#never doing that crusty looking donut ever again

[stardines]

funkin gonuts

[queenxxxsupreme]

Soft prompt idea: First time Lambert's SO tells him "I love you" ❤

A/N: I AM ON FUCKING FIRE TODAY and I’m so happy 🙂 I hope you like this babe!! Also this might be a little OOC for Lambert, but he’s being a softy in this so it really is OOC for him to be a big softy but that’s okay because we love him anyways!

***

 Lambert followed a few paces behind you, guiding Champion by his reins. 

The three of you were traveling through a swampy area in Velen. Lambert promised you on this part of your journey that you’d be able to take a little bit of time in the swamp to collect whatever herbs and things you wanted while you were passing through. You were excited. The swamps held so many wondrous things you couldn’t find in the North. 

The witcher made sure to follow behind you, but not too far behind you. He wanted to be able to keep his eyes peeled for any signs of danger without his paranoid behavior distracting you. 

You came to a stop, pulling the knife on your hip out. You stepped off of the small dirt path, picking up your skirt as best as you could with one hand, and moved towards a large rock covered in moss. 

“Watch where you’re stepping, bug.”

“I am.” You knelt down by the rock and examine the moss. “Can you hand me one of the empty jars from my satchel?”

Lambert moved around to Champion’s side, opening your satchel and digging around inside for a moment to find an empty little jar. 

“Is this one good?” He asked, holding up a relatively small jar.

“Yes, that works. Thank you.”

Once he passed it to you, you were able to scrape off enough moss to fill the jar.

“What is that for?”

“Moss is good for lots of stuff.” You passed the jar to him. “Coughs. Covering wounds.”

Lambert furrowed his brows together for a moment. 

“Isn’t that what bandages are for?”

“Yes.” You grinned just a little. “Don’t question my ways, Master Witcher. I don’t question your methods, do I?”

The corners of his lips tugged up a little as he gave Champion’s reins a little tug to continue following you. 

You lifted your skirts up and stepped into a rather deep mud puddle, sinking a few inches into the dark brown substance.

Lambert chuckled a little. 

“What’s so funny?” You asked him, moving between a couple trees to get to a fern bush. 

“You always get after me when I get mud on my boots.”

“Because you don’t take them off at the door and wear them through my house.” You shot him a look. “And most of the time, you boots stink of rotten corpses.”

“It’s not my fault the dead monster juices get everywhere.” He muttered. 

Your nose scrunched up at his choice of words. 

You gathered what you needed from the fern bush and began to make your way back to him. 

“Please never describe it that way ever again, Lambert.”

He grinned, happy with himself, and took the fern pieces from you to put into a sachet. 

A little while had passed and you found quite a lot of ingredients for your work. A peaceful silence had fallen between you and Lambert. He’d pull out a jar or sachet whenever you needed it and then put it away for you. 

You couldn’t find the right words to describe how happy you were that he was okay with this. Previous lovers had all looked down on you going out and getting dirty in the woods for plants and rocks. Some even discouraged you from doing so even though it was a necessary part of your job. 

As the end of the swamp came into sight, you moved on to the dirt path to walk alongside Lambert. You looked over to him, chewing on your bottom lip. He met your gaze, confused. 

“What?”

“It’s nothing.” You shook your head, smiling a little. “Just…. Thank you for doing this with me.”

“I wasn’t going to let you come out here alone.” He shrugged his shoulders. “And we were passing through anyway.”

You nodded your head a little. 

***

When nightfall came, you were lucky enough to find an inn. While Lambert went to stable Champion, you had a bath drawn. 

You were absentmindedly dragging the soapy washcloth up and down your arm when there was a knock on the door to the room. 

“Bug?”

“In here, Lambert.” You lifted your head, sitting up a little straighter. 

He walked in, closing the door behind himself. 

“I was gonna go down to our room, but there’s a lot of unsavory folk lingering around in the halls and I’d hate to have to skip town tonight ‘cause one of them decided to do something stupid.” He said, leaning against the door. 

“I’ll be done in just a few minutes.” You told him, picking up the chunk of soap sitting on the side of the tub. You got the washcloth nice and soapy again before you went back to work on cleaning yourself. 

“You’ve been awfully quiet today, bug.” Lambert commented. 

You looked up at him for a moment, then brought your eyes back down to your leg. 

“Usually you talk my damn ear off.”

“Just…. Thinking.” 

Your tone was off. You had been thinking all evening. He knew something was wrong, that there was something on your mind you weren’t telling him. 

The witcher pushed himself away from the door and moved to the side of the tub, kneeling down so he’d be at your level. Silently, he held his hand out for the washcloth. You handed it to him. He used his other hand to gently take hold of your chin. He turned your head towards him and began to wipe the dirt and mud from your forehead. 

“About what?” His breath was warm against your face.

“How I…. I’ve never had someone do what you did for me today.”

His eyes avoided yours, choosing instead to focus on the smudge on your temple. 

“Wasn’t much I did. We were just traveling through a shithole. Figured you’d have fun messing around in the mud.”

“Yeah.” You couldn’t help but look down, tilting your head too. “But my previous partners, they’ve never…. They’d never allow me to do such a thing as walk out in the swamps like that. They’d never let me off the horse, let alone off the path. Some…. Some wouldn’t even let me collect herbs or my stones.”

Lambert furrowed his brows together. 

“What kind of moron wouldn’t let a mage get shit they need for their work?”

You smiled just a little. 

“Not everyone is as open minded and as nice you, darling.”

“You make me sound like some sort of saint.” He snorted. He dipped the washcloth into the water to rinse it off. 

You were silent once more. 

Lambert put the washcloth on the side of the tub and stood up. 

He wasn’t too sure what was going through your head, sometimes it was difficult to read you, and sometimes it was hard for him to figure out the right way to approach the situation to get you to open up to him.  

He turned to go back to the door to stand guard, but he got just a few steps away from the tub when you spoke. 

“I think I’m…. That I’m in love with you.” You whispered.

The witcher turned on his heels to face you, brows drawing together. 

“.... Because of the swamp?” 

“No, no. I-I mean, it’s a combination of things.” You suddenly felt like maybe bringing this up while you were naked in the tub wasn’t the best of ideas. You pulled your knees as close to your chest as possible and crossed your arms over your chest. “I’ve-I’ve wanted to say it for a while. I mean, we’ve been together for a year and a half, almost two years. I just….”

Lambert looked down for a moment, rubbing the back of his neck. 

“If-If you don’t feel the same-,”

“No, I do. I do.” He shook his head. “Just…. didn’t think this would come up here, in the dingy bath of a crusty inn in Velen. Kinda wanted to try to be a little romantic about it. Maybe do it on our two years? But romantic shit makes me queasy.” 

You smiled softly at him. 

“Why don’t, uh, why don’t you get out and get dressed? And then we can finish this not in here?” 

You nodded your head. 

You stood up and Lambert retrieved a towel for you, wrapping it around your shoulders. You thanked him and stepped out of the tub to dry off. He moved back to the door, wanting to give you space while you got dressed.

Once you were in proper clothes, you walked together down to the room you’d be staying in for the night. While Lambert secured the door, you climbed into bed. 

“What was your idea of making it a little romantic?” You asked him, watching him as he came around to the side of the bed and got in. 

“I don’t know.” He shrugged his shoulders, running his hand over his hair. “I was hoping it would be at Kaer Morhen so I could make you dinner. Eskel has a stash of really nice wine in his room. I was going to steal a bottle.”

“It sounds lovely.” You rested your head on his chest. “You know, you can still do that.”

“I know. I will.” Lambert began to trace shapes on your back as he stared at the ceiling. “I know I’m not the best at showing it, but I do…. I love you, bug. You mean a lot to me.”

“It’s okay. I love you too, Lambert.” You looked up to kiss him softly. “And I think it’s rather cute that our first time saying it to each other was in a crusty Velen inn.”

“It sure fits us.”

Taglist: @pressedinthepages @mishafaye @whitewolfandthefox @wolfyland07 @belalugosisdead @persephonehemingway @keira-hulmaster @dinonuggs69 @greatestauthorofmygeneration @shadow-hunters-lover @dancingwith-thesunflowers @tedi-fach-las @thecomfortofoldstorries @raspberrydreamclouds @natkowaa @disasteren @weathervanes-my-oneandlonely @onlyhenrys @wackylurker @criminaly-supernatural @magpie343 @permanently-exhausted-witcher @hina-chans-stuff @the-space-between-heartbeats @havenoffandoms @carriebee1 @ger-bearofrivia @naominami @writingawaymylife @reaganjenelle @theawkwardpedestrian @scarlettwitcher @badassspaceprincess @just-a-sad-donut @summersong69 @an--actual--human--disaster @rubyqueen819 @omgkatinka @c-a-v-a-l-r-y @vonxcon @mazakeen @bravelittlesunflower @thereagles @awkward-turtles-world @menalliha @cotton_mo @maan24 @thefirelordm @monkeymo @krenee1drful @nympha-door-a @unadulteratedtreecrusade @Aquarius-pisces-rose @mentallyscreamingsincebirth @fl0ating @sometimesiwrite @you-fxcking-wish-bish @thanks-bruh-for-nothing @maan2442 @thegaydeath @creatingstuffinpeace @wellthisstinks @andyrazzledazzle @she-wolfoftheinquisition

If your name is in italics, it wouldn’t let me tag you :(

[raevenlywrites]

Dasi High, for really reals

Finally got a first chapter I actually like!

I walked an expanse of endless sand. The night desert air carried hints of spice and stone and worried at my exposed skin with cutting cold teeth. I shivered and rubbed my arms in annoyance. This part of the dream was getting old.

But I knew that just over that dune lay a fire, and around the fire, figures danced.

Their long shadows cast out like the tails of an inverse sun, snapping and cracking like dark twins to the flames they danced around. Music made of wind and whispers pulled at me, urged me to come down, come dance, become a shadow.

I’d never once made it down to the circle.

I didn’t dream this scene every night, but I’d dreamt it often enough to be annoyed with its tantalizing tease. If I didn't’ waste so much time on the stupid sands, I might finally get to see who danced in that circle. A figure always broke off, coming to meet me half way, and though I got a little closer every time--

“It’s the top of the hour, and you’re listening to WKSR!”

I smashed my hand against the alarm clock, wishing I could hurl it into the dreamscape’s flames.

Never make a song you love your alarm tone, unless you’re ready to hate that song forever. That goes double if its from show you used to really love, but now associate with rage and dreamus interruptus and can never watch again. I flopped forcefully back against my pillow, tempted as always to just go back to sleep. What was out here for me in this world of pop songs and overly enthusiastic radio announcers?

Plenty, was the answer, and after a while the ennui of waking left me, and I rolled out of bed to wash the sand of sleep from my eyes. - “Hey.”

I looked up to see Brass standing in front of my desk, something held to his chest. Since it was neither latte nor donut, it was hard to muster interest in it this early in the morning. When he set the crusty old book down on my desk like it was supposed to mean something, I just stared up at him.

“Since when do you read?” I teased. Picking on Brass was one of the constants in my world. Sky was blue, grass was green, Brass and I bickered and teased.

He gave me a half-hearted smirk, but I could tell he was distracted. I leaned back in my chair, cocking my head in what I hoped was a sympathetic manner. This was why we hadn’t worked as a couple. Teasing I got. Real emotions? They seemed weird between me and Brass. And it was way too early for it. Best to just let him get it off his chest and get it over with.

He drew a deep breath in through his nose, reminding me way to much of all the times he’d started “a talk”. It was hard not to get automatically defensive.

“So you know how my mom runs that homeopahtic shop or whatever?”

I nodded, biting my tongue to keep from interrupting him. We’d been friends since diapers. I knew his mom as well as I knew my own. Maybe better. “Aunt” Cynthia was way cooler than my stick in the mud mom. And her shop carried some of the coolest stuff. Suddenly this rusty crusty Giles-like book got a lot more interesting.

“What’s with the Necronomicon?”

“It’s not a--“

He cut off, his mouth twisting in that sideway grimace that made his nose scrunch. I hated that I still thought it was cute. I distracted myself from it by flipping open the tome. “Tome” had a lot better ring to it. Yeah, I was liking this tome more and more.

“Apparently it’s a grimoire. Mom likes to collect them for old recipes and stuff, but this one...”

His fidgeting was enough to ruin the mystical communion I was trying to have with my cool new book. I propped my face on a fist, giving him a sort of “spill it” gesture with my eyebrows. I did a lot of talking with my eyebrows. I had expressive eyebrows, worked hard to get ‘em that way. They were kind of my signature thing now. I hoped. Too cool to speak. Talk to the brows. Yeah.

Brass wilted under my killer gaze, reaching down to flip a page in the book. I felt weirdly protective of it, annoyed that he’d dared touch it--even though it was his book. Just because he’d put it on my desk didn’t mean he was giving it to me.

“I thought you should have it,” he said, seeming to echo my thoughts. I felt immediately embarrassed and empowered at the idea. Heck yeah, bow before my cool mind powers--but ick, stay out of my thoughts. Especially since I still kind of like you. Double ick.

“Brass, what about this crusty old book makes you think I should have it?”

When in doubt, pretend you don’t want it. Lessons learned from Sassy the Cat of Homeward Bound fame.

“Cause you’re crusty old news!”

Izzy wrapped her hands around Brass’s arm, giving me her “trying too hard to be cute” nose-wrinkled grin. Brass’s nose wrinkle was better. But hers was cute, I could admit. Much easier to admit since I knew her passes at Brass didn’t mean anything. Izzy didn’t want to date him any more than I had. She’d just been smart enough to say no when he’d asked. Which made him more fun to flirt with now, I guess. I dunno. The mind of an Izzy is a mystery.

“No,” Brass said tightly, trying on the new tactic of “ignore the PDA”. Good for him. The blushing had been cute, but it made him look easy to rile. More fun to tease. Stoic man, that was the way.

“I thought she should have it because--“

“The vibes!” Dani invited themself in our conversation and I tried not to sigh. I loved my friends, I really did. We were tight, tighter than family. But now they were going to chat all through homeroom and there would be no coffee, no book, no ten minute nap. My desk had become socializing central.

“It’s the vibes, right?” Dani insisted, helping themself to my book. I let out a protest as they picked it up, but too little too late. They turned the book over and over, as if looking for a review or pricetag or something. “This thing totally has spooky vibes, just like our Ki.”

“It’s because she’s a Scorpio.” Oh great. Landon had invited himself over too. Party and Kiesha’s desk. “Scorpio’s exude a mysterious energy. But they’re secretly big cry babies.”

I stuck my tongue out at Landon-the-know-it-all, but he ignored me.

“No,” Brass insisted, taking his book back once again. He spread it out over my desk again, opening it back to that same page. It looked like a family tree. He ran a finger over the lines, indicating a very familiar name.

“It’s because it’s literally got her name on it.”

Everyone leaned in, casting an actual shadow on the page they crowded so close. It made the age-faded ink even harder to parse, but the “Kiesha” Brass had indicated was plain enough.

My book.

The urge to close it up and clutch it to my chest nearly overwhelmed me. Instead I leaned away, ostensibly to let everyone else get a better look. In truth, I hated ever looking too interested in anything. I had always been so obnoxious with my interests as a child. I never let anyone see anymore when I was really into something. Always play it cool.

But the book called to me, and the more I held myself back from it, the more I wanted to pour through its pages, discover its secrets. It was my book. It had my name on it. Fate had sent it to me.

My friend’s chattered turned to white noise in my ear. Distantly, I caught snatches of “where did you get it?” and “that’s so cool!” but all I could really hear was the pounding of my own heart in my ears. It felt like drums, dusky and ancient, and more important than anything else that might happen that day. Damn you, Brass, for giving me something so cool at the start of the school day. This was going to taunt me all day, just like that stupid fire circle.

I swooned as the beat of my heart joined the whispers of smoke and song. A hand on my shoulder made me jump. I blinked up into Brass’s concerned face.

“Ki? You okay?”

I nodded, shaky and shaken. I needed some air.

“Skipped breakfast. Could one of you snag me something from the vending machines?”

Izzy nodded and hopped off, knowing Brass would be completely distracted by concern for my well-being now. He still hovered like a protective mother hen, even though we’d broken up months ago. Talk about your brooding hero. Dani pulled Landon away and I sent a silent thank you to them for wrangling their snotty boyfriend. Landon was a great study buddy, but he had the personality of Metamusil. Good for you, probably, when you were ancient. We were too young and cool for his old man routine.

Brass crouched down by my desk so I didn’t have to crane up at him.

“Are you really good?”

I nodded, letting myself rest my head on his shoulder. Brass was a constant, weird ex or not. He’d been childhood friend longer than he’d been my... whatever we’d been, and enough time had passed that I could let myself take comfort from him again.

“Sorry about the book thing. I can--“

“It’s great.”

I cut him off before he could finish whatever he’d been about to say. I wasn’t about to let my “be cool” rule part me from my book. I pulled back to better look at him.

“I do really like it, weirdness or not. Thanks for thinking of me.”

“Of course.”

He pressed a quick kiss to my forehead, then stood and beat a retreat to his side of the classroom. Izzy came back with a Coke and some donut sticks, and I slid the book into my bag before any sticky accidents could befall it.

[carryonsimoncarryonbaz]

New Fic!!

Honey For The Bees

A gift fic for my dear @giishu ! Based on late night conversations about fancasts, post-Wayward Son Simon and Baz, bee necklaces, and communication issues. I promised you something like this a while ago, my friend—better late than never?

Summary: It's not been quite a year since their trip to America but Simon and Baz are in a much better place as far as things are concerned, particularly their relationship. A morning trip to the market sparks some good memories for Simon but inadvertently sets in motion some angsty thought spirals for Baz. A Saturday morning set in the spring after Wayward Son, with moments of misunderstanding, but far more capability to talk things out than they've ever had before.

Simon

I like to come down to the Spitalfields market on weekends. To grab fresh falafel wraps and Thai fruit tea for myself. Decadent donuts for Baz, what with that insatiable sweet tooth of his.

And I could use the exercise–it’s the first sunny day we’ve had in weeks and I don’t mind getting out of the flat for a bit.

Penny’s holed up in her room, cramming for finals. Said she’d been up all night but the pillowcase creases on her face argued against that, I’d say. She’s a bit wound up about it all. I’m glad she got some sleep.

I promised to bring her a chai if she spelled my wings away.

I’m only taking two classes this spring term, so I’m not as spun up as she is. I’ve stayed on top of my work. It helps having Baz come over to study at our place most nights. It’s distracting as hell but he’s such a swot he won’t actually let me get side-tracked. He raps on the table with a “ focus now, Simon, or we’ll be here all night” and puts his work aside to run through my lecture notes with me. Baz can make anything sound interesting.

Merlin, I love him.

I always know we’re done for the night when he raises that eyebrow of his and gives me one of those long, cool looks that does nothing but get me all hot and bothered (he knows it too, the insufferable prat), and then starts to put his laptop away. “Time for a break, Simon.”

That’s usually when Penny snorts and says something rude, if she’s at the kitchen table with us, then escapes to her room with an eye roll and a put-upon sigh. I’ve caught her winking at Baz as she goes though, so I know it’s all just for show.

I don’t let it get to me. I know she’s almost as happy to have him around as I am.

I don’t object to her hiding out in her room, mind you. Study breaks with Baz involve a lot of snogging and I’m not about to complain about that.

And lately, more often than not, they involve Baz spending the night.

In the months since we’ve been back from America we’ve been working up to it, little by little. Back to Baz spending the night. To me holding him in my arms as I fall asleep. To late night kisses and morning breath ones too. To the comforting sensation of his back against my chest and my arm wrapped around his waist, face buried in the silky waves of his hair.

My hand splayed over his chest, feeling the slow, steady thrum of his heart.

The slide of our mouths, the firm grip of his hands on my hips, those elegant fingers finding their way down . . . fuck, I can’t be thinking of that now. Not in the middle of a bloody Saturday morning market.

Baz spent the night at his place last night, working on a group project. Probably why I can’t keep my mind off the thought of him this morning.

I missed him.

I shake my head and shove my hands in my pockets. I’ve got to keep my wits about me. Donovan’s will run out of those Nutella donuts he’s so fond of, if I don’t hurry.

It’s when I’m leaving—my belly full of crusty falafel, Penny’s chai in one hand and the box of donuts in the other—that I see the little stall to the side. I’m not sure why I stop. I don’t usually look at much other than food, not unless Penny or Baz are with me.

But something’s caught my eye. The shape of the pendant hanging at eye level.

It’s a miniature bee, exquisitely crafted in a warm, gold-toned metal, wings caught midair. It makes me think of the fat bees on Baz’s shirt—the one he was wearing the first time I saw him wrap his mother’s scarf over his hair, when we were in America. I don’t think I’ll ever forget that sight, not even when I’m a cranky old codger in a care home.

I wish I had a photograph of it.

The pendant is small but surprisingly detailed, set on a chain that looks sturdy enough for the likes of me.

I don’t think about it much anymore, the cross I used to wear. It’s in a box, tucked away at the bottom of my dresser. Baz wouldn’t let me get rid of it. Said relics shouldn’t be binned. That’s not the real reason he wanted me to keep it around. I know I won’t ever need it, not with him. But if it makes him feel better knowing it’s there, I can live with that.

I touch a finger to the bee. The vendor eyes me, a questioning look on his face.

“How much?”

“Fifteen quid.”

That’s not bad. I can manage it.

Having only two classes leaves me with a fair bit of time on my hands. Baz signed me up for some sessions at this martial arts studio—it’s run by someone Fiona knows from her herbalist days, so they’re not so fussed about my dragon bits, so to speak. I took a few classes last term and now I help out there. Get paid for it too.

I tap the bee pendant, making it swing. Makes it almost seem as if it’s flying.

“I’ll take it.”

“You want it in a box, have it look nice?”

“No, I’ll just wear it.”

I put Penny’s chai and the donuts down at the edge of his display table and hand over the money. The chain’s long enough that I can slip it over my head and tuck it under my hoodie and shirt. The motion comes so naturally still, the almost-not-there weight of it on my chest deeply familiar.

My cross used to make me think of Baz. I’d think about why I was wearing it, think about him being a vampire, think about all the things that made me so obsessed with him, not understanding any of the impulses simmering beneath the surface.

This makes me think of the noonday sun glinting off those huge sunglasses of his, the tilt of his head as he adjusted that blue scarf, the smoothness of his shirt in my hands as I pressed him against the car.

Yeah, this is a hell of a lot better.

Penny’s taken over the entire coffee table when I get home, laptop in front of her as she leans against the sofa, books and notebooks and papers scattered around in piles.

Baz is curled up on the far end of the sofa, sock-clad feet just behind Penny, his laptop balanced on a cushion resting on his thighs.

He looks up when I walk in. Probably heard me scrabbling with my keys, what with those super senses of his.The smile that comes over his face is instant, lips curving up, eyes wide and happy.

Not guarded. Not questioning. Not even a glimmer of that wistfulness he’d try so hard to hide. Fuck, it’s good to see that. Just reminds me again how far we’ve come.

I bend down to press a kiss to Baz’s forehead, right on that aristocratic brow of his, as I walk by him on my way to the kitchen.

Yeah. I can do that now.

Baz’s eyes close and he leans into it every time. I love that even more.

I set Penny’s chai on the kitchen counter. There’s no safe space on the coffee table, not the way she’s got things piled everywhere.

I've just set the donuts on a plate when I feel Baz’s arms slide around my waist and the weight of his chin on my shoulder.

I lean back against his chest.

I can do this now too.

“You caught a whiff of the Nutella, didn’t you, you tosser. I was going to bring you a plate.”

Baz turns his head and brushes his lips over the edge of my hoodie, breathing his words into my skin. “I’d rather stay in here.”

I turn in his arms and then it’s him snogging me against the counter until Penny comes in search of her chai.

“Nicks and Slicks, how many times must I tell you two, not in the kitchen! You have plenty of places, not to mention a room of your own to defile, Simon.”

I attempt to disentangle myself from Baz’s embrace but he keeps his arm firmly wrapped around my waist, so I may as well just lean into him. “Why are you yelling at me, Pen? Baz is the one who followed me in here.”

“Traitor,” Baz says and slides his cool fingertips under my hoodie and shirt to pinch my waist.

I used to be sensitive about that too, but the martial arts sessions have me back into near fighting form again.

Baz has this way of running his hands along my sides. A way of resting his head on my belly and nuzzling his cheek against the roundness there that feels positively worshipful, so I can’t really let myself get fussed about it.

Well, I mean, I do get fussed about it, in a totally turned the fuck on kind of way.

Which I don’t need to be, in the middle of the kitchen, with Penny glaring at me.

I hold out the plate I’d put together before Baz distracted me. “Have a donut?”

She frowns.

“Go ahead and have one, Bunce. Simon doesn’t believe in defiling food--it’s far too wasteful.” Baz plucks a donut from the top of the pile. “They’re Donovan’s Nutella. It’s a crime to even profane them with your thoughts.”

It should be criminal to look so sexy eating a fucking donut. The way Baz licks that trace of filling from the corner of his mouth is positively pornographic.

Penny takes a donut and glares at me again. “Ugh, Simon, keep your eyes in your head.” She takes a bite, chews, swallows, and then apparently decides she’s not done giving me shit. “I never thought we’d find anything to divert your attention when there’s food around, but apparently I was wrong.”

She winks at Baz, which is completely unfair.

Because now he’s blushing a bit and blushing Baz is even harder to resist than Baz with chocolate hazelnut spread dotting his lips.

Except he’s just taken another bite of his donut, so now it’s both, and I can’t be faulted for leaning in to lick it off his lower lip which ends up with me giving him a bit of a chocolate laced snog.

“That’s it, I’m out,” Penny says, taking the rest of her donut and hightailing it out of the kitchen. “Refrain from doing unsanitary things on the counters!”

“Merlin, Penny!” I can feel my face heat up.

“Duly noted, Bunce.”

Baz rests his forehead against mine. I trace my finger down the buttons of his shirt, letting my hand rest against his stomach, gently rubbing circles there. I know he likes that.

“You are an absolute menace, Simon Snow. Seducing me in full view of Bunce, with donuts and chocolate kisses.”

I slip my fingers between the buttons of his shirt, his skin cool against them. He likes that too.

And I like that intake of breath that comes from him when I do.

“No one should be seducing a vampire in our kitchen!” Penny shouts from the other room. “Common decency in common spaces!”

“For Crowley’s sake,” Baz growls. He takes a step back and adjusts his shirt, face still a shade brighter than usual.

I did that. It’s a heady sensation every time. That he wants me and this is real.

That we’ve made it.

“Are you going to have a donut, or are these all for me?” Baz plucks another donut from the plate and proceeds to lick sugar from the top of it, just to drive me mad, the wanker.

“Dream on.” Two can play at this game and even though I had falafel at the market I can never say no to a donut.

Particularly when I can fuck with Baz while I eat it.

I stare right at him as I slowly lick at the sugar topping. His eyes widen. Good . I take a bite, chew it ever so slowly, swallow. His eyes immediately go to my throat before darting back up.

I hollow my cheeks as I suck some of the filling out.

“Fucking hell, Simon!” He’s on me, pulling me to him by my belt loops. He takes a bite of the bit of donut that’s nearest him, sugar crystals catching on his lips as he does and sending more of the filling my way.

And now we’re reenacting that scene from Lady and The Tramp with this fucking donut.

Read the rest here at Ao3!!

[thedeviltohisangel]

How The Night Changes//5//Don’t Wish It Away

Olivia overhears something she shouldn’t have (or it’s Olivia’s birthday & Duncan spoils her)

Warnings: smut, mention of past eating disorder

thank you to @kellysimagines for the request!

my URL/duncanshepherd to catch up!

send any requests for these two my way!

“I’m still mad that you wouldn’t let me see you on your actual birthday,” Duncan muttered as he focused on stirring the minestrone soup he had bubbling on the stove.

“It’s the day after my birthday, that’s not too far away from the actual event. Besides, I had to be with my mom for the photo op, you know that.” Olivia walked up behind him and wrapped her arms around his waist, pressing a kiss to the spot between his shoulder blades. “Don’t be mad at me, Donut, I love you too much to handle it.” He turned around in her embrace.

“Could never be mad at you when you have that bow in your hair,” he chuckled before he kissed her. Olivia had shown up to his home with a pink silk ribbon holding her ponytail. It might’ve been the most adorable thing he had ever seen and it also might’ve been the sexiest.

She playfully hit his arm as she hummed against his lips, pulling away from him with a satisfying pop.

“Today is already going better than yesterday. You’re here and you’re making me this soup you’ve been hiding from me.” Duncan lived by himself and on the rare occasion he wasn’t busy with work and having something delivered, he liked to try out new recipes. This soup was one he had made over and over on cold DC nights and thought Olivia, queen of coziness, would enjoy it.

“Did your mom get you anything nice?” He knew it would be nothing compared to the pile of gifts he had in the back of his closet to give to her, wanting to spoil her like he knew she deserved, but he was asking to be polite.

“Actually, yes. She got me one of those Cartier bracelets everyone is walking around with. It was really sweet.” Olivia walked over to the wall of wine Duncan kept in his dining room and picked a bottle of Cabernet for their meal. He carried over two bowls and set them on the table, pulling out Olivia’s chair and motioning for her to take a seat.

“Why do you always pick my most expensive bottles?” he inquired as he poured some wine into her glass.

“So that way, the next girl you have in your life can’t enjoy them.”

“I don’t think there is going to be a next girl,” he whispered as he paused his movements.

“That’s the right answer,” she replied with a smirk as she brought the glass to her lips and took a sip. He kissed the top of her head and went to take his seat across from her, raising his glass in a toast.

“To my love as she embarks on a new year and to our love as we take the journey together.” They tapped their glasses lightly, took a sip and then began to dig into their meals. “You know, I wish I could’ve taken you out for your birthday. Really show you the kind of romantic I can be.”

“This is all I need! You, warm bread and fuzzy socks. The soup is wonderful by the way. You said I’d like it and I love it.” He smiled as she reached for another piece of crusty bread that sat in the middle of table, happy to be enjoying a meal with a woman who actually ate for a change. His last fling had been with a girl who drank her calories.

“What’s your goal for this year?” Olivia had recently quit doing ballet professionally, an ankle injury not healing in the right way that would require in order for her to have been able to dance the same.

“You’ll think it’s funny and that I’m stupid if I tell you.”

“I could never think that, my love.” Duncan leaned over the table to grab her hand and place kisses in quick succession to her knuckles.

“I want to start teaching dance. A studio downtown has a spot open for toddler ballet. I haven’t asked my mom yet but I think I want to do it.”

“That sounds absolutely amazing,” Duncan replied.

“You’re the only person so far who hasn’t criticized me for quitting dance, you know.” He furrowed his brow.

“What do you mean? You got hurt and it wasn’t safe for you to dance again. What’s there to criticize?” Duncan had been there the night she’d injured herself on stage. If it wasn’t for the Secret Service keeping him from running backstage to check on, they would’ve been public by now.

“Apparently, it’s the only thing I’m good at. Without it I’m just another girl walking down the street with a nice handbag.” Her teeth scraped against her spoon as she angrily took another bit of food.

“Your mother and the White House PR team,” Duncan said with a sigh as it clicked within him. “Don’t listen to them. They suck at their jobs and are pointless. Children love you and you will be the best instructor they will ever have.”

“How do children feel about you?” she asked with a raised eyebrow. For as long as she had known Duncan, she couldn’t  remember ever seeing him around children.

“They’re like little elves that operate behind the scenes. I don’t really see them or interact with them,” he said, pouring himself another glass of wine.

“Do you like kids?” Duncan knew Olivia, he knew her very well, but not well enough to understand where this line of questioning was going.

“I don’t particularly like them but I don’t particularly hate them either.”

“Do you want kids?” And there it was. Olivia had decided that since Duncan and her openly expressed their love for one another, she could start asking him the tough questions.

“Don’t most women start with marriage first?”

“What’s the point in asking you to marry me if you don’t want kids?”

“First of all, I’m the one who is going to ask you. I’ve given a lot of thought to the proposal-”

“Duncan. Answer my question.” He couldn’t deflect by informing her he had thought about marrying her, no matter how many butterflies had just been released into her stomach.

“I’ll have kids if you want them.” It was an answer but it wasn’t really the answer she had been looking for. Olivia should have guessed he wasn’t the type of man to dream about being a father or raising a brood. Duncan had a singular focus and anything that could detract from that required a lot of thought and vetting before he allowed them in. Olivia had first kissed him when they were in the second grade and only now had he decided she could be welcome into his inner sanctum. “They’re just something I’ve never really thought of. I don’t have a biological clock that makes me think of things like that like you do.”

“I want kids. And I want like five of them,” she said. He grabbed her hand again and stroked his fingers over her knuckles.

“Then we’ll have five kids. More if we want more.”

“That sounds amazing.” Olivia wanted to have a little girl and raise her to always know she was more than good enough. Being who she was was exactly what she was supposed to be doing. She wanted to right all the wrongs she felt her mother had made towards her. “I’m happy we were able to settle that,” she said matter-of-factly before she returned to her meal.

“Why do you have such an effect on me? Why do you make me feel like I’m ready to stop working so hard and settle down with you? Move out of DC.”

“Because you love me. The deepest part of you knows it and wants you to stop fighting it.”

“Let’s go away. From the city. Let’s go back to South Carolina. Go to that farm where I caught you kissing Finn in the hay bales that one summer. I want to spend time with you in a place where you can’t see the Washington Monument.” She could see it now. Duncan in jeans. Her and her leather boots that she had brought with her to DC for sentimental reasons. She could smell it. The horses and the hay. The barbecue from the town center. And then there was a glimpse of the future, little feet laughing as they scurried across the wood floors. Duncan in a rocking chair with a bundle on blankets tucked against his chest. Olivia teaching a little girl how to braid her hair the way she liked. But she couldn’t have that. She had to stop dreaming about it.

“I’m afraid, Duncan, that if I leave I won’t ever want to come back. And until my mother is no longer in the White House...I’ll always have to come back.” His chest ached not just at the loss of his perfect vision for the two of them but of how meek she sounded when she told him it could never happen.

“One day, Olivia, you will no longer feel as though she owns you. I promise.”

Later that night he had her sitting by the fireplace as he grabbed her presents from his closet.

“Duncan! You look like Santa!” she laughed as he dragged a bag into the living room.

“This is nothing compared to what I have planned for Christmas.” She rolled her eyes at him but couldn’t help herself from clapping like a child when he finally reached her with her haul.

“Is there an order you want me to open these in?” she asked as she began to pull them out and place them around her.

“Go in size order from biggest to smallest. The best gifts come in the smallest packages.”

“Besides your package?” she asked with a smirk as she opened the biggest one to reveal an embroidered blanket. “Oh, Duncan...this is beautiful!”

“You like it? I picked it up when I was in Spain last month. Made me think of you.”

“I love it.” She leaned over to kiss him, slipping her tongue between his lips with a moan.

“Baby, if you react like this to a blanket it then we might be here awhile by the time you get to the end.”

Olivia, begrudgingly, tried to not let herself be too overcome with emotion on each gift that she opened from Duncan. Among other things there was a silk kimono she had been eyeing for a while, plane tickets to Malibu for their anniversary that was coming up and a gold compact mirror with their initials engraved ever so tiny on the bottom.

Duncan snatched the last box from the floor before she could and held in his hands tightly. “It’s not...opulent like you may be expecting but it’s meaningful. I don’t want you to feel pressured by it I just thought...I should just let you open it.” She tore the paper carefully to reveal a square velvet box which, when she opened it, displayed a key.

“Is this to your apartment?” she asked shyly as she grasped it tightly in her hands.

“Yeah. I was just thinking how I want to see you more. See you all the time, actually.”

“I can’t fully move in with you, Duncan. Not yet at least. But I’ll be here every night that I can. I’ll start leaving my toothbrush here!”

“I just...I have this feeling that I’m meant to build a life with you, Olivia. This is the first step. I know I can be a dick sometimes or don’t always put work on the back burner but I want to. I want to never go on a first date again, yeah?”

“Yeah,” she echoed back as she crawled into his lap. His hands settled on her waist naturally and she leaned into him for a kiss. His fingers wandered under the hem of her sweater and traced patterns over her soft skin. Their lips moved together lazily, nowhere to be and in no rush to find somewhere to go.

“Bed?” he whispered as her hands began to tug at his hair.

“No, want you know. Here.” She pulled the ribbon from her hair before connecting their lips once again, Duncan sliding his hands up her sides until her sweater was removed and tossed to the edge of the carpet. “Surprised you didn’t get me lingerie for my birthday,” she mused as they shifted so she was lying on her back. He looked up from where he had been sucking a hickey onto the swell of her breast.

“I knew I forgot something!” Her laugh quickly turned into a moan as his tongue leveled itself along the waistband of her leggings.

“Taste so good, you know that?” She lifted her hips obligingly as he shimmed her pants and lace thing down her legs, her own hand coming to tweak one her nipples as she watched his eyes devour her. “I’ll never get tired of seeing you like this,” he whispered. His hands pushed her thighs further apart and he placed gentle kisses to her soft skin. He started by kissing her clit like he would her forehead, a short and gentle peck, and her fingers came to stroke through his hair in encouragement.

His tongue came next. Mapping out her folds from memory, his eyes closed as he danced across her petal soft skin and lingered in the places that made her moan the loudest. Fingers followed. Circling the entrance to her. Making her soul tingle with anticipation of his increasing touch. When his first finger entered her, her thighs tried to clamp shut, her control weak over the pleasure that pulsed throughout her body in waves. “Impatient girls don’t get to come,” he chastised as his finger returned to circling her. He had to earn it inside of her.

“Sorry, Daddy. You’re making me feel so good,” she moaned as she tried to buck her hips up towards him, desperately seeking more. Always more. He groaned as the name slipped out of her mouth, slipping two fingers into her as a reward. Her chest lifted off the ground as she curled with his knuckles, her hips remaining in place as his hand kept her down. “Fuck, Duncan, right there.” He slowly and purposefully pumped his fingers in and out of her, the tip of his tongue tickling her pearly clit in unison.

“You gonna scream for me, baby?” he hummed, “Let everyone know what a slut you are for Daddy.”

“Fuck, yeah. Oh god, oh god,” she cried out as her toes curled and a third finger of his joined the effort in putting her over the edge. He put his hand underneath the small of her back, desperately trying to hold her against him so she could take all that he was giving her. “Don’t stop,” she whined as she felt the pressure building inside of her nearing its climax. Her mouth fell open but no noises came out as her orgasm crashed over her, her hands digging into his hair to hold him against her and he licked and touched her through it.

As she lay there panting, Duncan kissed up her body and offered his slick fingers for her to take into her mouth.

“You squirted, kitten. So proud of my good little girl,” he murmured as she wrapped her tongue around his fingers and sucked in the way she knew he liked.

“Want your cock, Daddy,” she whimpered as her hands tugged at his pants in frustration. He was already straining against the zipper, her mouth watering at the treasure held behind the denim.

“Where do you want it, kitten?”

“In my mouth.” She licked at his throat for emphasis and didn’t miss the way his hips stuttered forward when she did. Duncan straightened his upper body while he remained on his knees so she could undo his belt and pants and help him rid his body of them with glee. Olivia wasted no time in taking him into her mouth. She maintained eye contact with him as she licked the underside of his cock from bottom to top, returning to suck at the root of him in the way that made his eyes roll to the back of his head.

“So good, baby,” he said breathlessly as he held her hand in his hand, “Want you to choke on it.” Happily, she took him until his soft tip hit the back of her throat, the sound she made almost having him cum on the spot. “Such a dirty slut, taking Daddy’s cock like this.” His hips thrusted forward rhythmically, her tongue flattened against him and looking up at him obediently as he used her to near his hand.

“Please come inside me, Daddy.” He nodded once in approval of her request, Olivia smiled as she lied back down and dropped her knees to either side. His hands landed on either side of her head as he lined himself up with her entrance. Duncan stuttered his hips forwards just enough that his tip tapped against her clit, fingers already curling into the carpet in anticipation. She did her best to keep her mewling at bay and to keep her hips from twitching forward because she knew if she misbehaved then she would not go any of what she was asking for.

Without warning, he finally settled himself inside of her and she sighed in contentment at the sense of completion that was now upon her. “Oh, Duncan,” she whimpered as he found the perfect rhythm and leaned down so their chests were flush against each other. He kissed her softly, the dominance replaced by an overwhelming softness for this moment in time.

“I love you so much, Olivia,” he sighed into her mouth, “Keep your eyes open. Want to come together.” It took all of her willpower to keep her eyes locked onto his when every thrust made her want to close them in concentration to reach her end.

Their moans picked up in unison as his hips got quicker and sloppier, the pleasure breaking his steel focus. Duncan hadn’t realized how much better sex was with someone you truly loved and he was happy that he had wanted until he meant Olivia to figure that out. She was his person. Always had been and always would be. “Mine, mime, mine,” he chanted with each thrust as they both reached the edge, Duncan holding her close against him as they fell over it together. For the rest of the lives, every plunge they hoped would be taken together.

Olivia awoke the next morning alone in bed. The smell of bacon and sound of something be whisked alerted her that Duncan was already up and preparing their breakfast. She stumbled out into his kitchen wrapped in her new kimono and approached him with bleary eyes that were squinting against the sunlight. “Hey, sleepyhead,” he mused as he paused flipping pancakes to greet her with a kiss.

“How long have you been up?” she asked with a yawn. Coffee had already been made, some bacon and pancakes were already on a platter and there was two place settings complete at his breakfast nook.

“An hour or so,” he said with a shrug as he scratched gently at the trail of hair that led to his boxers. “Thought it’d be nice for you to wake up to breakfast. Continue my pampering treatment of you.” Olivia bit into a piece of bacon, nearly burnt just the way she liked it, and moaned at how delicious it tasted as it landed in her empty stomach.

“How do you have any energy after last night?” she asked as she set about pouring them each a mug of coffee, almond milk creamer and sugar for her and a splash of half and half for Duncan.

“Sex with you reinvigorates me. Gives me more energy.” She laughed as he began to cheekily sway his hips as a way to illustrate the energy inside him.

“Well, you are good with your hips,” she mused. They about to lean in for another kiss when there was a knock at his door. “Are you expecting someone?”

“No. Which means it’s probably my mother. Hide in the bathroom.” Olivia didn’t have to be told twice, slipping quietly into the bathroom and locking the door so no one could open it and be surprised to see her in there.

She heard Duncan pad over to the door and clear his throat as though he was getting into character before opening it.

“Did I wake you?” It was the voice of Annette Shepherd and Olivia hit her head against her hand repeatedly. It was moments like these where she felt so utterly stupid for engaging in a secret relationship.

“Sorry. I had to throw a shirt on to get the door.”

“This is quite a bit of food for just you, Duncan,” she said with a questioning tone.

“Trying to use up some stuff in my fridge before it goes bad,” he answered as he moved to try and block the second coffee mug that sat on his counter.

“Ever since you were born, you’ve been difficult to understand.” He threw his hands up as if to say there was nothing he could do about that. “I came to talk to you about something important.” Annette pulled a folder from her bag and handed it to Duncan. With a furrowed brow he opened it and was greeted with a picture of Olivia on the first page.

“Olivia? What about her?”

“Keep reading.” She heard her name and pressed her ear closer to the door in the hopes of trying to hear whatever it was Annette was there to talk to him about.

“You want...you want to release that she spent time at Hope Canyon?” Olivia felt her heart plummet as the words came out of his mouth. There was no way the Shepherds should have been able to found out about her stint at a rehabilitation facility for eating disorders. It had been done under the most top secret of manners. She hadn’t even told Duncan about that part of her past and now his mother was telling him for her.

“Clare went through the deepest of troubles to keep this a secret from the world. One of the only times she seemed like a doting mother in my opinion. Clearly if it were to get out, it would hit her right where it hurt.” Clare had been ashamed that her daughter had used food as a way to control at least one aspect of her life. Ashamed that she had needed help and couldn’t find it within herself. It wasn’t that she was caring for Olivia and her privacy. It was that Clare Underwood cared about keeping her image of a strong woman, raising a strong woman, intact.

“You don’t think this is a little too far? Olivia has nothing to do with this.” Bile was rising in Duncan’s throat. If Olivia hadn’t broached the experience with him, even though she was not obligated to, meant that it wasn’t one she ever wanted to dredge up again.

“Don’t go soft on me, Duncan. In order to stand at the top of the mountain we have to knock some people off.” His mother stood up, apparently done with this conversation, and ran her hands up and down her sons arms. “I trust in your vision of our future, Duncan, and your ability to see that this is the right way to get there.” If only his mother knew that his vision for the future no longer involved her or his uncle standing with him at the top of the mountain. It was only him and Olivia.

He remained rooted in place until he heard the door shut to his apartment the roar of her car roll down the street. The folder felt like it weighed many tons as he held it in his hands. The weight of questions unasked and secrets unknown.

“She’s gone,” he called out. It was a few minutes before he heard the bathroom door actually open and Olivia step out. By the look on her face, the dried tears on her cheeks, he knew that she had heard most if not all of what had transpired between him and his mother. “You heard what she had to say?” Olivia nodded.

“I’m sorry you had to hear about it from her. I was going to tell you, Duncan, I promise.” He shook his head and step towards her.

“You aren’t obligated to tell me anything about your past, my love.”

“Are you going to publish it?” her voice was small as she asked. There was no way she would ever be able to look at him again if he weaponized the file his mother had given him. Love of her life be damned. Their future children be damned. Olivia had to put herself and her happiness and health first for her own sake. If that meant shedding herself of Duncan then so be it.

Duncan grabbed the file and walked over to the fireplace and threw it into the flames, watching it turn into ash.

“I’m not. No one is as long as I can stop it. You’re the other half of me. They can’t hurt you without hurting me.” Olivia smiled and walked towards him to step into his arms and squeeze him as tight as she could. “You and mean, Livvy. We’ll make it out of this city alive and together. I promise.” There was no one else either of them would rather stand at the top of the mountain with.

[boneswriteswords]

The angsty idea about the reader over hearing how their turtle is attaracted to April is soooo sooo sooo good! If you take requests and it wouldn't be too much of a burden, could I request that for Mikey?!??

A/N: I finally got around to doing this. I’m not 100% happy with it but I’m never 100% happy with anything I write so whatever. Lol

Its also unbeta’d like all my other stuff. 

Enjoy.

Its almost 2500 words of angst tho so you might not.

You felt like you couldn’t breathe, the unexpected rush ofpain tasted like tinfoil, razorblade sharp on your tongue.

It had been a good day, the world bathed in shades of paleyellow. You were working at a job that you loved and that paid well. You had paidoff one of your student loans in full, dramatically decreasing your debt. Yoursupervisor had surprised you with donuts and an extra week of paid vacation as a thank-you for all the extra hours you put in tohelp her finish a major product. You got to pet three dogs. You were even ableto make progress in your language lesson.

It had been a good day.

‘And it’s about to get better,’ you had thought as you madeyour way down one of the tunnels the turtles used when they were going topside.You had been so excited to see your boyfriend.

Mikey is everything you could ever want. He brought youbalance, helped you find and maintain a peace in yourself that you hadn’trealized was missing until he came along. He was adventure where you werecaution. He was vibrant where you were subtle. He was affectionate where youwere reserved. He kept you secure, in yourself and in your life and never madefun of you for the way you experienced the world.

He is the golden glow that scatters over the city as the sunsets, bouncing off the high windows and reflecting off the glass. You had neverthought you’d be loved so intensely by another person before him.

At least, you had thought he loved you.

Now, you weren’t so sure.

Not after this.

Not after you had heard him say that he desired April. Thathe’d drop to her feet and serenade her on her obvious beauty, her wit, herlaugh and her smile. That his dramatic declarations of affection extended toher in a room you had thought was only for you and him.

But he wouldn’t.

Because he had you.

And he wouldn’t do that to you.

Lurking just behind the entry way, you felt your body breakdown and put itself together again. Cells combusted and reformed. Synapsesfired in all different directions, unsure of what to process and where to sendwhat. Pink turned to purple turned to grey. Shaky legs managed to keep youupright but only just.

Fuck.

It had been too good to be true.

Tears slipped out without meaning to. You quickly wiped themaway and breathed, contemplating turning around and walking away beforediscarding that idea. They were expecting you. They would come looking for youif you didn’t show up, expecting the worst.

You’d have to tell him what you heard. You’d have to hear itagain but this time, it would be to your face.

A coldness blanketed you like anill-fitting suit. A new skin molded from copper and stitched with the smell ofsulfur. A safety net to catch all the little broken pieces of yourself as youchip and crack under the pressure.  

You took another deep breath and walked into the lair,greeting everyone with a big smile stretched painfully across your cheeks. Yourstomach lurched. It felt wrong.

“Baby! You’re here!” Mikey exclaimed, leaping over furniturewith his usual brand of puppy-like excitement. Normally, you’d be flattered athis attentions, the way that he disregards obstacles in his path to get to you.No one had ever been that excited to see you before.

But you weren’t this time. It felt like an exaggeration, anovercompensation. It smelt like sickness.

When he reached you, you let him pull you close and kissyou.

It tasted like a lie, black and gritty. Bile gathered in theback of your throat and you swallowed to keep it down as he pulled away,concern written in the furrow of his brow.

“You okay angel? Something the matter?” he asked softly,stepping away to rub his hands down your arms before pulling you close again.He pressed his beak to the side of your face, leaving little pecking kisses ashe did. Despite the close proximity, his warmth felt distant, a ghost of atouch on your skin.

“I just had a rough day Mikey,” you muttered back, givinghim a small smile. You pulled his face away from yours, reaching a hand tostroke the scaled skin of his cheek, lips quirking as he nuzzled into yourtouch. He still smelt like summer and electricity and you were relieved thatsomething remained the same. “I’ll be okay.”

He never pushed when you didn’t want to talk and you weregrateful for it. He knew that you needed to process things bit by bit beforeyou could talk about them, especially if they were stressful oroverwhelming.  

“Anything we can do to help?” Leo asked, his voice silver,like moonlight that bounces off water in the dark.

You shook your head no, “It was just a bad day. Happens tous all. I’ll be fine. It wasn’t all bad. I met someone with beautiful colorstoday.”

“Is that so Angelcakes?” Mikey asked, a playful grin on hisface as he picked you up, “Were the colors prettier than mine?” He nuzzled hisface into your neck, a big smile on his face as you looped your legs around himas much as you could.

“Um…”

Raph snorted from his perch on the couch, “Don’t ask herthat. She doesn’t have the heart to tell you your colors are ugly as shit.”

Mikey gasped dramatically, clutching you further to hischest, “You take that back! My colors are beautiful. You’re just mad cuz yourtexture is puke! Isn’t that right baby? Raph is the texture of puke and smellof crusty unwashed ball sacs.”

An argument about colors and numbers and textures ensuedbetween the brothers, Leo and Donnie joining in when attempts to stop it wheremet with mean comments about their own visual representations, giving you areprieve from their concerned stares. You climbed off Mikey while he wasotherwise distracted and sat next to Splinter on his meditation mat, foldingyour legs under you.

“Are you alright my dear?” Splinter whispered, eyes focusedon his sons. His hand grasped one of yours, giving it a little squeeze and yourealized two things. Splinter had been paying attention to his sons’conversation and he knew your ‘bad day’ had everything to do with it.

“Not really Master Splinter.” Lips twitched into a sadlittle grin as you squeezed his hand back. “Not right now.”

Before he could say anything else, you were ripped off themat and back into strong green arms, pressed flat against a wide, muscledplastron. Mikey’s face beamed down at you, the tang on your tongue gettingstronger the longer you looked at him.

“Tell them angel. Tell them my colors are beautiful,” he breathed,all golden light and reflective shimmer and the breaths right before you blowon a dandelion.

You swallowed thickly, voice dropping to a whisper “Yeah.I’ve never seen anything more beautiful.”

If circumstances were different, you would have believedthat he had actually swooned, knees locking to keep you both upright. Youwould have believed the sheer force of emotion that appeared on his face wasreal and that he loved you the way you loved him. You would have believed thatnothing could ever be wrong between you and him, that you had found the love ofyour life.  

But you didn’t.

“Oh come on! Of course she’s gonna say that. She loves ya!”Raph argued, hands thrown up in your direction, “I want a new judge!”

Another argument broke out but instead of letting you go,Mikey kept you close so you laid your head on his shoulder, closedyour eyes, and counted down the minutes until you could go home.

—–

You didn’t know what to do so you stayed late at your office everynight under the guise of being overloaded at work to figure it out.  You knew you were feeling insecure, lumpy andchunky and off-white, and you knew you could bring it up and actually talk toMikey about it and he would understand.

But you also couldn’t. You didn’t want to break up with him.He was the only one who didn’t think you were weird when you said musicsometimes felt like there were guitars strings tied on your spine and someone’splaying them, the melodies vibrating through every bone in your body. Or whenyou said Raph’s laughter smelt like cinnamon. Or when you baked lemon squaresbecause Donnie asked you to describe his voice.

You didn’t want to break up but you couldn’t visualize aconversation that didn’t end up in a break-up.

You didn’t want to lose him but you had to considerthat….maybe it was inevitable.

Maybe he wasn’t yours anymore.

Maybe, the deep dark purple part of you whispered, he wasn’teven yours to begin with. Who’s to say that you were the one he picked insteadof just being the one who said yes.

The razor sharp tang was heavy on your tongue.

———–

April took you out for coffee the Saturday morning afteryour week long escape. Despite the circumstances, she was one of your favoritepeople, all vanilla scented lipgloss and pink silk with flashes of lighteningbugs behind it. Incredibly beautiful to look at and be around.

You couldn’t hate her.

“So, how are things? I haven’t seen you in a week,” shesaid, smile sweet as she poked her straw through her latte. She was dressed inher signature yellow jacket and a basic tank top with her hair up in a messybun but still somehow looked put together. She was always put together.

You recalled wearing a similar outfit a few days ago.Shopping was something you and April liked to do together because your styleswere similar. You liked a lot of the same things, especially when it came tofabric textures, so the two of you often went perusing in the other’s closetwhen looking to put a new look together.

The dark purple part of you reminded you that she was theone Mikey really loved, that he asked you out because you dressed similar,walked similar, had similar interests, did similar things in your free time.Always similar. Not quite but good enough.

“Pretty good,” you responded, only a partial lie, “I love my job. The people are great. The clients are great. I’m never bored. It’sfantastic.”

“Good. I’m glad. You deserve to have a good workplace,” shetook a sip of her latte, “Mikey mentioned that you had a bad day last week butyou didn’t say what it was about. Are you ok?”

You took a sip of your own drink, a new holiday drink thecoffee shop was promoting and immediately decided it tasted too puce for yourliking.

“Yeah. I was just overwhelmed. I had met a lot of new peopleand it was bit overwhelming,” you shrugged, hoping that your lie wasbelievable. You gestured to your outfit, an old sweatpants and hoodie, “I may notlook it but I feel better.”

She nodded sympathetically, smile widening, and you couldsee how Mikey fell in love with her, “Well, I’m glad you feel better. Does thatmean you’re coming to movie night tonight?”

Fuck.

You forgot about movie night.

“Of course I am.”

Double fuck.

“Great! Mikey will be so excited. He misses you so much.”

“I miss him too.”

——-

April was already at the lair when you dropped in, some oddnumber of hours later, arriving a tad too late for it to be normal. April hadwalked you back to your apartment before heading to work after coffee, ramblingabout what had happened that week as far as Foot activity and crimes thathappened in the area while you thought about what to do about this entiresituation.

You had changed quickly into an over-sized shirt and adifferent pair of sweatpants, not really bothering to put an outfit together.There was no reason for you to put an effort into looking nice. You didn’t wantto look like April.

Distance. You needed to put a tangible, aesthetic distancebetween you and April. No wearing the same clothes. No styling the same way. Nodoing makeup like she does. No connection between you and her.

You weren’t surprised to see Mikey wrapped up inconversation with her, sitting as close as he does when he sits with you,breathing her air the same way he breathes yours but it still fucking hurt.

He looked so happy to be in her space, loud and boisterousand excited.

You knew what you had to do.

“Hey Mikey,” you whispered, trying to catch his attentionwithout seeming too rude for interrupting, “Can I talk to you for a sec?”  

“Baby! When did youget here? You’re late! Why are you late? You’re never late! Are you ok? Did youget hurt on the way here? Was it Foot ninja? Cuz I thought we cleared them outof the area but if not and they hurt you, they’re gonna pay. I swear angelcakes–“ you cut him off, the influx of questions causing your chest to tighten.

“Too much Mikey.”

His mouth snapped shut and he pulled you out of the room asyou ran through one of your breathing exercises, muttering the colors in theFibonacci sequence. He was watching you closely, his stupidly blue eyes floodedwith regret and locked on your face as you made your way through the firstfifteen numbers.

“I’m sorry honey,” he mouthed as you slowed in yourcounting, breathing a bit easier and steady.

Calmer, you met his gaze and for a moment, you thought aboutthe world you experienced with him. All the new colors and sensations andtextures. The things you had never felt before and how they explodedbeautifully inside you. You had never known that love tasted like coconut orthe sensation of looking forward to seeing someone was a splattering of rainbowcolors across a white background.

“What’s up baby? What’s wrong?”

You wondered if you’d ever experience those things again.

“Its over Mikey.”

The words tasted grey, shadows over paper.

——

There you have it. Angst. Poorly written angst. I’m sorry. 

Also let me know what you thought of the reader I used. 

[yeehaw-im-a-guy]

Agony of the White Box

These days, I’m not sure what I could have done differently. My mind was crowded, my heart was full and my stomach was bloated. Would I have been able to  avoid Jean in the first place?

The crisp autumn air was still as I walked down the dreary, nipping sidewalk of my home town, the shy bit of Quincy, Boston. I was walking swiftly, eager to get out of the cold air, watching as cars drifted by, the rubber on their wheels splashing gently in puddles of dirty asphalt water. My earbuds were shoved into my ears, playing sad songs and sorrowful melodies sung by grunge guitars and horrible, phone-recorded voices. The trees loomed over the cracked and dull streets of Quincy, and when you weren’t staring at the way the neon Dunkin Donuts’ sign shone through the fog, you couldn’t help but stare up at the swaying hickory tree branches. My walk to school was always calming and I always felt somewhat protected by the large branches and leaves, but on this particular day something just didn’t feel right.

In the distance, I began to approach my high school. I was starting my sophomore year at Wildwood High, although not as bright eyed and hopeful as I was my freshman year. I was still just as naive, admittedly, as I still desperately wanted to make friends with someone, anyone really. Part of me told myself that this yearning for anybody could get me in trouble, but another part of myself said that it didn’t matter. I’d take any amount of time with someone, if being friends with somebody meant that eventually it would all come crashing down, so be it. That’s just how I was, and how everybody in high school was at its core, just another guy looking for companionship.

The school campus had a distinct smell, stemming from the cafeteria, of cooked low-grade meat and half baked bread. The hallways were warm, heating my pink face and my thin knobby knuckles, the escape from the chilly morning successful. My boots squeaked against the tile, leaving watery brown marks on the floor. Students crowded around the hallway, giving me little room to get around, but they wouldn’t pay attention to me anyway. Cheering voices and gossiping chatter filled my ears, so I turned my music up louder. I couldn’t hear it when the bell started to ring, students started leaving the halls. Well, most except for one guy, who I noticed stared at me from across the now empty hall. My music blared into my ears, drums beating violently and guitar strings plucked every which way, creating a slur of noise in the faint shape of a song. The guy across the hall was tall, lanky and had bad, scarring acne. His eyebrows were dark and thick over his eyes, which could have been as large and glossy as a pair of cue-balls. His hair was thin and a tad bit crusty, it looked as if it had been dyed and bleached multiple times. I’ll admit, I’ve seen him before a few times in the halls, but it was only today that I noticed a faint grin across his face as he stared, just a few feet away from me.

My eyes locked with him briefly before continuing my walk down the hallway, trying to just ignore the glaring glass eyes and get to class.

A few boring classes into the day, I was making my way to the gym for a team sports class. I didn’t bring a change of clothes, I never do, so I spent the hour chasing footballs and breathing heavily in a pair of black jeans and a warm sweater. The ball was rarely thrown to me, the other students didn’t know or trust me enough to catch it, and I don’t blame them. Towards the end of the already merciless exercise, Coach Stephen pushed me to try and catch the football more, so reluctantly I ran up and down the gym, attempting to let the other rowdy boys know that I was open. After nearly giving up, my eyes dropped for a single moment, and in the same breath drifted up again, and I caught a glimpse of something being thrown at me, full speed and force. I lifted my hands, but not soon enough. I caught the ball horribly wrong, and the next thing I knew, my pinky finger and ring finger were bent way out of shape, the nail on my pinky halfway off and gushing blood. The students came to a cold halt, all eyes on me. A few of them began to laugh, then others joined. My face twisted into a confused look.

“Seriously? You can’t even catch the ball? You pansy, that could’ve been our point!”

“He must’ve had a wedgie, judging by the way he ran.”

“I should’ve recorded that for WorldStar!”

The jeers echoed in the gym.

I tucked my bleeding hand in my other, holding it against my sweater. Biting on the inside of my cheek to try and contain the pain, I waited thoroughly embarrassed until the class was over to possibly get to the school’s nurse.

In between classes, I drifted down the empty hallways to get to the nurse. The white halls were bland yet bright, stinging my eyes. I lifted up my good hand to gently graze it against the wall of the hallway, feeling for texture. None. The walls were as smooth as they were painfully white. My head turned back to the front of myself, facing the end of the bleak hall, however something new was interrupting the static of the hallways. The guy from this morning was standing in the middle of the hallway, I figured he must’ve just stepped from the corner. My eyes darted away shyly, before returning their awkward gaze at the guy. My good hand dropped to my side, leaving my bloodied, bent hand against my now blood soaked sweater. I began to turn the corner of the hall, stepping as close to him as I had ever gotten.

“Does it hurt?” A raspy, deep voice spoke in the static. I stopped in my tracks, my heart racing. I turned back to him, his blue eyes reaching into mine.

“What hurts?” My voice cracked.

“Oh come on, don’t act like that doesn’t hurt.” His head turned, similar to that of a dog, a concerned feeling being transmitted from his expression. I looked hesitantly down at my stinging hand.

“Oh, uh, yeah, I-I guess so,” I laughed nervously, trying to find the right response. The guy held his expression for a moment longer before shifting his position, shoving his hands into his jacket pockets and standing up a bit straighter. His head flicked back to me.

“My name is Jean.” He grinned at me.

“Joseph,” I held my arm out to Jean for a shake. He gripped my palm firmly and shook it.

“You’re heading to the nurse, right?” He asked me nonchalantly. I nodded.

“I’m gonna join you.” He briskly patted my head, his large palms blanketing over my hair.

We began walking down the next hall.

His eyes wandered once more. Then darted.

                           “How’d it happen?” Jean spoke, keeping his face forward.

“Oh, I uh, caught a football wrong.” I answered, trying to make it sound like it wasn’t a big deal.

“Did the other kids laugh?” He asked. I was put off.

“Uhm, yes. Why?”

“The kids at this school are disgusting.” Jean said aggressively. I felt the blood rush away from my face, leaving me pale.

All of a sudden, I felt my arm being yanked, almost violently. Jean was dragging me somewhere.

“What are you doing?” I squealed, shooting him the scared look of a deer in headlights.

“You can’t trust the nurses here, Joseph. You can’t trust any of these teachers, if you want that hand repaired, come to me.” Jean spoke firmly, he was sure of himself. His confidence emerged and hung over me. My gut feeling began to shift.

I felt protected.

Jean dragged me out of the halls and into a closet. Like a raccoon digging through a trash can, he dug through shelves and pulled out paper towels and tape.

“H-Hey, Jean, I know you’re trying to help, but-” Before I could finish my pathetic sentence, he took my fingers and bent them back into shape, awful popping noises surrounding my pounding ear drums. I let out a screech, my fingers throbbing painfully. Jean quickly covered my mouth with his palm, and then taking it off to bandage my pinky with the paper towels and tape. I watched him, kneeling down and fixing up my fingers, and felt myself blush when he looked back up at me with a toothy grin.

“There, see? Never go to the nurses for help when you don’t need it. Come to me.” He said. He was staring into my soul.

“Okay, Joseph?” He said again. I shook myself out of a daze and nodded.

I gave Jean my phone number.

The rest of the day played out smoothly, and finished calmly. I walked home, this time the fog being less thick, grey clouds still above me. I stepped up the stoop to my house heavily, the screen door creaking as I swung it open. I dropped my backpack next to the door, and strode to the fridge for something to eat. I often have to find things to eat myself as my parents usually aren’t around. This time, they’ve been gone for five days, but I can’t complain, they always make sure to leave just enough food to last their outings.

Sitting on my couch, kicking my feet up and holding a bowl of cereal, I lifted up the remote to put something on the tv. I felt the phone in my pocket vibrate, so I dug it out and flipped it open. It was Jean.

Hey man.

I read it a few more times in my mind before deciding what to say next.

Hey

I sent back to him. I didn’t get a response until an hour later.

U busy thursday?

He asked. My fingers started flicking fastly, pressing down on the small buttons of my phones keyboard.

Nah, why?

Ok cool. I’m gonna come by.

A handful of lonely days passed, and I spent my lunch periods with Jean. He didn’t seem to have any other friends, but neither did I.

However, something still didn’t sit well with me deep down. Ever since I began to hang out with Jean, I hadn’t been getting teased. I hadn’t even been looked at by another student.

When Thursday came, Jean decided to give me a ride home, which was much appreciated on my side.

I sat in the front seat of his beat-up silver Corolla, my feet pushing past the trash that laid on the floor of his car. It smelled of vinegar and salt. Jean slid into the driver's seat and pulled down his mirror, fixing his hair. A bit of sun started to show through the clouds, beaming in through the dusty glass window and scattering around Jean and I. Somehow, in the golden rays, Jean actually seemed as if he were handsome all along.

After taking a long look at Jeans features and almost being caught by him, I turned my face back to the dashboard, peering out at the moving scenery. As the car rolled across the bumpy brick road, I heard a faint rattling. At first I ignored it, but it wouldn't end.

“What's that rattling?” I asked, my body wiggling in synchronization with the bumps in the road.

“It's nothing.” He glared at me in the corner of his eyes and I immediately shut up. I drifted back to the dashboard, listening for the rattling. I moved my head forward towards the glove compartment, the rattling sounds getting louder. I felt an abrupt smack on the back of the head.

“Stop.” Jean commanded. I nearly jumped from fright, holding the back of my head.

“What was that for?” I asked softly. I watched my tone. Jean peered between me and the road.

“Don’t touch things that aren’t yours.” He said sternly. His face was so serious, it almost made me burst out laughing from nervousness. I felt an anxious smile appear on my face, and Jean didn’t look happy. He took a deep breath and sighed.

“Fine,” A small smile appeared on his face for a moment, just a few seconds. He opened the glove compartment himself, his boney arm reaching over me and pulling out the drawer. Inside was unexpected, to say the least.

Five medical needles rolled inside of the glove compartment, surrounded by garbage. My eyebrows furrowed.

“What's all that for?” I questioned, looking at the five needles closely before Jean snapped the glove compartment shut.

“I have diabetes.” Jean kept his eyes on the road. He sounded sure of himself, he always did, but somehow I just don’t think he has diabetes.

We pulled up into the my driveway. I eagerly looked out the window to see if my parents had come back, but there was no one. My heart sank a little more. Jean parked and shut off the car, twisting the keys out of the slot. I picked up my bag from next to my feet and got out of Jean’s car, my boots crushing small rocks. The doors made a thud when Jean and I shut them. Jean’s head peeked out from on top of the car. He scanned my quaint house. The wooden boards that held up my home were wet and starting to fall apart, and the roof was eroded from rain and snow. Small, warm puffs of air fell from Jean’s open mouth. I made my way around his car and lead him inside my house.

I kicked off my boots and Jean carefully untied his sneakers, using his palm to slide them off. The interior of my home was plain and had almost nothing. I lead him down the empty hall, passing by my room I had since I was a kid. The door was shut. Jean wouldn’t be able to see that it was empty, except for piles of clothes and a mattress. The room that was supposed to be my parents was empty, and I never had any siblings, so naturally the other two rooms were completely empty as well. The only rooms in my house with anything inside it was my kitchen and the living room. The kitchen had a plastic table and a fridge with plenty of food inside. My living room had a stained couch and a TV on the floor.

The wooden floor creaked as Jean and I sat down in front of the TV, sitting in what was probably the most comfortable thing in my house; my couch. We watched Kitchen Nightmares for a while, making weak jokes about Gordon Ramsay and the way he cleverly insulted a plate of mush. The sun dropped gracefully in the quiet hours we spent bonding over the television. Dust danced around us and I could feel my thoughts pushing back to the front of my head when the TV stopped playing the show. I looked out the window, purple bleeding into golden sunlight rays.

“What time do you have to leave?” I asked. The house seemed so calm without the background noise, and I began to remember that it was just Jean and I in the living room.

“Not anytime soon,” He said, checking his phone which was vibrating violently, “Sorry, I usually get a flood of messages around this time.”

I leaned over and looked at his phone. All of the numbers were different, and they kept flooding in.

“You famous or something?” I giggled and looked up at him.

“You could say that.” He smiled back at me. Jean shoved the phone back into his jeans and stood up.

“Hey, do you wanna run a quick errand with me?” He held a hand out to me, and I grabbed it, Jean lifting me up out from my seat. I pulled my sagging pants up. I nodded.

“Sure, where to?” I answered, Jean starting to make his way to the front of my house. I followed behind him, catching up. I almost slipped, my socks sliding against the wooden floor.

“Just around, it’ll be quick. We might stop by the creek to see my friends.” He opened the screen door, his shoes hanging off of his fingers. We both got into his car and he pulled out. Stars glittered through spotting clouds.  

We parked in a nearly empty lot of a small building with a group of grubby men standing and smoking at the corner, the smoke dancing and fading into the fall sky. A flickering, beaten sign at the top of the building read “Korova” in a cheesy, psychedelic font. I’d seen that name before in a movie once, so a smidge of familiarity grazed my mind. Jean got out of the car and strode out to the group of grubby men. He started talking to them before being punched in the face by one of them. He staggered back, holding his forehead, and he turned around. He walked back to the car, one of the men flicking a glowing cigarette butt in his direction.

“What happened?” I worriedly touched my finger on his freshly bruised forehead. He winced.

“This is why parents should’ve beaten their kids more when they were young!” He cried out, his voice cracking. I sat in shock as he breathed heavily, slamming his fists on the wheel.

“Screw this!” He shouted at me, violently getting out of his car. He opened up the door to the back seat and pulled out a baseball bat from underneath the seats and stormed back to the group of men. He swung at one of them, the one that had punched him. I couldn’t take my eyes off of it. He just kept beating and beating until everyone had scrammed, the man on the cementlying still. Everything in that moment yelled at me to run and get help, but I just sat there as Jean made his way back to the car. We sped away. I held on tightly to my seat.

“What the hell was that?!” I cried.

“Nothing! It was nothing!” He shouted again. I felt tears well up in my eyes. He eventually slowed down. We pulled up to a creek, the relentless dark surrounding us more. I could see a girl and what looked like a shaggy haired guy in the dim headlights. They approached the car and Jean got out, before looking back at me and motioning me to follow him.

“You’ll never guess who just %$@&ed me over!” He shouted to them.

“Oh God, what happened?!” The girl said, long blonde hair gently blowing in the wind. Her skin was fair and her face had sharp cheekbones. She touched his forehead the same way I had. Jean pulled her into a warm embrace.

“It was Jim. He told me he didn’t have my meth right now! I got a little pissed and he punched me! First he and his jackass friends are blowing up my cell, then I take the time to drive over there with this freshmen in my car to tell him to calm the hell down and he punches me right in front of him!” He pointed at me. The two of his friends looked at me.

“Whos this?” They asked in unison. Jean face palmed, wincing again.

“That's Joseph. I met him a few days ago at school and-” he started saying before the shaggy haired boy interrupted him.

“Jean, you seriously brought a freshmen you just met to a meth run?” He said, his head bobbing with the rhythm of his panicked words.

“Uh, I-I’m a sophomore…” I said, my voice too meek to make an impact. They ignored me.

“Okay, okay! I get it!” Jean shouted. He bent down and sat on a rock, the two others sitting down next to him. Everything was silent except for the occasional musical chirp of crickets. I leaned against the hood of the car. The girl rubbed Jeans back and pulled out a pipe. The shaggy haired guy put his head in his palms.

“This is the fifth time this happened. I don’t even get that angry! Sure I shout and maybe throw a few fists, but come on!” Jean took the pipe and lit a mound of green at the end of it, taking in smoke. The girl looked over at me and held out a small hand for me to shake.

“Hey, bud. I’m Kacy. That guy over there is Travis.” I took her hand and shook it gently. She had sweet eyes, although they were a tad bit bloodshot. I got off of the hood of the car and sat on the grass with the rest of them.

“I’m Joseph.” I said calmly. Everything was quiet again.

“Jean, I… it’s okay, dude. Nothing happened, it’s alright.” I looked over at Jean affectionately.

“Where are your parents, kid? Why don’t you just go home?” Travis glared at me through his hands.

“I don’t really have any parents. And uh, Jean is my ride home.” I answered nonchalantly. Travis sighed.

“It’s fine, you can stay with us. You seem relaxed enough. Travis just doesn’t take that much of a liking to new people.” Kacy spoke smoothly. She took a hit from the pipe then passed to me. I acted like I had gotten this opportunity before and wrapped my lips around the end of it. Kacy giggled, and Jean looked over at me, laughing with her.

“You’ve never smoked before, have you?” Jean said. I breathed in hard before choking and spitting. They took the pipe out of my hands.

“Okay, no more for you, croaker.” Jean chuckled. I blushed with both embarrassment and admiration.

“So, you don’t have any parents?” Kacy asked. I frowned a bit.

“Yeah, they’re never really around. They prefer to spend their money on traveling and such, and they can use a bigger budget if they didn’t have to pay for a kid and furniture.” I let out a soft laugh to lighten the mood.

“Holy crap! Is that why your house is friggin’ empty?!” Jean’s head perked up. I nodded, laughing a bit more.

“Oh my God! Poor kid!” Kacy squealed. I blushed more.

“That’s exactly why this world needs to pay. I’m tired of it, it’s all relentless and meaningless.” Jean watched soft water trickle through rocks.

“One of these days I’ll show them, heh.”

Jean pulled out his phone and checked the time.

“Ah, we’d better head back, Jo.” He looked up at me. I nodded.

“Aw, alright!” Kacy said adorably. Travis held out his palm to Jean for a high-five, which he reluctantly took. He stood up, and so did I. We got back into his car and with that, the night came to a close.

On our way home, a question arose.

“Hey, should we be worried about that guy? Are like, the police going to get involved?”

“Psh. Please, those guys are constantly tweaking. The police couldn’t help those knuckle heads if they wanted to.” He let out a low chuckle. I laughed with him, the air smooth as it cut in through the open window.

It was about a week from then that my food began to ran out, my parents still missing. My grades started dropping as I spent more and more time with Jean and Kacy, although Travis didn’t really come around anymore since I met him. I only ever saw him giving Jean and I a look from a distance. Wide berth, I told myself. Days were flying by, and although it had only been so long, it was routine that I spent hours with Jean.

I went to school one day, after my food had ran out. I was hungry, dangerously hungry. I sat out in P.E, knowing that even if I tried to run, I’d pass out. That night, Jean was with me and we were ritualistically watching Gordon Ramsay. He asked me something that had stained my mind since.

“Do you ever wonder why your parents don’t come?”

I had always tried to keep that thought as far back into my head as possible. I shuddered. In reality, I often thought about where my parents were. I’d lay in my bed, waiting for sleep to grab me. Out my window, I saw the stars dance among deep gray clouds. I always knew that perhaps they were looking at the same stars as me, maybe even at the exact same time, but even then I thought that they weren’t thinking about me. They were in New York, or Maine, drinking wine in a hot tub or some other romantic activity. By the time I turned twelve, my cultural identity was a single white box with a mattress inside and a towel with a tv on it.

“They didn’t really like that I was going to be a priority when I was born, so they decided to just work around it.” I said, Jean looking upon me with sympathy.

“Plus, they’re pretty pro-life, so abortion was off the table, of course.” I stared at the floor. Jean let out a large guffaw at this.

“Shut the hell up, dude.” He said between chuckles. He leaned in and hugged me, warmth coating me in a way that I hadn’t experienced before. I blushed deeply, and slowly brought my arms around him.

Jean began buying me groceries. I thanked him immensely every time, often with tears in my eyes. Every time I thanked him, he got a little more prideful. He’d pat my head and grin his usual toothy grin, the tips of his canines overlapping.

Eventually, Jean stopped visiting me. He stopped coming to school and Kacy disappeared with him. Thoughts I held in a secret corner of my head started bleeding in more, like water leaking through the crack between the bathroom door and the ground. Jean never responded to my texts. He was gone, out in the world somewhere, like my parents. No reason, though I suspected the same reason as my parents; I stopped being a priority.

I was restless, yet so tired of the hunger for both affection and something to eat. My eyes sunk, hardwood patterns filling my blank expression.

Where did he go? Why did he go? Doesn’t he know that I need him? After all that time? The white box shrunk around me, I began to suffocate in my room. He must know I need him, I have nobody else, no other friends, no parents. Was it a joke? Was our relationship a joke? Of course, how could I ever expect someone like Jean to care, he didn’t care when he beat that man, why would he care? Panic enveloped me. The box shrunk more, my door slowly drifting off. Days passed, school passed. All I had was this white box and a mattress. That's all I need, right? I don’t need him, I could starve, I could stare at the sky, I could empty my life more than I already had. I loved Jean, I loved him, I admit it. He grew and grew on me and when he cut himself off, cut a piece of me off too. Voices louder, louder. It was my voice, my voice was an echo and my throat hurt. The awful sound of silence got noisier and noisier until I was desperately nauseous. I could starve.

My head buzzed, the noise locked in there. My mouth was open, my ribs were against my flesh, as if they were desperate to leave my body, a prison. The school could call my parents, say that I was missing, but they were still gone. The ringing in my ears served as a melody for my thoughts to play along to. The cacophony ceased when my phone vibrated.

Hey

I felt my heart sink. My shaking hand brought my phone up to my face. Anxiety rushed into my abdomen. I couldn’t bring myself to answer it. I put my phone down and closed my eyes. After a few brief moments of what seemed like I was floating in warm water, perhaps the anxiety hopefully fading, I flung up and began to dry heave. The fact that nothing came out only made me wretch more. I stood up in a sudden burst of energy and swung open my bedroom door, and nearly fell into Jean, his phone sitting in his palm. He grinned down at me. I began to sob, still dry heaving as I latched onto Jean. He didn’t lift his arms to hold me, instead standing still, a smile still plastered on his face.

“You’re pathetic.” His raspy voice broke through my sobs.

“You seriously need me to constantly take care of you? Now I know how your parents feel!” My legs shook and I dropped to the ground, kneeling before him. He pat my head.

“You shouldn’t be so needy, Joseph. You’re fifteen, right? When I was your age, I didn’t need my drunk dad and my useless mother to take care of me.” I was confused, so confused. Any hope that my thoughts were just thoughts brutally escaped me. He pushed my head back and looked into my eyes, the same way he had when we met. I could starve.

“Just when you think everything is cozy, it isn’t, right? That’s the way of the world, and it needs to pay, right?” I wondered why, what pushed him to show me.

I couldn’t cry anymore, although I tried. Jean lifted me up, I was light as a feather. He put me back onto the floor, my cold feet touching the wood.

“I don’t understand,” I choked up. “Why are you doing this?”

“You have no identity. It was stolen from you by society.” I stared at his chest. It was true.

“I’m… I’m hungry, Jean…” I muttered, lowering my head.

“I love you.” I choked out. My head was knocked against the door frame by a sudden impact.

“You don’t love me, you just need me.” A chilling voice said.

He took my hand and led me out to his car. He opened the passenger side door, gently pushing me inside. I got in, no strength to really fight. He got into the driver's seat and pulled out a small jar. It was baby food. My head tiredly turned towards him. He held a small spoon and dipped it into the baby food, taking out a scoop and feeding me, pinching my cheeks and shoving the spoon in my mouth. It tasted horrible, yet I ate it. He fed me quietly in the car. I couldn’t tell what time of day it was, I hadn’t been able to for how long already. Slime fell down my dry throat. He threw the jar out of the window, glass shattering on the pavement. He opened the glove compartment and took out a needle. He dug around more and took out the jagged bottom of a Pepsi can filled with a strange liquid. He put the end of the needle in and sucked in. He tenderly took my thin arm and injected me with the liquid. I felt like my arm might snap. I stared out the window, drool dripping from my lips.A cold finger against my chin wiped it off.

A surge of energy overcame me, my heart beating to the rhythm of pure agony. I felt my soul pound through my chest as Jean pulled out of my driveway. My eyes peered into the mirror hanging from the ceiling of the car, and I saw Travis for the first time since I had met him sitting in the back seat with a glare that saw right through me. My mind went pitch black whenever I’d blink, my entire life flashing through my throbbing head for what seemed like an eternity every time. Rage, rage is what filled me. Rage that my parents weren’t here to see this. I saw the white box, my bedroom, the mattress and every time I laid down to stare at the sky. Every day that passed, I laid longer and longer until it was all there was. I slammed my fists against the dashboard, screaming bloody murder for it to stop, and I hated how beautifully Jean looked at the road. My neck jolted back as Travis held my mouth shut from behind the seat with dirty fingers. This was it.

I was dying, I was going to die. Make it stop, make it stop, make it stop make it stop until my eyes rolled in their sockets, desperate for arms to grow out of them and hold onto something, to reach for something that wasn’t there. The car swung around corners, people walking with their children and their dogs without a clue of the white box, they were all blurred, long white figures with varying heights. My skull crashed against the window beside me and my chest fell forward, breaking out from Travis’s grip. The car had stopped in front of the school, Jean and Travis exiting the car with haste, Jean nearly ripping me out of my seat. I could starve.

Dragging me along with them, the soles of my boots fraying against gravel, Jean dragged me, a bat in his hand and a crowbar in Travis’s. The front of the school grew larger and larger and my palm was filled with the sting of cold steel, a knife being placed in the center, Jean closing my hand with his. I felt like I now knew what I was doing, I was in control, Jean gave me control and I walked with them confidently in the school, Jean grinning at me. It wasn’t Jean, it was them. It was the school, it was my parents, it was the world.

On the campus, we went through the empty static halls. I was almost brought back in time when I saw the same distant end of the hallway where Jean once stood with me. The cafeteria was moving as if it were a live being on its own. Jean battered the heads of students and Travis crushed bleeding skulls with his crowbar, the screaming of innocent people becoming sane and of utmost importance to me. My knife jabbed into as many as my grabbing hands found. It was loud, so loud. I was going to hell, an invisible arm lurching me forward every time, only for my own to enter someone else's body. Was this what it felt like to be Jean? Was this what humanity was? Was it all exactly how Jean had said?

I closed my eyes, blissfully stabbing into the air until I hit something. The bat had collided with my stomach, my hands, shirt and boots covered in hot blood. Standing above me was Jean, freshly wounded by my knife, a snarling infuriated expression plastered on to him as I mistakenly betrayed him. I became part the the world Jean hated in that moment. The bat met me once more, and everything was black, black, blacker than before.

The silence brought me back to simpler times, I was almost waiting for another episode to play and fill it all.

It was my mistake thinking that I’d be able to just avoid him, not because he was persistent, but because I was desperate.

Looking back at it all doesn’t phase me anymore. I’m an adult, my white box was replaced with a red one with furniture inside. I inherited a new life, a new culture. Although my parents never did come back, I knew that it was alright anyway. I was taken in by a new family after the police discovered me on the floor of Wildwood High’s cafeteria. Explaining everything was painful, but honesty was all I could offer. Jean and Travis got life in prison, I believe, so maybe they could get revenge on the world in there instead. Being forcefully injected with meth was a decent enough excuse to let me walk free, and as years went by the nightmares that taunted me disappeared, and for once I had something in my life that truly taught me something. The agony of the whitebox sailed away in an ocean of tears, my eyes unable to cry anymore, preventing the vast, salty sea from flooding the new city I had built called life.

[andieforrester]

dead rabbit hopes - self para

maybe my beauty was only meant to be seen by the men a crow beside me, scavenger king, my body: a savaged thing.

She doesn’t check the mirror much– nothing good ever comes to greet her. It just makes the pain worse, more tangible. Dark purple on her neck, her cheek, her jaw reminds her of a closed fist because she talked back. Crusty dried blood on her lips and wrists reminds her of the time in solitude: darkness, cold, a sense of being lost. Chewing on her lips, eyes dripping salt into the new layers of flesh. But the undamaged parts seem the hardest to look at. Her chest is small, bony because when she does have food in front of her, it doesn’t want to go down her throat. But He still finds something there to touch. ( While she stares at the ceiling and begs for some way out. ) Her hips are sharp, too, no Kim Kardashian butt, almost-stick legs. None of that keeps Him away. When she looks at the unbattered places, she wishes they were just as ugly as everything else, in a way. Maybe if He just hit her, all over, everywhere, it’d be enough to keep Him from doing something worse. She doesn’t know why IT’s worse. IT hurts, but not like when his knuckles on her cheek almost send her to the floor and leave the room spinning. But IT’s worse. She drifts up to the ceiling with Marie and Harriet and Joan when IT’s happening. She tries not to watch, listen, know. She just leaves, takes a break from being alive. Maybe that should make IT easier, but it doesn’t. So when she sees all of it, on her body, in the mirror, she frowns. If her body was really hers, there would be no purple. Or red-brown crust. Everything would be soft tan and rosy, glowing, and her teeth would always show because her lips would not be ripped and she would smile. All day. And she would be able to look at the other parts and like them. And maybe touch them ( she’s not that oblivious, she knows people do that. ) Now, they are tainted. His being has somehow attached to them permanently and looking at them reminds her that she lives in a house with fists and a basement and a bed that is unspeakably difficult to sleep in.

maybe my beauty was only meant to be seen on death’s bed a crow beside me, scavenger king, my body: ravishing. 

There is a sudden and profound sense of loss when it finally hits her, sitting by the window when a man passes and she tries out an introduction under her breath ( hi, I’m Alexandra, ) –no you’re not: Alexandra is dead. Whoever lives in this body now is not her. Alexandra died when He took too much: December 6, 2013. She’s angry, too. Tired. Tired of hiding, submitting, staying silent and defeated and chronically uncertain. ( Will He come back before she dies? Does she even want to live? Is it over? Is she ready for it to be over? ) She’s not ready. It’s her life, and she wants it back and she wants to try, maybe she can– her voice is raising, cuss words escape, she is fighting!– silenced by the basement door slamming. Quick, easy solution. She isn’t cuffed, but He knows she’ll stay down there, and she knows it, too, and it makes her want to destroy everything in this house, including herself. There are so many memories, sharp edges that cut into her consciousness. Failed escapes, horrific consequences for minor crimes ( like looking at the phone while it was ringing, ) the bed, lying in the basement and walking in and out of a body whose organs were slowly failing, asking for advice from dead people, always taking it. She stares at the spot where the old cuffs wait. — She remembers standing over herself there. Usually, she could only leave when IT was happening, but this was different. There was a sense of urgency, like she’d been allowed to leave in order to accomplish something. She remembers watching fluttering eyelashes, dry lips, nothing else moving but her fingers. They clenched into fists sometimes, like she was trying to hold on, but then relaxed, as if letting go. Marie? – A pink dress appeared. Yes? – I’m dying, right? – Yes. – Joan? – Chain maille. Yes? – Should I just crawl back in and go to sleep? – Are you ready? She knew she wasn’t then, and knelt down. Alexandra, she pleaded. Wake up and make Him help you. Alexandra didn’t move. Alexandra. Alexandra! She screamed at her for an hour, it seemed, then dug her nails into her raw wrists. A half-hearted moan answered. She dug harder, kicked her, shook her, held her eyelids open and begged. Finally, a hoarse cry. And He brought water. And she lived. A few days later, He let her come back upstairs. — She knew then, and she knows now. It’s not time, and she’s not giving up. The next morning, she fights better. Less yelling, more action. No time for fear or caution. A knife slips into her hand and He loses His advantage, and she’s shocked by how quickly the power shifts after twelve years of the same roles, over and over. She puts the knife down and He starts to rebuild– NO! She grabs the cutting board and swings. And when she stops, looks around, sees Him at her feet, she realizes she’s won. When she stands in front of the mirror at the hotel in Dallas, she notices a change. The bruises are barely there, light green. No crusty red. She’s still small, but there’s significantly less hollowness, and not just because she’s eating. She gets closer, looks at what she always kept her eyes away from before. A breast, she can say it, see it, even touch it, maybe, some day. It’s small, but not so ugly now. Round, holds itself up against gravity, somehow. She turns, looks at her butt, too. It’s not bad, either. Not all on its own. She puts on her pajamas and turns off the light. 

i’m ready to confess i’m hungry for you.

If every person on Earth has an opposite, Sam is His. Everything He made her feel, Sam seems to turn inside out, upside down, and she destroys the evidence of its existence ( momentarily. ) Still, she isn’t quite expecting everything that starts to happen. First, there’s the feeling of a crush, an innocent early stage of love. One she never got to before He interrupted everything. She blushes a lot and wants to be around her almost constantly, even though sometimes she gets nervous when she talks. Then it’s more, like a date to homecoming or prom. Someone she’s comfortable with, laughs with, but can open up to. Someone she’s starting to trust. Which is hard, and slow. There are a billion checkpoints for things like trust. A billion pauses to ensure she deserves such a high honor. And she wants to kiss her. Even when it doesn’t even fit into the situation, like, even when they’re in the middle of a conversation, some weird mouth magnet starts pulling her close to Sam’s mouth magnet and she has to tell it to stop– this is not the time. It’s weird. And one night she wakes up from a dream and there’s a weird aching feeling, but not a bad ache like in her bed in The House. It’s deep and internal and she tries to remember her dream, but all she sees is a wisp. Of Sam. Then it transforms again. Stronger, deeper. She thinks maybe this is how it feels to be in love. Like her heart pulls a little when she sees her, tries to jump out and join Sam’s and beat there inside her chest, the two of them together. She thinks she’s the most beautiful person the world has ever known, and the smartest and funniest and kindest and best. She’s the best. She wants to hold her hand all day. And everything else gets stronger, too. She starts to remember dreams, kisses that move away from lips, hands and bedsheets and– things. Things she didn’t know she could feel. And when Sam is kissing her, the ground disappears and she floats and they’re suspended in the air, no gravity, and nothing hurts then. Sam’s eyes look at her differently than she ever looked at herself. The opposite of how He looked at her. Like she’s the most exquisite work of art in a gallery, the brightest star in the sky, the goddess Aphrodite, Venus. Like she commands all the love and beauty in the universe. And it melts into her. And when she looks in the mirror, everything is new and reborn. Pure, almost, maybe. No bruises. Old scars, ignored by Sam’s eyes because they don’t change her vision. And she smiles because she’s tan. Rosy. Glowing. Teeth showing. Her body is muscle now, not bone. Her breasts are not vulnerable and timid, they are lovely. Her butt is still not Kim Kardashian’s, but it is made of donuts and pasta and pizza and running through the park at dawn and it is beautiful. And her insides are not all smashed up and destroyed and hurting, they are clean and well-loved and protected. And she even holds a hand up, cups it over a breast, holds it, faintly feels her heartbeat. And it’s okay. It is her own damn boob and she is allowed to touch it, and think it’s pretty, and value it equally with everything else. It is not tainted or dirty or bad, and neither is she. Sam says she’s brave, not a scared, submissive bitch. And she’s smart, not a dumb cunt. And she really thinks this is how love feels. And Sam’s hands, unlike His, heal a wound with every touch.

[harrystupelo-blog]

Birdy

He was the kind of tired that only occurred on planes.

After falling asleep in his seat and being in the same position for over three hours, the crick in his back had returned. He hadn’t eaten real food all day - he’d used the hotel gym that morning and only had time for a quick coffee and banana on the go as he’d a few last minute meetings to finish up with before his flight. After spending three days in New York finalizing his album plans, Harry was a bit emotional, but thoroughly excited. At the moment, though, he needed a good shower, meal, and sleep. It had been a long weekend, but successful, and he was optimistic for his future. It was only two in the afternoon London time and he desperately needed a long sleep. And, judging by the tug in his lower back that made him groan when he lifted up his bag, a massage couldn’t hurt either. A shave, too, he reasoned, rubbing underneath his chin. He’d been breaking out the past few days from stress and a lack of nutritional meals, and being at his age and still getting acne perturbed him quite a bit. He needed a good self-care day. No more running around and making meetings and barely sleeping, not while he was home. He was always thankful to be doing what he loved, but he needed to put himself first sometimes, he knew that. Work was fun, doing music was fun, but it was also...work. He was looking forward to a few weeks of doing laundry, grocery shopping, visiting his family, getting up early and going to the gym and not feeling bad about taking naps and resting up. He really liked having time off to just be.

When the plane finally touched down in London, Harry’s heart soared. He was home, finally home. There was something different about the air in London compared to New York. Harry pulled on his usual grey Randy’s Donuts sweatshirt to protect himself from the eventual steady blast of air conditioning that airports loved no matter the temperature outside, carefully putting his leather bag over his shoulder as well. The sweatshirt provided comfort and also hid him easily enough from any prying eyes that wanted to snap a photograph. Harry wasn’t a cranky guy, but traveling and moving around so much drained the man, especially because he was tired and sore to begin with before the plane had even taken off. He had on a comfy pair of joggers and running sneakers, trying to stay as casual and unnoticed as possible as he was hurrying home.

He huffed out a breath as he slid into the buttery seat of the town car that was there to bring him home, rain beginning to fall. It wasn’t London without some rain. It was a good day to lay in bed to watch movies, he thought to himself. A good stew day, too. A romantic comedy, his mother’s stew with crusty bread, and his big cozy bed sounded the most inviting. Harry looked away from the rainy, dreary day outside to fumble a text to his sister that he had arrived, placing a hand on his lower back and grimacing. He’d have to ring his physical therapist today, too, and his mother. He knew Anne was anxious to see him since he was away.

It was all worth it, however, the achy back and rain and hunger and the headache blooming behind his eyes, when he stepped through the door of his home. A twenty seven pound bundle of curls and dimples that looked just like him launched herself into his chest as soon as the door opened. His arms were ready to catch her as he stood, twirling the girl around and tucking his face into her shoulder. There was no better smell than his daughter after a bath, absolutely nothing in the world compared. Especially after he hadn’t seen said daughter in three days.

Being a single father while also juggling fame was difficult, but Harry never complained. He absolutely loved making music and acting, but he loved being a father more. Rose was his entire world, and he would never let work interfere with her, ever. He was lucky enough to have his sister and mother and select friends that adored his daughter (almost) as much as he did who could look after her when he was away. It was never easy, and while this was the longest he’d been away from her for her entire life, and he worried constantly, he was grateful that he was able to live both lives and keep them separated. Although Rose was only three, she seemed to begin to understand that her dad was some sort of Important Person, and that sometimes she had to share him with others, which was a difficult concept for her to wrap her mind around - Harry was her’s. He tucked her in at night and helped her do her hair in the morning, made her lunch and told her he loved her - he didn’t do that with anyone else. Harry knew the importance of bonding with your child as a single parent, and he refused to be one of those celebrities who simply sent their children off with the nanny while he kept his career afloat. He wanted to do this, and do it right. In this day and age, now that FaceTime and text updates from Gemma reading Rose is asleep, wanted me to tell you she loves you, and All is well, just came back from the shops. Baby girl’s got a new set of markers; time to destroy all the white walls in your house were helpful (except when Gemma was being sarcastic with messing up his stuff), but it was nothing like actually being there, home, where he should be. It was hard being away from her, harder every day that he was missing making her breakfast and running his fingers through her hair when she couldn’t sleep. He was missing kissing her scrapes on her knees if she fell and the smell of her soft skin after a bath. Harry was always adamant on never mixing up work life and personal life, and his daughter’s needs always came first. She was the very most important person to him, and he’d never put anything - or anyone - before her.

So, being able to hold her now, after three whole days, was heaven. Ignoring his back protesting against him, he stood to his full height, swaying her a little. Rose had his curls, dimples, and cheeky grin. She was a little chubby around the middle - “Just like her Daddy,” his sister Gemma liked to say, to which Harry groaned - and she had little legs and hands that perfectly wrapped around Harry when he held her or kissed her goodnight or told her he loved her. (And yes, Harry refused to admit he gained Dad Weight, even though it was only a few pounds. He refused.)

“Hi, Birdy,” he whispered, tucking his head into Rose’s shoulder. Birdy was a name his own mother had called him when he was young, and it had simply started rolling off his tongue as his daughter grew. It was a simple, peaceful name for his girl. Harry could feel her heart beating through their clothing, her tiny hands gripping his sweatshirt. “I missed you so much.”

Although there was absolutely no reason for her not to be, coming home to his baby safe and happy and in one piece was enough for him. He constantly worried about her even when they were in the same room, cuddling on the sofa with her small body curled into his chest as they watched telly on a normal Wednesday evening. She never had any health problems thankfully, and she was the happiest, most loved girl in the world. Harry knew Gemma would never let anything happen to his girl, but being a father changed him. He wasn’t just looking out for himself anymore.

“Hi, Daddy,” she said. Harry allowed Rose put her small hands on either side of his face, nuzzling their noses together as she pressed kisses to his cheekbones and forehead, giggling at the familiar scruff on Harry’s cheeks against her baby-soft skin.

“You gotta shave, Daddy,” she giggled, tiny fingers holding Harry’s cheeks. Gemma, who was reading a magazine quietly on the sofa, removed herself from the room for a few moments. It was an intimate, private moment between father and daughter, and she didn’t want to get in the way, especially since the two hadn’t interacted person-to-person in days.

“Do I?” Harry raised his eyebrows, mouth opening in surprise, jostling her slightly, one strong arm around her back and the other secure around her bum so that she stayed put in his arms. “You don’t like your Daddy with a beard?”

“Uh-uh,” Rose shook her head. Harry placed his bag on the floor in the corner of the room, holding her more firmly in his arms. He pressed a kiss to her forehead, setting his girl down on her feet. Gemma joined the two of them, leaning in to give her brother a hug. Harry kissed her cheek, smoothing his hand carefully over Rose’s head as she clung to her father’s leg. Usually, after Harry was away, she tended to hover close by to him for a few hours as if he was going to disappear again, and Harry would never tell her to stop.

“What d’you say to Gem, little lady? Was she good to you? Were you a good girl for her?”

“Of course she was,” Gemma grinned. She got on her knees, reaching to hug Rose. The little girl reluctantly let go of her dad, squeezing her arms around Gemma’s neck before turning back to Harry, as if she was afraid he would disappear again. Rose couldn’t quite understand the feeling of safety she felt constantly with the people Harry surrounded her with, but it was a different kind of safety when her dad was home, his eyes and ears and arms all for his girl. She was happiest when she was with her father. (She didn’t know this, but he felt exactly the same way.)

“Thank you, Gems, love you,” Rose said, giggling when Gemma peppered kisses to her tiny cheeks, smacking the last one on her tiny lips.

“Love you, sweet girl. Glad we got to have some girls’ time without stinky old Dad.” Gemma stood up, shaking out her long, ombre hair. She scrunched her nose at Harry, squeezing his hand before he could reprimand her.

“Thanks again, Gem,” Harry said, squeezing her fingers in response. The two of them watched her go down the pathway and drive off, Rose with her thumb half in her mouth, her other hand loosely wrapped around Harry’s wrist as she stared absentmindedly at the falling raindrops on the little stained glass window pane above the door. Harry looked down after he closed the door, wincing slightly - Gemma and his mother had both noticed Rose sucking on her thumb when Harry was away, assuming it was how she comforted herself in the absence of her father. Hopefully, since he was home for a few months, the habit would go away.

Harry leaned down to scoop up his daughter again, ignoring the ache of his back that was screaming at him. She immediately latched onto him, her head happily resting on his shoulder, tiny hands pat pat patting into his upper back as he walked into the kitchen. It had started to really rain now, loud heavy droplets hitting the big windows of the kitchen, the sky clouding over to a deep grey. Gemma had cracked a few windows open, so the fresh smell of summer rain filled his home. Harry loved having big windows and fresh air filtering in and out, even if said air was damp most of the time. There was nothing more peaceful to him than being home during a rainstorm, especially with his daughter. Harry set her down carefully on the countertop, kissing her nose and then turning to the fridge, and cursing very silently to himself - it was nearly empty. He’d forgotten to ask Gemma to pick up milk and some essentials before he returned home. She usually did it without asking, and he always paid her back for it. Even though she had told him she was the one eating his food while he was away, so it was no matter. Harry winced. The last thing he wanted to do right now was go out in the rain to food shop, even if his back wasn’t aching or he wasn’t bloody exhausted. Harry turned to look at his daughter, putting his hands on his hips. He snorted when Rose did the same, tilting her head at him with a goofy grin as she placed her own tiny hands on tiny hips. She gasped in excitement, then, as if she realized that Harry was officially home and ready to spend time with her - and then her excited words started spurting out.

“Wanna see my new paints, Daddy? Gem let me do finger painting yesterday; and we took a walk to the stream, Daddy, and she let me go in with my new wellies, only a little bit, can we go there now?”

“How about,” Harry said, pressing kisses to her forehead between every pause. “Daddy orders. Fish and chips. And you put on your pajamas. And we can watch a film and you tell me all I missed while I was away? That sound good?”

He had laundry to do, calls to make and a journal to look over. His inbox was probably full of emails and notes from the weekend that he needed to think about, and he should probably consider calling his physical therapist sooner than later.

But, he had a little girl with expectant eyes that looked too much like his own staring up at him, and tiny hands that were encompassed in his own. While she scampered up the stairs to put on her pajamas and spend some quality time with her father, he made quick work of dumping most of his clothes into the laundry machine, plugging in his laptop and phone on the kitchen counter. He dialed the number of the takeaway shop, humming quietly with a tired yawn. After ordering, he waited to hear the light padding of bare feet hurrying down the stairs. Harry smiled softly to himself, thumbing out a text to his mother before leaving his phone on silent on the kitchen counter, leaving all distractions behind.

“I’m ready, Dad! Ready!” a tiny voice exclaimed. Harry gasped out a laugh at what stood before him. Rose had on his old Rolling Stones t-shirt that he'd left at home for her, the fabric barely hitting below her knees. She had one of her old teddies clutched in one arm, her braid loosened by her haste to get undressed and back down to her father.

“Hey, c’mere,” Harry said softly, getting on his knees. He opened up his arms for Rose to cuddle into him, the little girl curling into his chest as Harry took her hair down, running his fingers through her loose curls. The house was quiet and calm, and his daughter smelled like clean soap and she was baby soft skin and gentle kisses and hugs and I love you's and home. She was home, safe, healthy, and happy, and so was he. His e-mails and voicemail box could wait until tomorrow, because tonight was about spending time with his daughter, his best friend and entire world.

[viralleakszone-blog]

20 Easy Potluck Ideas for a Deliciously Memorable Brunch

http://www.viralleakszone.com/20-easy-potluck-ideas-for-a-deliciously-memorable-brunch/

20 Easy Potluck Ideas for a Deliciously Memorable Brunch

breakfast, brunch, Make-ahead, Recipes

Host a fun mid-morning brunch for your family and friends and ask everyone to bring one signature dish to add to the buffet. Not only will you have a table full of delectable dishes to choose from, you also won’t be solely responsible for doing all the work! Encourage your guests to get creative with their contributions, go beyond the standard muffins and err on the side of indulgence because brunch is not the time to count calories. Still stumped on what to make? Here are 20 tasty options to get you started. 1. Bloody Mary Oyster Shooters

These shooters are a delicious drink and an appetizer all in one. Made with fresh oysters, tomato juice and high-quality vodka, these mini-Bloody Marys are the perfect way to kick off any brunch. 2. Parmesan and Thyme Pastry Baked Eggs

A package of store-bought pastry shells make putting together this hearty grab-and-go dish easier than ever. Pour one egg in each cup and season with fresh thyme, salt and pepper. Bake until the eggs are just set and dig in while they’re still warm. 3. Spinach and Tomato Frittatas

Make individual frittatas and you’ll never have to worry about having enough for everyone. Add in chopped spinach, shredded parmesan cheese and sliced cherry tomatoes for a filling option everyone will go crazy for. 4. Popovers

While whipping up a dozen perfect popovers may seem like an impossible challenge, it’s totally doable when you make them in a muffin pan. Stick with classic popovers and serve with butter and jam, or go the savory route and mix shredded cheddar or gruyere right into the batter. 5. Baked Eggs in Tomatoes

These low-carb baked eggs are going to quickly become your new go-to brunch recipe once you taste how good they are. Customize the toppings with shredded cheese, salsa and chopped green onions. 6. Overnight Cinnamon Roll French Toast Bake

Get this french toast ready the night before and pop it in the oven in the morning while you finish getting ready. The decadent chopped walnuts, cinnamon and brown sugar topping makes this one tasty meal you’ll be making again and again. 7. Baked Oatmeal

Take ordinary oatmeal to the next level by baking it in the oven. Once you master the basic recipe, feel free to jazz it up with your favorite blend of fresh berries, nuts and spices. 8. Blueberry-Glazed Scones

Ready in under 30 minutes, scones are perfect for last minute get-togethers. Not only are they tasty and easy to make, the bright colored blueberry glaze will also liven up any brunch buffet. 9. Overnight Strata

This strata is comfort food at it’s finest. Layers of crusty bread, cheese, mushrooms, spinach and eggs are combined and refrigerated overnight to let all the flavors absorb into the bread. The next day just bake until golden brown and enjoy. 10. Coffee Cake

Everyone loves a big piece of coffee cake to go alongside their cup of joe, and this one’s no exception. Stick with this classic and delicious version or add fresh fruit, lemon juice and glaze for a citrusy twist. 11. Overnight Oat and Chia Pudding

Serve up a breakfast pudding full of rolled oats, chia seeds and ground cardamom. Make the base the night before the big brunch, and store them in mini mason jars so they’re ready to go the next morning. Set out a tray of fresh berries, almonds and coconut flakes and let everyone top theirs however they’d like. 12. Cinnamon Bread Pudding

Made with rich, tender brioche and dark chocolate chunks, this bread pudding is the perfect mixture of savory and sweet. Save any leftovers and eat with a big scoop of vanilla bean ice cream for dessert. 13. Mini Meyer Lemon Morning Buns

This is a great recipe to get your kids involved in the kitchen since there are only four simple ingredients. Puff pastry sheets are brushed with lemon curd and dusted with sugar before being rolled into logs and cut into beautiful spiral rolls. Top each roll with more sugar as soon as they come out of the oven for a nice crunch. 14. Zesty Orange Cinnamon Rolls

While these cinnamon rolls might require a little extra prep time, the end result is well worth it. From the enticing smells wafting through your kitchen to the zesty orange flavor in the batter, this one is a definite keeper. 15. Overnight Pull-Apart Bread

Prepare the dough for this scrumptious pull-apart loaf the day before and let it rise in the fridge overnight. The next morning all you’ll have to do is pop it in the oven and whip up a quick cream cheese glaze. The loaf is best eaten within two days and can be stored covered at room temperature, but it’s so good there’s no way it’ll last that long. 16. Baked Chocolate Glazed Donuts

No brunch is complete without donuts. These vanilla donuts are baked instead of fried and covered in a bittersweet chocolate glaze. Top them with your choice of crushed nuts, sprinkles or shredded coconut for a treat that tastes just as good as it looks. 17. Cinnamon Swirl Bread

Cozy up with this warm brioche bread laced with swirls of cinnamon, nutmeg, brown sugar and plump raisins. A crunchy turbinado sugar topping pairs perfectly with the warm loaf and will be something worth getting back up for seconds. 18. Brown Sugar and Bacon Beer Waffles

It’s absolutely acceptable to have beer for breakfast when it’s incorporated in your waffle batter. Did we mention that there’s also pieces of thick-cut bacon in there too? This is one recipe that just can’t be overlooked. 19. Raspberry Sorbetto Mimosas

Sweet raspberry sorbet is covered with dry sparkling wine and garnished with fresh berries for a drink that’s so good you’ll think it’s actually dessert. Let the kids partake in all the fun with their very own _mock_tail made with sparkling fruit juice. 20. DIY Mimosa Bar

Mimosas are the quintessential brunch-time drink, but making them for everyone all afternoon can mean you don’t get to socialize and enjoy the party. Solve the problem by setting up a mimosa bar with a carafe full of OJ, a chilled bottle of champagne and glasses so your guests can help themselves all afternoon.