this place perfectly.”, he sighed as the wind loosened the strands he had just tucked into his hairtie.

Michael had given up a while ago, holding his hair out of his face with his hands with mild success. He was smiling, face angled towards the low sun, that had seemed so very hot during the day. Its warmth was quite appreciated now; it would probably be rather chilly without it in this wind.

"Indeed.”, Michael mumbled, looking back at Gerry, who was trying to get his hair out of his mouth where it had gotten stuck the moment he had dared to open it. Michael chuckled, reaching out to help him, which only made his own hair get caught by the wind again. They laughed.

“Let’s try again?”, Gerry asked, tucking a blond curl behind Michael’s ear, which, for a second, actually stayed put before defying gravity again as the wind picked up again.

Michael chuckled, “Sure, but I think we need to give up on the possibility of our faces being on there.”

“Never.”, Gerry said, determined, as he picked up the phone again after his hair had finally stayed put.

When he swiped to open the camera, another gust of wind came from behind them, blowing black strands of hair and blond curls all over the place again. Michael laughed as Gerry let out another frustrated sigh, putting his phone back once more. A grin was pulling at his lips, though.

#gerrymichael #Gerard Keay #gerry keay #Michael Shelley #fluff #holiday shenanigans because I'm missing Portugal a lot #just a collections of some scenes

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spottedseal-archive · 4 years

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𝐟𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞𝐬 𝐤𝐢𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐝

@ragehowl

𝐈. 𝐈𝐓 𝐖𝐀𝐒 𝐎𝐍𝐄 𝐎𝐅 𝐈𝐍𝐍𝐎𝐂𝐄𝐍𝐂𝐄 𝐒𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐄𝐃 𝐁𝐘 *𝐒𝐄𝐂𝐑𝐄𝐓 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐒*, 𝐅𝐀𝐑 𝐓𝐎𝐎 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐆 𝐓𝐎 𝐔𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐌𝐄𝐀𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐎𝐅 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄 — 𝐘𝐄𝐓 𝐎𝐋𝐃 𝐄𝐍𝐎𝐔𝐆𝐇 𝐓𝐎 𝐂𝐎𝐌𝐏𝐑𝐄𝐇𝐄𝐍𝐃 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐖𝐀𝐘 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐈𝐑 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐒 𝐁𝐄𝐀𝐓 𝐑𝐀𝐏𝐈𝐃𝐋𝐘, 𝐍𝐄𝐑𝐕𝐎𝐔𝐒𝐋𝐘 𝐀𝐆𝐀𝐈𝐍𝐒𝐓 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐈𝐑 𝐂𝐇𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐒. butterflies fluttering around his stomach wildly, held him back from even speaking words, anything slipping passed his lips were a murmured mess of stutters. her beauty knew no bounds — to owen, there was no one prettier — his fingers interlocked with hers as his eyes stare into hers, lovingly — he can only bring himself to meet her smile with his own. they’d snuck out of their duties — sure, he was a bad influence at times, but there were plenty of guards, and if anything they could blame their carelessness of her father, following in his example, or some excuse along those lines. ❛ i wish that we could stay here forever — i like… uh… i really like being with you, abby. ❜ it was a huge understatement, but what else was he to say, love? he didn’t know the feeling outside of familial, but if there was anything that would come close to what his thought surrounding love were, it was abby. ❛ you’re so pretty, sure, you can be kinda mean sometimes — ❜ he gives a small laugh nudging her gently — god when she smiled he could feel his face flush red his heartfelt as though it would burst from his chest, overfilled with emotions. ❛ i really think i am in love with you, abigail anderson. ❜ he exhales breathlessly — she leaves him speechless. he leans in slowly — he’s scared of messing up, but when she doesn’t push him away, in fact when she moves forward towards him, he can’t help but crack a smile before his lips meet hers — its like magic, sparks as soon as his lips touch hers. it was love — he didn’t care what anyone else thought — he was madly in love with her.

𝐈𝐈. 𝐂𝐎𝐌𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐓 𝐏𝐀𝐒𝐒𝐄𝐃 𝐓𝐇𝐑𝐎𝐔𝐆𝐇 𝐀 𝐊𝐈𝐒𝐒 — 𝐀 𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐍𝐄𝐃 𝐒𝐌𝐈𝐋𝐄 𝐅𝐎𝐋𝐋𝐎𝐖𝐄𝐃 𝐁𝐘 𝐀 𝐋𝐀𝐔𝐆𝐇, 𝐏𝐄𝐑𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐒 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐒 𝐈𝐒 𝐖𝐇𝐄𝐍 𝐇𝐄 𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐋𝐈𝐙𝐄𝐃 𝐖𝐇𝐄𝐍 𝐒𝐇𝐄 𝐖𝐀𝐒 𝐇𝐈𝐒 𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐘𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐆, 𝐇𝐈𝐒 𝐄𝐘𝐄𝐒 𝐋𝐈𝐓 𝐔𝐏 𝐁𝐘 𝐇𝐄𝐑 𝐒𝐌𝐈𝐋𝐄, 𝐒𝐔𝐂𝐇 𝐀 𝐆𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐋𝐄 𝐂𝐔𝐑𝐕𝐄 𝐎𝐍 𝐇𝐄𝐑 𝐌𝐎𝐔𝐓𝐇. sorrow is an odd thing — when dealing with grief, how are you expected to handle it? owen was unsure… he could hardly bring himself to cry, he felt as though he was dreaming — his whole family gone in an instant and now he felt truly alone — hugging his knees close to his chest his breath is uneven and wild. she steadies him when her hands are placed onto his knees. ❛ abby… ❜ its a weak whisper with a smile, he laughs painfully — he thinks himself an idiot… how distraught did he look, cooped up in his room hugging himself — he never meant to make anyone worry for him, but by the look in her eyes, he could see that she was just that; worried. when she offered a smile of comfort he let his walls fall, and the tears along with them, he cried silently — he presses a tear-soaked kiss to her hands that are still placed on his knees. they sit in silence — it's a moment that will stick with him until the day he dies — he was pathetic yet she didn’t look upon him with pitying eyes, rather she offered him comfort, she was strong where he was weak. she was everything he wasn’t. ❛ thank you. ❜ a hoarse whisper breaks through his silent sobs.

𝐈𝐈𝐈. 𝐀 𝐊𝐈𝐒𝐒 𝐓𝐎 𝐐𝐔𝐄𝐋𝐋 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐍𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐄𝐒 𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐏𝐋𝐀𝐆𝐔𝐄𝐃 𝐇𝐄𝐑 𝐒𝐋𝐄𝐄𝐏 — 𝐇𝐄’𝐃 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐘 𝐔𝐏 𝐀𝐋𝐋 𝐍𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇 𝐇𝐄𝐑, 𝐇𝐎𝐋𝐃𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐇𝐄𝐑 𝐓𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓𝐋𝐘 𝐓𝐎 𝐇𝐈𝐒 𝐂𝐇𝐄𝐒𝐓 𝐈𝐅 𝐈𝐓 𝐌𝐄𝐀𝐍𝐓 𝐁𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐁𝐀𝐂𝐊 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐋𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓 𝐈𝐍 𝐇𝐄𝐑 𝐄𝐘𝐄𝐒. she shakes violently — it tears him apart as he watches her, it causes rage to boil inside of him, this is what she had become — broken and haunted by the memories. he cursed himself mostly, if only he had been strong enough to stop joel, if only he had been strong enough to stop her from seeing her fathers corpse, maybe all of this would hurt less, though he knew that was far from the truth, he’d experienced loss, but not like this — her pain was tearing her apart inside and out. his fingers gently tuck stray pieces of hair behind her ear. he leans down and presses a kiss to her temple — a small hint of regret hits him as she awakens violently. ❛ hey — hey… shh… its just me. ❜ he quickly pulls her into his arms. ❛ i’ve got you, abby. ❜ he holds her whispering words of comfort until he can quietly lull her back to sleep — though his eyes were heavy, she was more important than sleep, her pain was ever-present, and it brought about his own. he couldn’t add fuel to her fire — he had to be her constant peace, he would fight to make sure she would know happiness again — he’d do anything to make sure this anger doesn’t consume her. ❛ i love you, abby. ❜ he whispers, pressing yet another kiss to her tearstained face.

𝐈𝐕. 𝐀 𝐏𝐇𝐎𝐓𝐎 𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐃 𝐎𝐔𝐓 𝐎𝐅 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄, 𝐒𝐇𝐄 𝐈𝐒 𝐒𝐔𝐑𝐑𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐃 𝐁𝐘 𝐇𝐄𝐑 𝐅𝐀𝐕𝐎𝐑𝐈𝐓𝐄 𝐅𝐋𝐎𝐖𝐄𝐑𝐒 — 𝐇𝐄 𝐖𝐀𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐃 𝐃𝐄𝐒𝐏𝐄𝐑𝐀𝐓𝐄𝐋𝐘 𝐅𝐎𝐑 𝐇𝐄𝐑 𝐓𝐎 𝐒𝐄𝐄 𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐄 𝐈𝐒 𝐌𝐎𝐑𝐄 𝐁𝐄𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐘 𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐍 𝐑𝐀𝐆𝐄 𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐒𝐈𝐓𝐒 𝐈𝐍𝐒𝐈𝐃𝐄 𝐇𝐄𝐑 — 𝐒𝐇𝐄 𝐈𝐒 𝐌𝐀𝐃𝐄 𝐎𝐅 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐔𝐍 — 𝐓𝐎 𝐇𝐈𝐌 𝐒𝐇𝐄 𝐈𝐒 𝐌𝐄𝐒𝐌𝐄𝐑𝐈𝐙𝐈𝐍𝐆, 𝐓𝐎 𝐇𝐈𝐌 𝐒𝐇𝐄 𝐈𝐒 𝐋𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓, 𝐒𝐇𝐄 𝐈𝐒 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄. with each stroke he pours his heart and soul into the painting — her favorite flowers surrounding her, lighting up her life in the for of art — at least that is the idea, he was a hopeless romantic at times — especially when it came to abby, she had him by the heartstrings and he’d do anything to bring about a smile to her constant pout. though imperfect in his artistic skills, he worked hardest on abby, no matter how much he worked, he couldn’t capture her beauty, no matter how much he had improved at painting, drawing, none of it mattered, with each passing day she got more and more mesmerizing. he found himself awestruck by her — where he was simple. there was a part of him that was afraid of losing her, perhaps he was lost in the clouds too often, he was a dreamer who dreamt of the day they could have peace — abby wanted her justice, and a part of owen wanted it too, he couldn’t deny that joel had torn away parts of himself that he desperately wanted back, his strength had changed though — 𝗁𝖾 𝗐𝖺𝗌 𝗌𝗍𝗋𝗈𝗇𝗀 𝗂𝗇 𝖽𝗂𝖿𝖿𝖾𝗋𝖾𝗇𝗍 𝗐𝖺𝗒𝗌 — there is strength in forgiveness — but he couldn’t string together words to make abby believe in him, hell, he could hardly convince himself of this. as he stroked away at the painting, his thoughts filled with her — how she used to smile when there wasn’t a lingering pain behind her eyes, his heart sank. ❛ she’s gonna hate it. ❜ he laughed to himself as he stared at the mess of wet paint on the canvas. he presses his paint-stained hands to his lips and to the painted abbys. ❛ one day you’ll be this happy again, abby — won’t rest til you are. ❜ he laughs once more at himself — how stupid he must be to speak to his poorly painted portrait of abby. ❛ i’ll bring back your smile — promise. we’ll be happy again. ❜

𝐕. 𝐀 𝐆𝐎𝐎𝐃𝐁𝐘𝐄 𝐂𝐎𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐄𝐃 𝐈𝐍 𝐑𝐄𝐃 — 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐄𝐒 𝐍𝐎 𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐏𝐘 𝐄𝐍𝐃𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐅𝐎𝐑 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐌, 𝐇𝐄 𝐖𝐀𝐒 𝐒𝐓𝐔𝐏𝐈𝐃 𝐓𝐎 𝐁𝐄𝐋𝐈𝐄𝐕𝐄 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐄 𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐑 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐋𝐃 𝐁𝐄. 𝐇𝐎𝐖 𝐇𝐄 𝐖𝐈𝐒𝐇𝐄𝐒 𝐓𝐎 𝐒𝐄𝐄 𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐒𝐌𝐈𝐋𝐄 𝐎𝐍𝐂𝐄 𝐌𝐎𝐑𝐄, 𝐓𝐎 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐑 𝐇𝐄𝐑 𝐋𝐀𝐔𝐆𝐇𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐅𝐈𝐋𝐋𝐄𝐃 𝐇𝐈𝐌 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇 𝐒𝐎 𝐌𝐔𝐂𝐇 𝐉𝐎𝐘 — 𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐃𝐈𝐒𝐏𝐄𝐋𝐋𝐄𝐃 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐃𝐀𝐑𝐊𝐍𝐄𝐒𝐒 𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐇𝐀𝐃 𝐒𝐔𝐑𝐑𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐃 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐈𝐑 𝐋𝐈𝐕𝐄𝐒 𝐒𝐈𝐍𝐂𝐄 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐃𝐄𝐀𝐓𝐇 𝐎𝐅 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐈𝐑 𝐅𝐀𝐌𝐈𝐋𝐘. he lies in a pool of his own blood, red running from the sides of his mouth, he can do naught but choke on his own blood — his last thoughts are of her, he wonders if she’ll get the final note he wrote to her that he shoved into a pocket of his backpack, his eyes are wet and red as the pain surges through him, he can feel his consciousness slipping, he tries his best to hold on — just to see her one last time… to say his final goodbye, but its unrealistic, by the time she returns with lev and yara, he’ll be cold, and gone forever. he’d hurt her for the final time — he’d never get the chance to apologize for all of the pain he put her through, instead he would take it to his cold, shallow grave. 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐥𝐚𝐬𝐭 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬 𝐡𝐞’𝐝 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐰𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐡𝐞𝐫: i feel silly writing this abby, as I’m writing this, there’s so much i wish i could get on this stupid piece of paper, but feelings don’t really work like that, and you know me. i was never too good with writing out my feelings. we’ve been through so much together, abs. if you die on that goddamn island i will never forgive myself. i wanted to come with you, i wanted to help you. to help lev. i know… i know everything with mel and us is so messed up right now… but you… you still have my heart abby… i love you, god, i love you so much. do you remember when we first found this aquarium? abby i know that we can make this work… just come back to me. please come back to me and bring those kids back safe… i’ll be here waiting for you so we can leave together, and find the fireflies. together. lets find our home. owen, your “uber goober”

#ragehowl #❖ · & ⁽ relationship ⁾ owen & abby / @ragehowl.#❖ · & ⁽ inbox ⁾ inchara answer.#❖ · & ⁽ inbox ⁾ meme response.#long post for ts #ask to tag #i..... do not believe in love #*waddles away*#hope u like

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findthefuninlife · 4 years

Text

Short Story (Been A While)

Remember This Feeling

Trees flew by the window of the car, blurs of branches and railings were all that were seen for the first six hours of the road trip. The sky went from sunny clear bright blue to gloomy dull shades of red, blue, yellow mixes. I sat in the back seat, one leg perched on top of my other, book in my lap and pen rattling against my top and bottom teeth, a nervous habit. Luckily, in my writing process it was a more well known habit for me to do this when I couldn’t think of the next turn of events. This wasn’t an inaccurate observation, truthfully it was both of these but mostly the nervousness.

She sat next to me staring out the window short blonde hair falling just before her shoulders. She could stare at the wilderness, natural environment for hours and lose herself in it. You could almost see the intoxication in her eyes, you couldn’t tell what she saw, but there was a different kind of fire in them when she was out there. Her elbow on the armrest, head propped up on her hand, pinky slightly tugging at her lower lip. She wore black sweat pants, a red hoodie with white lettering on the sleeves. Her legs were curled under her, feet sitting on the seat. She kicked off her shoes after the first hour of the ride. The string from her hoodie rested in her mouth, she wasn’t chewing on it, just had it there, a trademark I’m sure.

Aaaaaand I’m staring— again. I tore my eyes away and looked back at my half filled pages titled, “It’s Been A While”. It’s been a while since a lot of things. I haven’t been out in god knows how long, I haven’t written in even longer. Words on paper gave me a purpose, a moment of clarity, drive to be more than I ever thought I could be. In the times that words appeared on canvas I felt like I was the most important person in the world, to every character I wrote about I was their savior, their justice, their desires, everything. Writing allowed for a door to a place that I could never really be.

The eyes that were staring at me in the rear view mirror, concerned but familiar told me that in doing this was out of character or such an older sight that it’s a need for concern. Amy, my ever long best friend, friend of all friends could quote me before I even spoke sometimes. It was incredibly annoying with arguments but it’s a sign of true growth and friendship. Her husband in the passenger seat next to her was asleep, as always in these long rides to who knows where. Jules, short of Julian never had the patience or interest in car games, passing time by distracting yourself with trivial outside observations. He was calculated, quiet but get a few drinks in him and he’d be bouncing off the walls and unexpectedly the loudest person in the bar. Though the sober, quiet demeanor was often mistaken for rudeness or dislike, he proved to be a sweet guy overall. I gave him my blessing to marry my best friend only after meeting with him a few times.

A small cough came from the driver, “So,” no good conversation ever starts with ‘so’ I thought to myself.

“So, what are you writing about Niko?” Amy, still looking back at me through the rear view mirror said breaking the silence within the car.

“It’s... uhm, y-ya’ know just a short story.” Great, now I’m stammering for some reason. Sam, the friend of Amy that was invited to go on the trip with us looked up and away from the window for the first time and took a quick glance at me with my notebook and pen in hand. Her eyes were green, blue, gold, strikingly beautiful. Her lips looked soft, a shade of pink coated on top, a slight line dividing the bottom lip. The hoodie she wore held the back hairs up giving it more volume. I thought to myself that they reminded me of a golden waterfall.

“But, uh how’s driving? Do you need to switch off anytime soon?” Horribly basic question in a car ride, there was something wittier on tongue but I decided to keep things mellow for now.

“Maybe next stop, Jules’s quiet snoring tires me out sometimes, but I’m good for now. Samantha! You’re so quiet, why don’t you guys play a game or something?!” Amy, was notorious for setting people up for awkward conversations, cutting the tensions of others like it was sport.

“Well, I mean I don’t re-” Sam had started to say going wide eyed for a bit, clearly being off guard. Amy strikes again.

“So, have you ever.. have you ever..” Geez why am I stuttering so damn bad, “have you ever been outside of Delaware?” See, nothing ever good comes from a conversation that starts with “So.” Who the hell asks a question like that.

“I haven’t actually.” She looked outside again breaking eye contact with me and staring again back at the passing trees.

We were on our way out of the state to visit Amy’s brother who was in the military in Virginia. He invited her to see the ships in the ship yard and see his work station.

I started to sink back into my seat when I realized that was probably the end of the conversation and everything was starting to feel awkward. I started a side conversation with this beautiful girl and that was the best opening I had?

“Have you ever been outside the state?” Sam had asked still looking out.

“I have, a few times, but I always end up back home.” I was surprised, I rarely get asked questions in conversations I think are going down hill. Hell, most of the time it’s just me asking and the other just answers. I really need to get a life.

We both tried talking then stopping each other’s sentence.

“No, you go first.”

“No really it’s fine. It was a stupid question”

“No, no please go.”

This went on until Amy couldn’t take it anymore, a small smile starting to creep on her face in watching. “Alright! Sam then Niko!”

We both stopped when we both realized that it wasn’t just us in this conversation. Feeling like a deer in head lights I simply sat back in my seat.

Well, there goes the conversation. Thanks Ame's— now what? Peaking over I saw that she didn't turn back to the window, instead she twirled her hoodie strings in her fingers. I wanted to give it a shot; I scribbled quickly in my notebook, meticulous to not write too much to make it seem like I was going to be diving back into my literature. I tore the page out and held it in my hand. I leaned forward putting my face close to Amy, "Whatcha doing?!" The sudden jerk forward spooked her and she let out a tiny yelp. As I leaned forward I was hoping to obscure her view as I passed the note to Sam. Luckily for me, she took it out of my hand. I continued to chat up Ame's until I felt like my paper ripping was long forgotten.

The car ride went smoothly all the way up to the hotel.

We got out, stretched our legs and were in for the night.

I sat up in bed as I always did, notebook open in front of me, my thoughts written across the pages. I raked my hands through my hair hoping for more thoughts to jingle their way out of me as I did. The words "Its Been A While" titled the page. "Ya' know I used to write before all of this. Now I just scribble and tear pages out." I spoke to no one in particular in my empty room. Sometimes it was easier saying my thoughts as I wrote them out, sometimes my what I said I didn't want recorded. I'd prefer the words to fade since the nightmares won't. Maybe it'll too make them less real.

A knock at the door brought me out of screen of writers block. Before I got up to answer a slip of paper flew under the door. I'm not going to lie, a spark started in my chest and a small smile crept up on my face. I hopped out of bed flipping my notebook over on the floor. I picked up the note and unfolded it. In the car I passed a message saying, "Tell me a story" in response I saw three separate lines where she started to write and scribbled it out. Finally at the bottom it said, "Meet me in lobby then." I threw on some workout clothes and a ball cap and went out. As soon as the door shut behind me I remembered my key card to the room sitting on the nightstand. "Guess there's no going back now. "

Rounding the corner I took the fire escape down two sets of stairs and came into the lobby. It was about 10 o' clock at night, the place was empty. One receptionist sat at the kiosk legs propped on the counter reading a People's magazine. The only other person in the room was Sam, standing in the middle of the lobby by the fire place. She hadnt changed from the outfit we traveled in. I walked up unfolding the piece of paper she left me. “This must be quite the story.” She turned and smiled, “I can’t promise it’ll be amazing, but I’m not much of a writer so I thought I’d tell it to you instead.”

We ended up walking around the hotel building, then down to the pier. It was awkward at first if I’m being honest but this was a strange circumstance to begin with. I asked her what story I was in for and she responded by just talking. It started with her college days, her aspiration to leave the east coast, her troubles with choosing a major, her dream of becoming a music teacher. She didn’t have siblings, her dad worked all the time and she was kind of an introvert oddly enough since she was talking so much.

“Am I talking a lot?” She turned back at me a few steps behind and asked.

“No, not at all. College, dreams, siblings, the whole lot, I know you’re life now.” I just speculated and said what was on my mind. It’s moments like these that I hate myself and my impulses. As I said it I thought of how rude it could seem or even sarcastic in nature, which it truly wasn’t but, there it goes.

“Oh, we’ve got a comedian. Here you have a pretty girl telling you her whole life story and that’s how you respond to it?” She said with a smile.

“I am quite funny when I’m not brooding I must admit. You life sounds like something I’ve never heard before. Ame’s told me about, but small stuff, like that you were pretty and a good person, you know only things that aren’t important.”

“You do brood, for all the hours I’ve known you... aaall,” she looked at her watch then, “6 hours of knowing you.”

“6 hours and I know your whole life story. I must be quite the detective or you must quite lonely.”

It must’ve been how I said it because she perked up at that, whether it was mildly insulting, maybe true, but she responded with, “Are you quite lonely?”

I don’t know what possessed her to ask but, she saw through it, my statement to myself. The sun would come up soon, somehow the night passed us by as we walked and talked. “I am, only when I’m by myself.”

“Well that’s obvious.”

“Well you asked.”

“You know what I mean. What’s the doom and gloom of late?”

“Of late? You mean by my 8 hours of knowing you?”

This was the first time she stammered in all of the talking she did. “W-well yes, I mean, that and...”

I already knew what she was going to say.

She continued, “... and Amy told me about your brother. He—”

I cut her off with, “Enough." It came out harsher than intended but not by much. "I appreciate the chance to get to know you, Let's get going to the hotel.”

She began to speak but I already spun around and started walking. I was done with the conversation, a small heat building in my chest burning away the spark of lightning that was there. I was taller than she was and I knew my natural stride would create a good distance between us so I kept her behind me. I let the sound of footsteps behind me and the morning birds chirping fade into the background.

"Hey!" A piercing sound broke my tsunami of thoughts that were about to crash onto me. I got about 4 steps away from her before she yelled my way.

"Hey," she walked up to me, "look, I'm sorry Ame's tells people too much, but shes your best friend and she's worried about you."

"Look, I get that but I—"

"Let me finish," she put a finger up. "Ame's told me what was going on and to avoid the subject but little do you know or notice, I was one of your brother's friends. Well... mentors. We've actually met before but you were too wrapped up in your own shit to see me."

"That's not tru—"

"Yeah? Where do you know me from before a few hours ago?" She looked expectedly at me.

"You, uh... you were ..." staring at her face I did recall her. It was a faint memory but at my brothers session, the receptionist, in a suit and thick framed glasses, hair brought back in a tight bun. "You were the receptionist, at Mitch's therapy sessions." My voice choked up in the middle of his name. How long had it been since I spoke it to other people. The word tasted of ash in my mouth.

"Yes. That's true." She recoiled some, probably not expecting me to have recognized her.

"Mitchel talked about you. Said you were the light of the office, too pretty not to smile at, no matter how bad his spells were." My hands ended up in my pockets and I was clinching my sides. "Ms'antha? I believe he called you. He told me about your internship and the sessions you'd have before his therapist got in. He said you'd make a great therapist someday and that he was going to miss...you." Something stirred in my chest, something dark and impulsive. The question came out of nowhere, harsh and vile. "Did you know?"

"Did I know what?"

My voice came out darker and more pronounced. "Did—you—know?!" I was looking at her my eyes burning, fists clinched so tightly I could feel the nails digging into my palms, my arms were shaking.

"No, of course I didn't. He didn't say anything and he stopped coming in, we didn't hear the news til the second night of."

The news. Like it was something to broadcast and display. I remember hearing the headline on the TV "Troubled teen jumps off of interstate Bridge."

The burning cooled as a tear fell from my eye. I quickly wiped it away and shoved my hand back in my pocket. I realized I was too invested in this and needed to leave. As I turned back around I heard a quick lunge forward and she grabbed my arm and kept me from fully turning around. I suddenly was very conscious of her touch, it felt warm but still everything about me felt cold. I was shivering. Her fingers barely touched my skin. Most of her hand engulfed in the jacket. She turned me around and hugged me, full strength and buried her head in my neck.

"I'm so sorry." She said holding me tightly, my arms will in my pockets.

It took me a while, I had been blankly staring at nothing in particular, but i finally spoke broken hearted, "I-I don't want sorry's. I want to call him and not listen to his voice mail." That hurt, the knot in my throat was swelling, like i couldn't swallow the cannon ball down, it was suffocating. "I-Its full y'know. His voice-mail." The cannonball turned into a watermelon. I had to lift my head up to try and make it go down but it wouldn't. My shivering got worse and my vision was starting to blur from the tears. My face grew hot and my nose felt like needles were bein put through it. This was unbearable. I started to cry. Every "are you okay" every "we can talk about it" every "im here for you" every single fucking one was nothing to me. Im not okay, I dont wanf to talk about it and the only person I want here is him.

It had been 2 months since his passing and it was my first funeral I'd ever went to. Little Mitch was only 16 when he passed. I dont think I've ever experienced any pain worse than this. Life goes on but you're stuck in a perpetual state of 'what the fuck'. Everyday you look at the things that used to be and wonder how they were ever that way. Every day you look at the door and wonder when its going to open and you'll see that goofy ass smile. Everyday no matter where you go you think you see them at the corner of your eye and your waiting to kick their ass for playing the most torturous game of hide-n-go-seek ever. You wait to have a hug from behind and its them, a call to your phone with their name.

I dont know how long we'd been standing but I felt weak. I didnt want to stand anymore. Along the docks there was a tree and a patch of grass. Id found my way there and laid down closing my eyes. I dont even remember where Sam was, but I knew she was near me.

((I'm gonna come back to this one later))

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captainkippen · 5 years

Text

RECKLESS • A PUNK! TYRUS AU

Summary:

RATED TEEN for smoking and swearing.

TJ never expected to fall in love with a guy who hung out in the library for fun. Cyrus never expected to kiss a guy in the middle of a mosh pit. Once in a while, life surprises everybody.

Chapter One: Respect The Tub

"Shut up. I'm having a mid-life crisis."

"You're twenty-one."

"Fine, an almost-quarter-life crisis or something, whatever."

"You know, I've seen you overreact before, but this time really takes the cake. Are you sure this is a good idea?"

"Pfft. It's a great idea. The best idea I've ever had."

"You literally just said yourself that you're having a crisis."

TJ let out a long suffering sigh and glared at Marty. Andi snickered from where she was perched on the edge of the tub behind him. She had two gloved hands covered in bright red sludge buried deep in TJ's hair.

"Don't worry, Marts," she said. "I used to help Bex do her hair all the time when she got bored. Well… one time. If it goes wrong, we can just cut it off. Hair grows back usually."

"Usually?!" TJ spluttered, attempting to turn and face her only to be held in place by her firm grip.

Marty snorted. "Still sure about this?"

"Shut up, Marty. Jeez. You're worse than my mom."

"Hey, your shut your mouth about your mom. That woman is a saint. How she put up with your annoying all these years without committing murder, I’ll never know."

That earned him the bird and he snorted again, blowing smoke into T.J's face. The bathroom of their crappy apartment didn't have a smoke detector, which was probably the only reason Marty was even sat in the room with them.

"Gross," Andi said with an appreciative smile. She might have stolen the cigarette for herself had her hands not been busy. TJ wrinkled his nose at the two of them. He wouldn't say anything, it hadn't worked the first thousand times and it wouldn't work now, but he had learned that if he made enough disgusted faces Marty would eventually put the cigarettes away.

"Whatever," he rolled his eyes at TJ's face and stubbed it out in the sink. "I'm meant to be quitting anyway. I promised Buffy."

"You made that promise like three months ago."

"Well I gotta have at least one flaw, otherwise it wouldn't be fair to you mere mortals, would it now?" Marty grinned and stood up, stretching his arms up until his back gave a satisfying click.

"Careful bro," TJ said. "If your head gets any bigger you won't be able to get out of the door."

It was Marty's turn to cheerfully flip him off. As he wandered out of the bathroom he called over his shoulder asking if they wanted any snacks, even though TJ was pretty sure he knew they only had ketchup and coffee left in the kitchen.

"So, this mid-life crisis of yours," Andi said, slipping some more dye on to TJ's head. It slid against his scalp cold and unpleasant, dripping down his neck in a wet mess. "You think Epic Death Red is gonna fix it?"

He considered this for a moment. The brand name was splashed bright and obvious on the bottle, and it glared at him from the sink. It had made them laugh at the time, but now it was in his hair it felt a little daunting. "Nah, probably not. But it'll make me feel better about it, feels productive."

"Turning in your assignments would probably feel more productive."

"Hey, I thought we banned school talk from the tub. The tub rules are sacred. Respect the tub."

"I'm just saying-"

"Did you finish your figure drawing assignment yet?"

"...touché."

They lapsed into a comfortable silence. After a few minutes, Marty loped back in holding a paper plate with an unwrapped Twinkie carefully cut into three pieces on it. Andi let him shove a piece unceremoniously into her mouth without a word.

It had become a sort of tradition. Well... not a tradition. TJ didn't know what you would call it. A habit maybe? Anyways, it had become usual for the three of them to hang out in the bathroom. Sometimes they'd be joined by friends and roommates. Two or three of them cramped in the tub, maybe splitting a bottle of cheap wine between them all, with someone else balanced on the toilet seat and another sprawled across the floor. But today, everyone else was out at work or class or living their life in some tub-free environment.

It was only TJ and Marty that lived in the apartment of the three of them. They had two other roommates, Walker and Jonah, who were pretty decent guys. Walker was an art major like Andi and Jonah had awesome taste in music. Sometimes he and TJ would walk to campus together, they were both based in the music department, but other than that and a shared interest in sports and skateboards they didn't really have anything in common. Buffy, Marty's girlfriend and (by apparent coincidence) Andi's childhood best friend with whom she was now reconnecting, would sometimes swing by to join them too. However, her disgust at just how useless four boys could be at keeping their apartment in order mostly kept her at bay. Old take-out containers were not part of her ‘aesthetic’ or whatever. TJ was never sure if he was glad about that or not, the two of them spent most of the time squabbling, but she did make Marty happy and it was hard not to be cheerful when Marty was.

"So I had this dream right," TJ said.

"Oh God."

"No, it's good right. Because it made me, like, realise I should be doing something."

Andi and Marty exchanged amused looks. They were used to it, TJ's various whims and impulses and Important Decisions About The Future That Usually Turned Out To Be Not So Important. They found it funny. TJ might be offended if it weren't for the fact he had listened to them spout of conspiracy theories more times than he could count.

"Go on," Andi prompted.

"Okay, so like... I'm standing on this cliff, right? Like on the very very edge of it. And I'm staring out to sea all dramatic and shit, and then suddenly it gives way underneath me, right? And I'm falling and falling, and I look down and there's just like... nothing there."

Another pause. "...and that's it?"

"That's it. That's the dream."

"Okay, lay it out for me. How did you go from falling off a cliff to dyeing your hair red? Give me the logic. I wanna follow your train of thought here."

He takes a deep breath, trying to shake away the lightheadedness the mingling scents of cigarettes and ammonia is bringing on, then twists around to face her.

"When you're falling to your death you're supposed to reminisce about, like, all the good shit you did in your life before you fall to your death right? And for me it was a total blank. Like nothing. Like I haven't lived."

Marty groaned. "Not this again."

"What?"

"You have this same crisis like every other month. Last time you wanted to 'live your life' we got arrested for trespassing on private property."

"Well, if you had run faster-"

"Fuck you! I run faster than you, asshole. It's not my fault there were literal guard dogs-"

"Guys!" Andi interrupted before they could really get going. They both muttered half hearted apologies with a huff. Marty sighed and leaned back, stretching his legs up to rest on the edge of the bath.

"The point is," TJ resumed, knocking Marty’s foot away from his face. "The point is that I've done, like, zero important things in my life. And we're adults now, y'know? I can't just bum around doing nothing forever. I wanna do something that matters."

Andi rolled her eyes. "'Adult' is a strong word for a guy who just this week learned what fabric softener is."

"I never claimed to be Martha Stewart."

Marty laughed. "You're criminal enough to be."

"Okay but," Andi said, before another bickering match could spark up. "The real point is... we're only in our twenties. Pretty sure we're not meant to have everything figured out yet, right? I mean, we haven't even graduated yet."

TJ and Marty both hissed.

"The G word is also banned, remember?"

Andi made a face, but didn't press the point. She hated thinking about the future just as much as the guys did. None of them knew what they wanted to do. They spent all their time in sleazy bars moshing to terrible local bands, getting drunk in a moulding tub and watching Andi paint in the student studios. TJ couldn't imagine any of them with nine-to-five jobs, commuting or working for some big evil corporation. He said as much.

"It's two thousand and five," Marty complained in response. "We should totally have robots to do all the boring jobs by now."

TJ agreed. How could humanity not yet be at the point where they had hover boards and flying cars? They had the internet for crying out loud. The possibilities were endless.

"So what're you gonna do?" Andi asked. “How are you, TJ Kippen, going to change the world?

TJ pondered this for a moment.

"I'm gonna start a band."

Sometimes Cyrus seriously hated his friends.

Not in an actual 'I wish I didn't know you' way but in an 'oh man, you suck so hard right now' kind of way. Tonight was one of those times. He would never say that to them, of course, he had no desire to hurt anybody’s feelings, but a little mental cursing never hurt anyone.

He shivered and pulled his jacket tighter around himself. Rain smattered down on the concrete around him. Water seeped through the canvas of his sneakers, soaking his socks and mood both at once. He was cold, wet and fed up. Buffy had asked him to meet her here, outside some dingy rock club filled with scary kids wearing studs and too much makeup, but she was nowhere to be found. She had answered her phone when he called, but the line mostly crackled and all he got was a muffled "-inside" from here.

Whatever. It was fine. It was totally cool that he was stuck out here being eyed by suspicious punks in leather jackets and scary scene kids with scary scene hair. It was great. He could totally cope with the fact that the bouncer wouldn't let him in because he forgot his I.D. and apparently he looked like he was twelve years old. Totally, totally fine. Really, it couldn’t get any worse.

It was as if the universe had heard this very thought and decided to have the last laugh. A large truck roared down the street, sending a fresh wave of freezing water over his legs and shoes.

Screw this. He was going home.

He hadn't even wanted to come out in the first place. He should be back in his nice cosy dorm room, preferably doing the lit assignment he had due in on Monday, maybe wrapped in a blanket. Two blankets, even. Yeah, his dorm sounded pretty great right now, even if he did have the roommate from hell. Fate had other plans, though. Right as he made the decision to head back, he heard his name being called. Turning, he saw Buffy waving frantically from the door. Huffing to himself, he turned back again and headed to meet her.

"He's with me," Buffy said with a smile to the bouncer. The guy looked doubtful as Cyrus slipped passed, but he didn't question it again.

"The reception is really bad in here," Buffy said apologetically, pulling him into a sideways hug. "But you found the place okay, right? I mean you're here, so that's good. I didn't think you'd come. I’m glad you did.”

She seemed unusually antsy, and he suspected she was a little nervous about introducing him to her friends. He would be nervous too if he was her, he knew he wasn’t much, especially to a group of cool and interesting people. He decided it was best not to tell her that he almost didn't come. He had been perfectly ready to stay in his dorm all night, even though it was a Friday night and he had little to no social life at the current moment in time with all the work his professors had been throwing at him. Except, Roommate-From-Hell-Reed had come banging into the room, all but yelling into his cellphone to some girl. Cyrus had been able to stand it for about ten minutes, and then he got tired of hearing the word "baby". A night at some dive being shoved around by sweaty drunks wasn't much of an improvement, but at least he didn't have to listen to Reed's obnoxious flirting.

"It's good you came," Buffy continued. "You don’t get out enough. I think you'll like the band too, and they're friends with Andi and Marty. They’re pretty good - I mean, TJ is a little obnoxious, but they’ve already got a big following on MySpace, and they’re close to getting a deal with Cranked...” Cyrus let her pull him through the crowd, nodding in all the right places but struggling to keep up. Who was TJ? Cranked? What was that? He felt like she was speaking another language. “

They've even got some songs recorded now... did you know Gus- you know Gus Knight? He works at the dining hall. Apparently he’s local and has this whole studio set up in his mom’s basement. He has all the equipment and everything. It's crazy.”

"Crazy," Cyrus agreed, narrowly avoiding getting elbowed by a teary girl gesturing wildly at a boy that looked too out of it to be taking in what she said. The whole arena smelled like puked. He prayed that none got on him. "So when are these Cranked guys meant to go on?"

Buffy rolled her eyes. “Cranked is a record label, Cy. The band’s called Conduit For Gods.”

The problem was not that Cyrus wasn’t into music. He liked music. He thought it was fun, especially if you could sing bad karaoke to it, and who didn't like to listen to their iPod on the bus? But Buffy's friends' world seemed to revolve around music, more specifically punk music, and the whole scene that came with it. He had accepted a few of their invitations to hang out just to be polite, but most of them involved parties and shows. Parties and shows meant drinking and coming home with wild stories. Cyrus wasn’t a wild stories kind of guy.

As a kid, he had really wanted to be a wild stories kind of guy. He’d longed to be one of the popular kids who knew how to make friends with everybody, who was never bored on a Friday night and wasn’t totally invisible. He had never succeeded in becoming that kind of guy. Even at college, where he'd figured it would be easy. All the television shows and magazines had made it seem like that was what you were meant to do in college - party and drink. Become your own person. Become interesting.

What he'd learned from actually being in college? He didn't like to party and drink. He had no problem with other people doing it, obviously, but he'd rather he was far away from them while they did. Drunk people had a habit of throwing up on him, and in crowds like this Cyrus had lost his shoe more than once. They might be drenched in grimy rainwater, but tonight he felt like keeping his shoes firmly on his feet. Preferably not covered in somebody's dinner. The other thing he’d learned was that he didn’t really vibe with the whole alternative music scene... or it didn’t vibe with him. He liked things neat and non-violent. In his experience, college-aged punks liked things sweaty and aggressive. Sometimes with a hint of insane thrown in. It’s not like it scared him or anything, he just didn’t want to die in a mosh pit.

“They’re on at ten. You want me to grab you a drink? I got us a table - I know you don’t like being in the crowd.”

He gave her a grateful smile, forgiving and forgetting the last half an hour in one fell swoop. Buffy was a really good friend not just sometimes, but all the time, even if she did make him hang out with scary people that wore studs and eyeliner. She always respected his boundaries.

As she disappeared towards the bar, he meandered his way over to the table she’d pointed out to him. There were a couple of bags and jackets strewn across the booth’s seats, but no people present. Scanning the crowd, he managed to spot Marty and Andi stood off to the side with a couple of other people. Andi caught his eye and waved him over, but he shook his head. She rolled her eyes, but smiled and sent him a thumbs up anyway. He smiled back.

Andi was a nice girl. A cool girl. She wore her hair cropped short and spiky, had a leather jacket with her name painted artfully across the back and her skin was constantly smudged with paint or coal or glue from her art projects. She’d known Buffy forever, and Cyrus was still surprised someone as cool as her was willing to hang out with a loser like him. It was the same with Buffy, honestly. He was always one step behind the laughter and she was the one making people laugh. Once, he’d made the mistake of voicing these thoughts out loud and Buffy had smacked him over the head with a copy of Rolling Stone, telling him he was being stupid and that he was cool. He knew she was lying, but he appreciated the lie anyway.

A figure loomed over him and he turned.

“That was quick,” he started to say, but the words died on his lips. It wasn’t Buffy.

“Um, hi,” Said the most beautiful boy in the history of all existence.

Bright red hair. Green eyes ringed in black. Torn up denim jacket over plaid over faded t-shirt. Cyrus mentally catalogued all of these things and tried to unstick his tongue from where it seemed to be stuck to the roof of his mouth. He wasn’t sure what to do. How did English work again? What were words?

In the end, he stuck one awkward hand out before he could stop himself and stuttered out a greeted. The guy took it with a warm smile and shook.

“I’m Cyrus,” Cyrus finally managed to say.

Understanding dawned on the guy’s face. “Oh, you’re Buffy’s friend. That’s cool. I’m TJ, Marty’s roommate,” he jerked a thumb back towards the crowd. Much to Cyrus’ horror, he realised Andi and Marty were watching them with interest. He dropped TJ’s hand quickly. “I was just grabbing the keys to the van, could you pass me that bag?”

Cyrus did as asked, expecting TJ to take it and flee from the obviously crazy person who had just shaken his hand like they were at some sort of business meeting instead of a nightclub, but he didn’t move from where he was standing. Instead, he rummaged through the bag for a second and then withdraw a set of car keys and dumped it back on the table. Turning, he signalled to one of the guys in the crowd and launched the keys through the crowd.

“So are you sticking around after the show?” TJ said, turning back to Cyrus with a curious smile.

No. Cyrus was going to go home and shower at least twice then snuggle up in bed and get a good night’s sleep where nobody could accidentally spill a suspicious substance on his nice clean pants.

“Yeah, I think so,” is what came out of Cyrus’ mouth.

“Awesome,” TJ grinned, the thousand-watt smile disarming Cyrus once again. “Well, I gotta scoot, ‘cause it’s my band…”

“Oh! You’re in Condu-whatsit?”

“Conduit For Gods,” he laughed. “Yeah, I’m the singer.”

Oh great, a cute guy in a band. Just what Cyrus needed to make this interaction less intimidating.

“Break a leg?” He offered.

He didn’t know if he was imagining it or not (probably) but TJ looked a little reluctant to go, but after a moment he flashed him another smile and departed. Cyrus resisted the urge to bang his head on the table and berated himself for not being able to hold a conversation like a normal person. Oh man, he had made himself look like a total idiot. Luckily, Buffy returned not long after, and he drowned his sorrows in his drink.

“Okay, not to be dramatic but we have to play the best show we’ve ever played tonight,” TJ said, speeding over to Jonah behind the stage.

Jonah looked up from tuning his guitar in surprise. “I thought the label weren’t seeing us ‘til next week?”

“It’s not a rep,” he shook his head and sighed as dramatically as he could manage. “I just met the most amazing guy I’ve ever seen and I’m pretty sure we’re soulmates, so we have to impress him, okay?”

“Soulmates, huh?” Jonah grinned. “Do you even know this guy’s name?”

“Cyrus.”

“Cyrus? As in Buffy’s Cyrus?”

“That’s the one.”

“Okay, man. If you say so.”

The stage fright seemed twice as intense as usual as TJ clicked the microphone on. Through the glare of the lights and the packed room he could barely make out the table tucked away in the corner where Cyrus was sat. The crowd roared back as he greeted them, and it felt like the entire room exploded into life as the boys launched into the first song. For the first time ever, TJ worried less about cracking a rib as he surfed across the top of the crowd and more about how exactly he was going to ask Cyrus for his number without sounding weird.

But by the time the show was over and TJ was drenched in his own sweat while blood dripped down from his nose from where someone had accidentally hit him in the face during the last song, Cyrus was nowhere to be found, and the question of the phone number became obsolete.

#tyrus #andi mack #i don't know where this is going okay

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