#on the other hand its fucking HILARIOUS so see them do this shit with pasty british men

[bespectacledbun]

on my knees begging cybird to put down the Aladdin themed attires for their games fr please please PLEASE

[jettremy]

24 for cas :p

( * seven minutes in heaven ~ PART ONE. )

                    ➥  (   24.  )  trailing kisses from stomach to mouth.

           WHEN SOMEONE DUMPS YOU & takes a big fat chunk out of your bleeding heart, you usually don’t end up making out with them on an uncomfortable, tiny as shit closet floor after four excruciatingly languid years of no contact whatsoever, or at least that’s the case 99.99% of the time. that rare, peculiar and quite miserable 0.01% consists of the world’s tallest dweebus & his besotted memey edgelord who are in the midst of producing a well composed symphony of sharp intakes of breath and light humming that might just be heard on the outside of the closet door if a curious ear happened to be in the close proximity of it. even though they’re S O L E L Y making out for the time being, the smooth glide of their mouths, the home-like familiarity cassius’ embrace delivers, and the aching NOSTALGIA for better times lure these obscene noises away from jeremy’s vocal cords, causing the faint moans to slip into cas’ oral cavity and resonate in his lungs, the vibrations transmitting the t o r t u r e d artist’s inexplicable need for the older, equally sexual & emotional. his in comparison two-centimeter-smaller hands trace every available inch of the other’s body, getting REACQUAINTED with all the dents and curves and in a way testing his memory when it comes to the data his tactile senses have previously stored. once they’ve trailed and teased the skin atop cas’ entire spine, jeremy’s salacious fingers become entangled in the soft peachy locks on the back of cas’ head, tugging briefly in order to coax a sound or two out of the one on top before slamming their lips together deeper and deeper each time. he fails to be embarrassed at the telltale whimper he emits once their burning tongues lecherously tantalize each other since this is the man who’s aware of jeremy’s tendencies to get vocal & noisy when at their most intimate, and above all because this is the man in front of whom he has no shame, the man who knows even the dustiest, most moldy corners of his being like the back of his hand. jeremy’s cautiously leaning back inch by inch, his strong abs tensing and allowing him to do so until one of his elbows reaches the floor and he’s slightly propped up. his unoccupied hand gets busy kneading the flesh of cas’ inner thigh when a B I T E to his luscious bottom lip ends their kiss in order for them to take a breather. his other arm joint accompanies the previous one on the floor and jeremy’s stuck gazing at cassius with a leer plastered on his amused face, as if the older put all the stars in the sky for him.         ❛     you adorable piece of fucking shit … you’ll be the DEATH of me, y’know that ?     ❜         a throaty chuckle’s added for the emphasis before he, abruptly and without a warning, drags cas up on his pelvis, where he belongs. his big browns are invitingly flirting, and vomit-inducing butterflies slam at his innards when he detects cas leaning down for another round of desperate lip-locking. except, his digits find a job for themselves on the small buttons of jeremy’s silky dress shirt. sure, they have only a few fucking minutes and they won’t manage to get very far, but who is jeremy lee to stop cas from doing what his little heart desires ?

           ONE QUICK SWIPE of skeletal fingers unveils a highly contrasting dark ink etched into a pasty, fleshy torso, displaying an artistic canvas in the form of jeremy’s chest & hard-to-maintain abs. among the scattered graphics, there’s one inspired by the splendid man atop, and it torments jeremy’s thin, dilapidated HEARTSTRINGS when he dips down to join his lips with that exact spot, the reposing male’s eyes naturally falling shut as he succumbs to the older’s ministrations and the gratification they give him. he can’t say he gives a damn about what he’ll look like when he exits the closet, with a collapsed hairstyle and devastatingly crinkled dress shirt, a suspicious, k n o w i n g look on his visage whenever he so as glances at his ex-boyfriend during the rest of the night, doesn’t concern with brainstorming about all kinds of gossip that will spread like wildfire due to the two of them allowing themselves to enjoy each other’s company in the way they truly desire. he’s jaded, enervated because of all the HIDING they’re doing, as well as concealing their once existing feelings in front of the group. he delightfully wants to inform everyone about cas’ favorite dishes he used to tirelessly, blithely cook for him, their hilarious adventures and the fact that he knows the older’s body better than his own, rant about his adorable, captivating quirks & kooky habits, brag about how he could make him blush without trying much, or please his every need. perhaps not every - if he had been capable, then maybe cas would have stayed, would have made it work, or would have taken jeremy with him, who was pathetically prepared to go to the ends of the world for him and with him, still is. perhaps then it would have been harder to leave, would be more HARROWING for him to be in jeremy’s immediate vicinity, perhaps then all of jeremy’s delicate touches would incinerate his whole being, both gnaw at & heal his ruptured, defected heart. perhaps then he’d feel like jeremy does, perpetually suffer just like him, carry a chest full of separation anxiety & a constant crippling bellyache, like an abandoned child ( which, coincidentally, he was ). it’s insane, worrisome that after all this time he only has HIMSELF to blame for not being worthy, good enough for cas to stay, for him to seek him out, reach out, check whether he’s well and with a pulse, say he misses him, thinks about him, smiles or cries when their memories inevitably surface from time to time, that seeing bikes on the street reminds him of the breezy rides jeremy would take him on, that tattoos will never be the same after him, dial him even intoxicated, out of his right mind. and though jeremy always slept with his sound on and phone right next to his head, never dropped the old number, he didn’t get a single call. too fixated on feeling him right here & right now, savoring his coveted touches while he still can because no one guarantees that this will ever happen again, he doesn’t detect the burning wet trails rolling down his face, paints his battle with suffocation as himself trying not to moan due to cassius’ cushioned lips being too close to his leather belt. he’s terrified cas would vanish if he asks him if he missed him, if he loved him, if he still has a sliver of olden feelings within him, if this means more than just cas needing him physically, more than just their starving bodies being PERFECTLY COMPATIBLE. and even though he dons a convincing mask every day in order not to perturb & plague two and a half people who give a shit about him, as well as not give the likes of han yeseul any material to inhumanely gloat over, he hasn’t been fine for the longest time   ——   he can sense himself slipping more & more, hands itching to burn a joint or an abandoned building routinely, too often for it to be considered normal anymore. a sane person wouldn’t let themself be manipulated, tortured like this, wouldn’t be collapsing under their ex’s spell once again   ——   alas, he didn’t learn & has no intention of denying cassius anything, which he imprudently affirms when he ravenously, anticipatorily grips his styled pastel locks hard as he awaits the businessman’s tongue to come in contact & glide over his sharp v line, causing his stomach to hollow and dip with the gravitational force, towards his spine, his tactile receptors both enjoying the sensation and finding it too much to handle. he exhales some of the pain from his rotten, aching lungs, wistful, hopeless wails for love emitted in the form of moans, his toes curl as arresting ELECTRICITY speeds through his limbs, causing his not expecting muscles to tense & clench powerfully as cas’ immoral mouth makes its way upwards, molesting all the sweet spots he’s aware jeremy has. his plush lip is nearly mangled by his incisors as a response to his hypersensitive nipple being toyed with and he can no longer restrain himself, prevent his hands from h a r s h l y gripping his former lover’s hips and making him relieve them both by grinding on him as more of jeremy’s tears pitifully roll down his pale temples on either side of his face. it’s not long before he’s cowardly tilting his anguish-stuffed head to the side, not only to conceal the fact that he’s crying but also to expose his neck in sheer NEED for cas, a string of vile curses bouncing off the walls of the treasured closet as he gets caught off guard with light suction on his tender flesh, whispering a hoarse, growly you can, knowing cas would immediately know what it means. he wouldn’t mind being eternally branded as cassius’, he’d haughtily wear any expression of love given to him by the adorably taller, just like he, hopefully, at least once, wore the ring jeremy got from his biological mother & gifted him as a symbol of his undying love. though he’d get paralyzed at the visceral memories of cas dragging his lithe tongue over his jawline, all the way to his shell where he’d whisper to him, now he forces himself not to shut down completely as it happens, not even when he gets asked why he’s crying. a deflective just kiss me proves to be enough to avoid the otherwise exhausting interrogation he’d be trapped in if he took the bait & answered that inquiry. 

          A BIG, HEFTY PILE OF DOG SHIT is undoubtedly worth more to jeremy than any of han yeseul’s opinions or words and would consequently evoke more emotion within him than she’ll ever be able to. the human equivalent to an intestinal parasite with an eternal, fat, spiked stick up its rotten ass will never affect his state of mind even slightly, or cause him to doubt himself and his actions even more than a mere millisecond. her little spiel the other day came into one of his ears and immediately exited through the other, safe for a single tidbit of information with which she fucked herself over. if there were any truth to her retching-inducing interest in cassius, she brought jeremy’s attention to it and now he’ll do everything in his power to sabotage whatever she has planned, because he’d rather die than let her defile & corrupt, rob the walking talking piece of heaven called cassius hwang. on top of that, he considers his ex to be highly intelligent & skilled at recognizing soul-sucking, good-for-nothing, money-hungry, skanky snakes. again, why the fuck does kerry hang out with her ? for a moment, he’s concerned about the girl’s neural cells and healthy judgement, or lack thereof. she must be at least half brain dead to hang out with someone with zero positive qualities. furthermore, underestimating jeremy’s ELEPHANTINE ego, unvacillating confidence & cockiness is a rookie mistake no one in their right mind should make since the honey-mouthed rascal is so self-assured that he’s in result convinced that he can woo just about anyone you could point at in a crowd of people. it’s downright pathetic how she ridiculously presents herself as overly self-confident whilst her insecure, attention-hungry eyes always stray to check if HE’s watching whenever she is interacting with cas, that she feels the need to send him taunting texts as if she’s fucking desperate for jeremy’s reactions   ——   FUCK, maybe she’s foolishly trying to make him jealous because she’s obviously fucking obsessed with him & not his ex ?! regardless, her devious plan to demolish what he has with cassius will be nothing short of a FAILURE, which is only further proven by the way the heated pair refuses to make their bodies part even as they’re aware that the majority of their given time has surely passed. ‘ ONE MORE MINUTE ! ’ a voice echoes, disturbingly close to the thin door, as if the meddlesome person has been listening the entire time, to the duet of smooching noises & responding grunts, but jeremy has no more than an eight of a brain at the moment & cannot be bothered to figure out who the owner of it is. with his spidery, inked limbs faster than his awareness of the action being done, he flips cassius onto the ground with determination and cages him, forces him to look at his overweening, lordly face up close before kneeling between his squat-thickened legs & slowly beginning to button up his unfortunate shirt. midway, he becomes bored with the tedious, repetitive task and yanks cassius up into a sitting position to finish that mundane action, only for his shuttered eyes to unexpectedly roll, head carelessly thrown back at the sloppy neck kisses he’s willingly receiving as his rose gold shirt gets fixed into the best state possible regarding the fact that they spent almost full seven minutes messing around on the floor.         ❛     you know birthdays are sacred, right ? … you should spend it with someone who loves you .. if you get what i’m saying … ahm. let’s continue this tonight, after the party ?     ❜         the evocative offer hangs in the air as jeremy’s gifted, elegant digits find those of the lanky male’s in order to hold them   ——   instantly they detect an INTRICATE ACCESSORY around one of the fingers, mindlessly lifting his hand up to inspect it since he cannot for the life of him hold eye contact as he awaits the nerve-racking response that could have painful consequences for his exhausted heart. promptly his orbs shine with recognition, shifting hilariously between cas’ browns and the object of his interest so violently and swiftly that they threaten to turn into an endless slot machine. he’s devastatingly BAFFLED, shook to the core, heart racing & hands blatantly starting to tremble. it’s that feeling in your stomach that only appears when you’re at the highest peak of a roller coaster, cart making a terrifying pause over the edge as it prepares to lunge down, and you’re a millisecond away from screaming your poor lungs out, peeing yourself and puking all over your buddy, but in a good way, you know ?   ——   does this mean anything more than cassius simply appreciating the ring for its aesthetic value, and is there any hope for the emotionally mutilated tattoo artist ? he doesn’t dare open that pandora’s box considering how little time they have in the privacy of solely each other’s company, but he wants to showcase his acknowledgement & gratitude for the fact that cas hasn’t tossed the piece of jewelry in the first dumpster after their parting. he topples over the man, pinning him to the ground strongly and nearly suffocating with a flurry of emotional kisses, those which shamelessly expose just how touched he is by a seemingly small, unimportant thing to the outsider, which means the world to jeremy. what he is yet to learn is that the festive group on the other side of the door is ready to steal this piece of heaven away from them and disrupt what they have going on.        ❛    dae, it’s over, open it~ !     ❜         a particularly ( unnecessarily ) loud blonde amazonian shouts from the ridiculously boujee sofa once her phone startles her by having its alarm go off when no one in particular was paying attention to the device in question. shockingly obedient, daehyun gives the closet another awfully polite knock & announces that they will be letting them outside before poking their little head through the thinly cracked door, eyes innocently peering & needing a bit of time to adjust to the darkness before they yelp at the sight of the ongoing, all but chaste scene before them. embarrassed, with pink hued cheeks, they regretfully shut it and back away a little, whispering a few words of warning to the hot & bothered pair, so that they wouldn’t be discovered by the remainder of the group. they mentally smirk like the evil little minx they are, though, because their INTUITION was right yet again.         ❛     guys ! hurry up !     ❜         daehyun rushes them in now full on panic when their ears pick up on a set of dooming footsteps coming towards them chillingly, and they’re right to do so, making jeremy laughably snap out of it & pull back from cassius in a matter of seconds, as if his ex has been crafted from fucking lava itself. shit. he clears his throat & straightens up, aiding cas to his feet and brazenly winking at daehyun   ——  he’s convinced they’ll be taking this mutually shameful little incident to the grave anyway, partially because of their baseless & quite frankly ridiculous fear of cassius. the cogs in his overflowing brain surprisingly start turning swiftly & he masterfully begins pretending to continue a business conversation with cas, something about promoting his tattoo show on his radio station, as they step out of the closet & join the ogling bunch, not paying them the time of day since he doesn’t want to see their prying expressions and beady little eyes scanning them from head to toe as if they’re america’s most wanted criminals. he simpers victoriously when cas announces that the game should be over in order for them to get to the established birthday venue in time for their reservation, and as everyone casually packs up & moves outside towards the over the top limo, jeremy bluffs being busy looking for something in order to be the last one out with cas who needs to lock up the place, only to steal a sneaky peck & give his irresistible ass a squeeze sub rosa. he runs off to join their friends before he can hear cas potentially complain.

          A COLOURFUL DISPLAY OF AMBROSIAL DRINKS decorates the opulent, chic black table of the private booth, the grandest & most exclusive one in the entirety of the polished & tastefully stylized venue   ——   at the very arrival, a frivolous discussion was held about which celebrities might have sat in whose seat, neglecting the fact that KENT, OHIO isn’t HOLLYWOOD per se. jeremy has no doubt that this, along with the posh birthday dinner they attended prior to the nightclub, has only made a small dent in cas’ account   ——   a street rat like jeremy ( one that cassius’ affluent parents accepted warmly regardless of the fact that he wasn’t as well-heeled as them, for which he will carry everlasting gratitude in his heart ) could never imagine having enough money to splurge on a similar event he’d forget anyways if he let himself negligently dive into his notoriously reckless alcohol consumption. with his lonesome prepregaming, the drinking games they played, wine that was served along with dinner and this being their first round of drinks here, the architect equipped with a stomach of steel is still certain on his feet & clear in his mind, enough to pick up on a set of venomous eyes burning holes in his skull as he endearingly follows the birthday boy with his own pair of obsidians. since she’s withing an earshot & the music is yet to reach brain-liquifying levels, he scoffs & addresses her without allowing the others to sense any negative vibes.           ❛     give it a rest with the ogling, yeseul … you’re not my type. but it seems that doesn’t go for that dude over there, so be a p e s t elsewhere,     ❜         he motions vaguely until the literal demon goddess herself, chu yumi, comes to collect her frenemy ( & hopefully drag her back to the frozen depths of hell where they both belong ), buzzing about a threesome & whatever else jeremy didn’t manage to catch her ranting about due to her insufferable, fast speaking manner, and he can’t say he’s interested. though chumi has that same irritatingly-crafted, arrogant, emotionally fucking stupid vixen personality to her, at least he can go without taking her blabbing head off her shoulders whilst they’re together in a room for longer than five minutes, and he believes he could be tolerant when it comes to the other snake too only if she dropped her pitiful attempts to annoy him by messing with someone he obviously cares about more than anyone’s ever cared for her. alas, he was’t about to duel her & disappoint cas by quarreling and ruining his day, so he played it off as if he didn’t know she was staring at him because she was continuing to see through his bullshit, or however she phrased it that one time when she tried to lecture him. a light burn of booze down the throat deletes her presence from his already cluttered brain entirely & for the rest of the night he can’t say that she crosses his mind at all. it passes majorly with daehyun’s whiny, restless tugs & yanks of his silky sleeves towards the dance floor, and he ultimately does cave without being the single grim black sheep of the group, but he frequently goes back to their booth for a calming cigarette & another taste of alcohol, because without an intoxicating sip beforehand he physically wouldn’t be able to make a fool of himself carelessly in a dance circle. currently the artist is on a mini break in order for his feet & calves to recover, two pieces of a minty fresh bubblegum popped into his mouth after his last death stick; all alone in his seat, he’s checking the appointments he has for the next week, since he cleared the schedule for cas’ birthday   ——   the biggest pieces he already has all sketched up and confirmed with the customer, so he’s not too stressed about taking a few days off. he reflexively raises his unfocused pupils from the multicoloured pixels when he feels someone drop beside him, the deafening music preventing him from hearing their hard breathing, but he can see the hyper rise & fall of cas’ slightly sweaty chest. he carefully lowers his phone down onto the table, meticulous about avoiding a couple of wet spots from cocktail spillage, and offers the exhausted dancer his untouched glass of water, watching him gulp it down in seconds, making it disappear like a magician. always being generous ( philanthropic, even ) with compliments when it comes to cas, he leans up to his ear & makes sure to let him know how SEXY he was up on that dance floor, his hand unabashedly landing on his muscular thigh, the shell covered with nips & torturing, languid laps of jeremy’s tongue. light strokes & squishes interchange, as if he’s kneading dough under the table, and his free hand tilts the gorgeous, glowing man’s head towards himself. no one’s looking, he whispers nostalgically   ——   he frequently used to be on the receiving end of those secretive words when, nine years ago, they hung out in their neighbourhood & jeremy wasn’t openly CASSEXUAL, so he worried about kissing him in public in the fear of having his ass kicked by his homophobic friends. tonight, he’s the one to reassure the other that no one but strangers would discover them, and soon lazy, tipsy smiles melt & mold together euphorically   ——   it’s the club atmosphere, he assumes, heightening the sexual desire, since generally he would be more than fine with solely getting kisses for days, but now it’s as if he’ll wither & die if he doesn’t get the older on his lap immediately. a pleading let’s go gets repeated a couple of times in sheer need before the ache for cas’ body becomes so unbearable that he has to speak his mind.          ❛    leave the limo for them, tell the driver to pick us up in a different car. half of them have scattered already anyway, they won’t notice we’re gone. if they do, i’ll tell them i took you home because you were sick tomorrow.   ——   fuck’s sake, we don’t have to explain ourselves to them.     ❜         it doesn’t take too much convincing since when they look around there’s none of their friends in sight, most having found entertainment in each other’s or a stranger’s company. besides, they have the driver’s number shared in their group chat, as well as junhyuk having one of his own, as well as enough money to get each of them an uber SEPARATELY, so jeremy isn’t worried about those grown ass motherfuckers at all. he cannot recall the entirety of the following events, only getting some fresh air with cas before holding hands in the backseat of the car, small nuzzles exchanged as they did their best to keep their manners & not traumatize the poor employee. but he does clearly remember how they didn’t jump each other’s bones as soon as they set foot into the house, how they were both sober enough to know they really wanted each other, how they played it cool for a couple of minutes in the kitchen, or fuck   ——   maybe it was their ancient feelings crawling back, preventing them from doing it unemotionally, and instead setting up a slightly more ROMANTIC scenario than they would for a pure stranger.         ❛     ah, but am i really worthy of your super special, limited edition, exclusive, vintage, valued at approx. couple a’ thousands o’ dollars whiskey ? tsk, you flatter me, cassie.     ❜         a purr tickles the shell of cassius’ ear as jeremy presses his lean body against the older’s back. though he’s slightly shorter, he can still peek over the other’s shoulder and see him pouring some of the amber liquor on the rocks in two pricey glasses at the kitchen counter, and jeremy knows he could make him drop & spill all that money by catching him off the guard with his touches, but he can’t help it when his starving mouth grazes the side of his ex’ exposed neck, impatient hands pulling at the slightly tucked shirt & exploring the smooth flesh below. he hyperfocuses on the spot which elicits the loudest of noises, and he can feel a gulp underneath his tongue as cassius swallows his shot. he gives him enough space to turn around, one of his inklike brows lifting curiously as he gets offered his drink   ——   claiming his hands are awfully busy, he parts his lips ridiculously with the tip of his tongue poking out, bratty, daring but twinkling eyes observing him until he feels the liquid hit his tasting muscle, the excess spilling down the sides of his chin, luring out a few of his signature giggles. it’s as if a sudden switch is flipped when jeremy stops with his shenanigans & you could cut the tension with a knife between them when they both notice a glint in each other’s eye, rushing to collide their desperate lips, greedily suckling at each other & tasting alcohol, becoming braver & braver with each passing second, burning hands wandering, teasing, groping, pulling at the annoying garments as their backs hit the walls and counters in this lustful battle. and it isn’t until he gently grips cassius’ throat that they manage to catch a breath.         ❛     on your knees,     ❜         he commands calmly, unshakable resolution clear in his gruff voice. he knows cassius won’t be able to resist it, he knows his legs will shake at the sound of it. and why not bless a couple of different rooms, when they have the luxurious abode all to themselves ?

          ALL SPREAD OUT ON HIS EX’S BED, jeremy’s cozily resting on his v-shaped back with dormant cassius all curled up and preciously molded into his side. the younger’s swollen lips are abnormally, attractively crimson in color, all the hemoglobin rushing to those overworked, puffed petals which are now gingerly pressed in a nurturing, soothing pucker against a smooth, golden patch of skin on the SLEEPING BEAUTY’s no longer sweaty forehead   ——   he’s been awake for the past nine minutes, putting his all into convincing himself that he’s not lucid dreaming or perhaps high as all hell, painting the unreachable picture he’s been yearning to see for the past four years. he’s whispering the sweetest of nothings as loving, no longer held back pecks get delivered to the comatose features of the adored individual, yet he knows not even those would wake the snoozing giant after how badly, triumphantly jeremy has tired him out, combined with the numbing spirits they consumed during their celebrations. thanks to this unlimited  ‘cassius - vital information’  bank, he dexterously sneaks out of his embrace & dreaming nest, covering himself by a pair of fitted black boxer briefs which leave nothing to your devilish imagination, and heads out of the room in order to prepare one of his unmistakably appetizing culinary creations, which raise from the dead, obtain a glass of water & painkillers for a potential headachin’ beanstalk, but his quest is derelict once he hears commotion & a cacophony of bangs, hums & steps coming from the floor below   ——   it dawns upon him that cas isn’t the singular inhabitant of this chateau-esque manor and that having his studious, virginal mansionmate catch him at his peaceful dwelling this early in the morning and so scantily-clad would be a grand calamity. with a low curse murmured under his perfectly face-appropriate nose, he makes a swift half ballerina twirl & returns to his ex, an endeared smile blessing & stretching his pillowy lips when he sees the drowsy, dazed man blindly investigating the crinkled, still warm yet empty spot beside him in search for something or someone. HIM ? should he allow himself to dream that cas is needing him & thinking of him right as he lifts his heavy eyelids, and that he’s not hunting for an item as simple as his phone in order to check the time ?         ❛     hush, i’m here … i tried to go and make you some breakfast, but junhyuk’s causing a ruckus downstairs and i doubt you want him to know i spent the night …     ❜         jeremy thoughtlessly gives himself the right to assume cassius wouldn’t be overjoyed if anyone found out that they hooked up, let alone learned about their past. though the forlorn, anarchic tattoo artist himself has no problem with it, he’s convinced that cas would be devastatingly ashamed to admit his heart once belonged to someone as woeful, wretched, toxic & eccentric as jeremy, so he’s eternally thankful that taemin hasn’t squeaked to anyone about it yet. he dives deep into the softness of the most comfortable, homely mattress in the world, unlaxing on his side this time as he pulls closer the man who’s mirroring his position, the thick white duvet covering their nude bodies, safe for jeremy’s underwear slipped on in a rush. his restless, greedy hand finds its place on cas’ narrow waist and travels lower on its own accord, stroking & soothing each and every muscle it eventually reaches.        ❛    sore ?     ❜         an unhesitant nod lures a complacent, yet not too wide or toothy grin onto his amused features   ——   jeremy really did a number on him last night, but neither of them were complaining whilst in the heat of the moment, unbothered & unaware of both physical & emotional, inexorable consequences of their indomitable arousal & sweet sin.         ❛     tired ? hungover ?     ❜         the additional unreluctant affirmations cause a childlike coo to strum his vocal cords, and he brigs some needed moisture to his lips with a singular swipe of his proficient tongue before connecting their rosiness with his favorite pair in the world, heart pouncing humiliatingly when he feels a hand on himself as well, encouraging him to resume the session for at least a few minutes. here, right here, is his SERENITY, his SAFETY, his HEAVEN, his HOME   ——   right here in cas’ arms, where everything is okay, where the one who’s holding him is the one who’s to be credited for jeremy’s pulse not flatlining yet, for his insides twisting & curling, his palms sweating & toes curling, the one who makes him nervous & blissful, the one he wants to cry with and laugh with and live with for the remainder of his days on this cursed earth, the one he’ll love until the very last breath leaves his lungs, and even longer if anything awaits after death. he knows that a lifetime with this man wouldn’t be enough, that he’d be a REBORN BELIEVER, that he’d pray on his bleeding knees that death wouldn’t do them part. as the waltz of slippery pink muscles meets its end with a timid titter, jeremy’s caring thumb comes up to hastily wipe at cas’ bite-mark adorned lower lip, pecking over it as if to heal the lightest of imprints. he harmoniously entwines their fingers on the disrupted mattress between them, tracing the meaningful ring cas is still wearing, fondly, recalling seeing it in the closet, having flashes of his cerebration from back then, remembering their breakup, and the idyllic little bubble of bliss he’s been captured in since last night BURSTS without warning. gingerly, warily he brings their joint hands up to his quivering mouth & kisses the ring before wordlessly resting them down & gazing lamentably at the man he loves, as if he’s in mourning. he has no right to still be here, or talk about making breakfast and nursing him through a hangover, or even imagine hanging out for the rest of the day, cuddling, watching movies and maybe going for round number whichever. he yet again recalls their text exchange where cassius questioned if jeremy still had feelings for him, and he made it clear last night, whispering hushed I LOVE YOUs to him while they were making love repeatedly, and all jeremy wants to ask now is if cas has them too. he wants to beg him to spare him of all the misery, of tragic hoping, to help him either come to terms of it being fully over and aid him in moving on, or give him a reason to work on them, on getting back to what they used to be to each other, an improved version of THEM. but he can’t. and he has no right to try & sabotage whoever wants to get with cas, because he’s a free man with a mind of his own. all jeremy wants for him is to be happy, and he tries to convince himself that he’s been attempting to keep him away from bad people, but if they are the source of cas’ happiness, he’ll gladly step back.       ❛     have i overstayed my welcome ? should i go ?     ❜         he asks directly, eyes glassy and leaking onto the pillow below his tragic head. but all he wants to know is   ——   do you still love me ? can i have another chance to make it right ?

[timeisacephalopod]

For a prompt could you do a Halloween one in the semi-charmed world? like even though bucky hates humans he loves Halloween and tony is fascinated but so confused

Dear god, I know I got to this like three months late but its... been a fucking time for me. But I got to it! Also, this exact ask is why I like asking for prompts. Y’all ask for such interesting and creative things that I never would have thought of otherwise :) @boompowkablam Also I had like 3K for this written but then Tumblr ate it so I kind of rage quit for awhile.

(Semi-Charmed for those who haven’t read it)

*

Tony isn’t sure how he’ll take it because he knows, he knows, that Halloween has got to be a sensitive topic for him when people run around pretending to be werewolves and whatnot. But it’d be nice to have him come along to an event even if he’d get it if Bucky said no. He doesn’t much look bothered though and that’s... Tony doesn’t know what that means.

“Okay,��� he says and Tony blinks several times in confusion. To be fair even Steve looks shocked and Steve knows Bucky best, he’d be able to predict his answer better than anyone else here.

“I uh- really?” he asks.

Bucky shrugs, “its probably the only night of the year that humans might not actively try and kill me. I mean, yeah its because they’ve decided for one night a year I’m a costume to wear but I’ll take that over genocide,” he says. “And all the little skeletons are cute. And the candy.”

Tony frowns, unaware that Bucky knew much of anything about Halloween traditions. His knowledge of humans is hit and miss and generally relies on the one extended run in he’s had with them that... really wasn’t that great. And then him, of course. “I uh, okay, sure. Turns out my assistant is a witch so you two can bond. I totally called that anyway, there’s no way she can be that good without magic,” Tony says, full well knowing that she doesn’t use magic in her work. Apparently her talents are in elemental magic, whatever that means for her specifically.

He’s a little surprised when Bucky reaches up and pulls him into his lap by his waist, settling his head on Tony’s shoulder. “You seem surprised,” he says like everyone in the room feels any differently.

He shrugs a little, “I mean, I didn’t really expect you to say yes. I know you don’t like humans much, we’ve given you good reason not to, so I didn’t think you’d want to spend an extended evening with them. Not that I mind, it’d be nice to not bring Pepper as a date, except she has a date so uh. I’d be alone, but you agreed to come with me so yay!” he says, waving his hands around a little.

Bucky’s arms tighten around him some. “You do so much for us. I thought it might be nice to do something for you. And I miss candy.”

So its that weird fiercely egalitarian thing wolves have going on, that explains a lot. “Bucky, you don’t owe me anything,” Tony murmurs softly but Bucky looks away, jaw clenched. He sighs, “you don’t, Bucky. Comparatively I have a hell of a lot more than you do in resources anyway, it wouldn’t make sense to expect equal contribution when you don’t have the amount to give that I do.”

“That and you underestimate how much emotional connections seem to mean to Tony,” Sam says. Tony gives him a dirty look about it but he rolls his eyes. “Well its true. I don’t know what the hell happened in your personal life before we showed up but none of it was good,” he says.

Bucky squeezes his waist because he has a good idea of what happened. Tony hasn’t told him the whole of it and Bucky has never asked him to, but he knows about Howard, the years of emotional manipulation from Obi, the way all his personal relationships ended in disaster barring Pepper, Rhodey, and Happy, how two of the three of those people are on his payroll. Doesn’t exactly set a good precedent for his future relationships and Bucky has always been patient. Its not like he hadn’t needed patience too. Its not like he’s without trauma.

“Well, we did meet him because that business partner of his was trying to kill him,” Nat points out.

Sam gives her a look. “I got branch to the face. I know.”

*

The lighting is dimmed and the music isn’t too loud, mostly as a curtesy to Bucky not that anyone else needs to know that. It fits the atmosphere anyway. Bucky, for all his genuine fascination with Halloween decorations and fun witch facts, sticks close by him not that Tony minds.

“-Keep your mouth shut until- oh Tony, hi,” Pepper says, smiling at him. He squints.

“Why is your date Rhodey?” he asks.

“Who the hell is this pasty looking fucker that looks like a himbo fucked Motley Crue member?” Rhodey asks, glaring at Bucky. Bucky’s hand tightens around his own but he has no reference for who Rhodey is so Tony figures he should clear things up fast.

“Rhodey, this is Bucky. Bucky, this is my best friend who’s stupid and over protective,” he says, giving Rhodey a look.

Rhodey looks offended. “I’m stupid? Who’s dumb ass decided it was a good idea to hack the Pentagon for funsies?” he asks.

“Yours, dipshit, you were the one who dared me. Why do you act like you never participate in my dumb decisions? That hurts, platypus.” He presses his hand to his heart in mock offense even though they both know Tony is the dumber one but Rhodey is always along for the ride and occasionally he’s the instigator. Bucky has inched behind him some, presumably smelling something telling on Rhodey and Tony is thankful he doesn’t have that kind of sense of smell. No damn privacy though apparently wolves learn to ignore it. Tony slips his arm around Bucky’s waist in an attempt to comfort him.

Rhodey goes to open his mouth but Pepper jabs him in the ribs with her finger. “Stop it Rhodey, Bucky is fine. Tony’s happier with him around and I’m offended that you think I’d do nothing if I noticed he weren’t. I’ve gotten rid of worse,” she points out. Minus Obi, who she later explained had creeped her out but not in a way she attributed to any of the activities he’d been up to. In her defense no one else anticipated that either.

Rhodey squints at her, “have you?” he asks and Pepper gives him a look. “Okay, you have leave me be,” he says, immediately backing down.

Tony snorts, “wise choice. Pepper is a fearsome creature who shouldn’t be trifled with. And Bucky is great, if a little skittish.”

*

He finds Bucky with an arm full of candy snickering at some little skeletons handing from the stair way. “Humans, you’re all so dramatic. This is cute though,” he says, gesturing around.

“You should see Christmas. People only kind of celebrate Halloween but Christmas? The whole Western world loses its shit for like three months.” Not his thing, even before his parents died a few days before Christmas, even before he decided he was an atheist, Christmas never really was his thing. Forced him to spend time with family so he always held that against the holiday. Halloween? Optimal. No one forces him to spend time with family, there’s free candy, and adorable children running around in costumes, what’s not to love? Well, the horror movies that inevitably come with the holiday but other than that.

Bucky frowns, “isn’t that a Christian holiday?”

Tony shrugs, “arguably its a capitalist holiday, and Christmas was technically appropriated from pagan origins so its not really a Christian holiday at heart, but yeah. Its about Jesus.”

Bucky snorts and starts laughing, “god, that looked like it caused you pain to say. I take it you’re not a fan of Christmas?”

He shakes his head, “no, but the decorations are beautiful. And I’m sure you’d like the desserts.” Seems how Bucky has a thing for sweets that he didn’t know about. He’ll be sure to bring more candy to him just to watch as he looks on in pain as everyone gets their fair share.

“I think your best friend wants me dead,” Bucky says eventually.

“Nah, he’s just over protective,” Tony tells him, wrapping an arm around Bucky’s waist.

“No, I can smell some nefarious intentions on him. But my sense of smell only gives me general feeling, not specific thoughts. Pepper doesn’t seem concerned though.”

She’s not, Tony knows, because she’d been happy that he’d found someone that made him happy. Not, Tony supposed, that she felt the need to inform him that she’d been dating Rhodey until now apparently. He’s going to be in for a shock when he discovers she’s a witch but he figures he’ll leave that to Pepper.

“If he tries anything smack his left ear. That’d piss anyone off, but we got into a nasty accident when we were teens, that ear is particularly sensitive. He’ll probably hate you for life if you fuck his hearing, but he would have been the one to start is so he can blame himself if he decides to be an ass,” Tony says. He doubts it’ll come to that, Rhodey’s just not good at trusting Tony to make good life choices in romantic partners. Anything else, sure, even if it is stupid he’s got Tony’s back. But romance? He doesn’t trust Tony whatsoever with that. Claims Tony has a bad habit of choosing people who’d rather see him hurt than loved.

Bucky curls his arm around Tony too, pressing a kiss to the top of his head. “Can I steal one of these skeletons to stick in Sam’s closet?” he asks and Tony starts laughing.

“Yeah, take ten and wait till I show up I want to hear him scream.” Bucky eyes up the nearest floating ghoul and glee.

“Oh he hates this shit, it’ll be hilarious.”

*

Rhodey doesn’t look impressed and Tony sighs. “You don’t know him,” he says.

“He’s barely spoken two words all night and he’s jumpy as hell. Is he on drugs or something?” Rhodey asks, giving Bucky a suspicious look. Poor thing is stuck between admiring the decorations, its not like Tony didn’t go all out because he doesn’t do things halfway, and being worried he’ll get like... shot or something at any given moment. The bonus is that ‘werewolf’ isn’t exactly written on his forehead so its not like anyone knows.

Tony rolls his eyes at Rhodey though. “Jesus Christ, for a guy who’s in the damn military you’re shit at recognizing the signs of PTSD,” he says.

Rhodey looks back over to Bucky, softening some. “Where’d he go?” he asks.

Some human experimentation center from what Tony has gathered, not that he knew those were a thing before Bucky but still. That’s not his story to tell. “Um, Iraq I think. He doesn’t like to talk about it and he’s a bit of an agoraphobe.” Its not inaccurate, not completely. And it makes Rhodey stop looking at him like he’s about to corner him and interrogate him, which Tony knows Bucky won’t respond well to. “Oh,” is all he says and Tony is happy to leave it at that.

When he circles his way back over to Bucky he looks less on edge. “What’d you say to him?” he asks. They both know who Tony means.

“I um. Made up a military career. Congrats, you went to Iraq and now you have PTSD.” And now they can never tell Rhodey the truth because he doesn’t want to listen to him whine about falsifying military enrollment.

Bucky, however, doesn’t look impressed. “You told him I contributed to American Imperialism?” he asks, offended.

Tony sighs, “how the fuck did you not know what Lindt chocolates were, but you know about that? You know what, who cares, he’s not looking at you like he’s about to pull a pitchfork out of his ass and use it on you. That’s a win for me.”

“Its not a win at- really?” Bucky hisses, back to his normal, grumpy self.

“Well it was either that or the truth and I figured that’s more for you to say and technically I didn’t say you were in the military, he made the assumption when I mentioned PTSD so basically this is his fault. I just said Iraq and he made some more assumptions.” He thinks he did okay.

Bucky crosses his arms over his chest, “I can’t believe you’d seriously tell him, or imply, that I was in the damn military. Sam has nothing but regrets from his time there.”

Well, that explains that. “Don’t mention your distain to Rhodey, he’s in the Air Force and he’ll get cranky.” Bucky gives him another look and Tony sighs, “you can take the cob webs home too, Natasha would love them.”

It at least results in a small smile from Bucky, “yeah, she’d probably stick them in Clint’s room when he’s asleep. He’s not a spider fan.”

[daily-capaldi]

The Big Read – Lewis Capaldi: “I make jokes because I’m comfortable with who I am”

The breakout star of 2019, Lewis Capaldi has the midas touch and the world at his feet – but he still likes talking about his pubes and dreams of meeting a girl who'll break his heart for real. NME Deputy Editor Dan Stubbs meets the cocksure 23-year-old in Dublin for a Buckfast sesh and quickly discovers a legitimately hilarious talent who's far from the “big fucking annoying cunt” he thinks he is.

Lewis Capaldi is miming a range of sporting activities. He bounces an invisible basketball around the stage. He boots an imaginary football into the crowd. And after some minutes of this, he poses with an imaginary dart in his hand. Every time he mimes pulling back to throw it, he changes his mind and walks over to take a sip of Guinness instead – to the delight of the crowd. When he finally throws the thing, they roar with approval, before goading him into downing the rest of his pint. And of course: he does. 

It’s November 21 at the Olympia Theatre, Dublin. So far Capaldi has spent 10 minutes playing three songs and 15 minutes doing what, in the most affectionate terms, can only be described as dicking about. It shouldn’t be this funny to watch, but it really is. And the price of witnessing this spectacle? Depends when you got your tickets. A tout offered to take NME’s off our hands for €500 outside the venue. 

A year ago this may have sounded like madness, a sign that the world was heading to hell in a handcart and we’d be closing out the decade in a post-apocalyptic new reality, eating boot leather and watching jesters for entertainment. But in 2019, Lewis Capaldi has proved, conclusively, that what the world was waiting for was a pasty-faced, pasty-loving, 23-year-old Scot with an act that’s 50 percent heartbroken balladry and 50 percent improv comedy. And it is a worldwide thing – Capaldi is a global hit, a bona fide phenomenon. A superstar whose first encounter with NME is backstage, hurtling along the corridor clutching a handful of items. “Got my passport, my acid reflux tablets and my water – and that’s all I need!” he says, whizzing past. “And now, I’m off for a small pish.”

When listing Capaldi’s many 2019 achievements, they start to lose meaning, like contemplating distances in space, or making sense of the costings in the Labour manifesto. But here are a few: The Brits’ Critics Choice award. A Number One album with ‘Divinely Uninspired To A Hellish Extent’. A Number One single with ‘Someone You Loved’ in much of Europe, the US and the UK, where it spent seven weeks at the top. The hardest touring artist of the year, playing over 250 shows. A scene-stealing Glastonbury appearance.

If you’re to believe the stories in the Scottish tabloid press, Capaldi’s music can practically cure leprosy. He’s even had a beef with Noel Gallagher, once a mark of honour, but now a tussle with adversary so easily shot down it’s a bit like watching the moment someone first beats their dad in an arm wrestle. 

Yesterday brought news that Capaldi been nominated for Best Song at The Grammys, which in early career terms is the equivalent of being up for the Best Actor Oscar for your school production of Macbeth. “I’m up against Billie Eilish, Lady Gaga, Lizzo, H.E.R., Lana Del Rey, Taylor Swift…” he says. So he’s in there representing the men? “Yes, at long last!” he jokes. “At long last, straight white men finally have representation.”

“If I’m being honest, I did think ‘Old Town Road’ would be nominated,” he says, being serious now. “Maybe if I win I’ll Kanye myself. ‘This should have gone to ‘Old Town Road’! (But I am going to keep it)…’”

Capaldi is an expert at shrugging off his achievements. His unfaltering humility is a huge part of his appeal but even he concedes it’s starting to seem a bit forced. “When I read my interviews back, I always think if I wasn’t me I’d think: ‘you’re full of shite’,” he says. “Like, stop saying you can’t believe it. You can believe it! But it is so surreal and it seems like almost quarterly it kicks up a notch. Like, yesterday with the Grammys, yet again all this shit’s getting more and more mental, more beyond belief.”

Capaldi watched the Grammy nominations on his laptop, which was resting on his chest with the screen close to his face – a set-up he describes as his “home cinema” – and he admits he did get properly excited at the news. Mostly, though, he tends to find himself reacting to things how he thinks he should. 

“I’ve got a very bad way of being like, So you’re supposed to feel this way in this moment,” he says. Like when someone passes away? “Exactly, yeah. Like, four months after my grandma passed away, I’m like, ‘Fuck, my grandma’s died,’ and I’m in Somerfield or something. I mean, not in Somerfield, because it’s not been open for fucking years.”

Capaldi even plays down the success of ‘Someone You Loved’, the song that scored him the Grammy nod. In his eyes, it’s just “one of my songs that’s doing a little bit better than the rest”, but it’s already become a popular standard to sit alongside Robbie Williams’s ‘Angels’ or Adele’s ‘Someone Like You’, one of those tracks that will be soundtracking marriages and burials for years to come. Which of those would he prefer it be used for? “Burials,” he says, with no hesitation. “Don’t start falling in love to my fucking music, right? See if I see people kissing at my shows, fucking stop that! These are sad songs, you bastards.”

Like Lewis himself, a large part of the charm of ‘Someone You Loved’ is its absolute universality, which is not to say it’s banal, more that everyone who has lost someone at some point in their lives – which is most of us – can identify with it. For Lewis, it was the aforementioned loss of his grandmother that proved the catalyst for the song, but he made it more open to romantic interpretation because it felt “too morbid” to write explicitly about. 

And it didn’t come easily. Where other songwriters boast about dashing off huge hits in barely the time it takes to play them, Capaldi admits to labouring over his compositions. Writing songs, he says, is “a massive pain in the fucking arse sometimes”.

“Growing up I read interviews with people like Paul Weller, Paul McCartney – all the Pauls – and they’d say the best songs just sort of fall in your lap,” he says. “After six months at the piano writing ‘Someone You Loved’ I’m like, ‘You fucking lying bastards, that’s taken me fucking ages.’”

Many of Capaldi’s songs, which he endearingly describes as ranging from “big piano ballads to bigger piano ballads” draw on his first major relationship which – you may have guessed – is no longer a going concern. But it wasn’t a dramatic event. “Adele wrote her album about a relationship breaking up in a bad way, being jilted I think,” he says. “I wrote mine about a relationship that just ended, just fizzled out. I’d love to be jilted by someone, then I could be as successful as Adele.”

I ask if he worries that – at 23 – he doesn’t have a great deal of life experience to draw on. “I spent my entire life writing this first album,” he says, “but the stuff I’ve experienced in the last year has been much more of a growing experience than living in my mum and dad’s house in fucking West Lothian.”

How about the fact that his next girlfriend, whoever she may be, will be on different terms, it being impossible for her not to know she’s dating Lewis Capaldi the world famous pop star? “Well, I don’t know. It’s not like I’m Justin Bieber,” he says. “Today was the first time I’ve ever got out of the car at a venue and someone screamed. Normally people just shout something at me that I’ve said on Instagram about my pubes. I guess, at worst, my next partner would think I’m one way because they’ll hear the songs and think I seem very nice and level headed, but then find out I’m not.”

What’s the reality?

“Big fucking annoying cunt.”

It’s slightly unfair to question the depth of Capaldi’s life experience, because at the age most of us were familiarising ourselves with yo-yos, pogs or fidget spinners (delete as appropriate), Lewis was embarking on his music career. He began performing at 11, largely in pubs and clubs in the conurbation between Glasgow and Edinburgh where he grew up. The experience of having to hold his own in intimidating spaces at such a young age probably explains much about his easiness around people. 

“I found that at 11 it was, ‘Oh he’s quite cute, he came and stood up here and he’s doing very well.’ When I got to 14, 15 and my voice changed and I lost any remnants of cuteness – which as you can tell have not returned to me – that’s when I started to pick up a bit of the patter. You get to know your way about how to speak to people.” 

Around that time, Capaldi actively worked on changing his vocal style to something more like the wolfy howl we hear today. What was once a ”high and smooth” voice had broken. Inspired by Paolo Nutini and Joe Cocker, Capaldi added some gravel. “I thought it would be a good idea to put a bit of rasp in, to make it sound even more terrible,” he says.

For years we’ve been force-fed sensitive young men-next-door with beanie hats, beards or lumberjack shirts singing to us about their problems. In a quest for authenticity, they’ve presented themselves as troubled, serious souls. Capaldi, meanwhile, has given us the sensitive songs with a side order of toilet humour and the kind of prolific, creative swearing worthy of The Thick Of It‘s Malcolm Tucker, as played by his distant cousin Peter Capaldi. 

Stand-up comedians often make a point of referring to the most funny-looking thing about themselves as an icebreaker with the audience, a way of getting them on side. Capaldi has the same trick – there’s not a single thing about his looks or his music you could say that he hasn’t beaten you to. Try and come up something better than saying he looks like “a melting hippo”, we dare you. 

He has zero pretence – he’s a guy who can literally piss himself on stage and laugh it off. “That only happened once,” he says. “And I’ve always been like that, even back in school. If I was meeting someone for the first time I’d be like, ‘Hello, how are you? I’ve got diarrhoea and I could spew or I could blow at any moment. It puts me at ease, being honest.’”

“People think I make jokes because I’m uncomfortable,” he adds. “Actually, it’s the opposite – I make jokes because I’m comfortable with who I am. I say that I’m a chubby bastard because I am a chubby bastard.”

I put it to him that, possibly, he may be the first body-positive male icon – an important thing given Capaldi is part of a generation of young men who feel under enormous pressure to have an Insta-chiselled body. “I don’t know if I can accept that, because I probably don’t use the correct vernacular,” he says. “It’s probably not good to call yourself a chubby cunt, but it’s never been something that’s bothered me. I’ve been a very slim man, I’ve been a man who’s gone to the gym, but even when I’ve done that someone calls you fat anyway, whether it’s your ma, your da, your best pal.”

Capaldi hasn’t, as of yet, had any sort of pop star makeover. He still looks like a kid who’s moved out of home for the first time and is stacking up the washing to take to mum’s. He does, however, have a personal trainer on tour and has been exercising every day. “It’s more of a mental health thing,” he says. “It gives me energy and keeps me happy. I mean, when I’m actually doing it I fucking hate it so much, but it feels better after.”

I ask how his mental health is bearing up to his new everyday reality, an extraordinary experience for anyone to process. “That’s what I think about taking the piss out of things,” he says. “I take the piss out of doing things on stage and how mental it is because you have to, because it stops you getting caught up in it. Summer last year I started having massive panic attacks. I was supposed to do Austin City Limits but I had to cancel because I was just having panic attack after panic attack, and I thought I had something seriously wrong with me, because I’m a bit of a hypochondriac. And I went and got a fucking MRI scan. But they said I was just anxious, just recalibrating to this new fucking lifestyle. So I said, right, cancel everything for three weeks, and no one gave me any shit for it.”

At showtime, the atmosphere at tonight’s gig offers a glimpse of the bubble Capaldi is living in these days. The Olympia is a grand old theatre and Capaldi could probably have sold it out 50 times over; the reaction from the crowd is something like Lewmania. 

Afterwards, we head backstage again, where I’m ushered into a room containing about a dozen members of Capaldi’s family. I’m plonked on a chair right in the middle, handed a massive wine glass full of Buckfast by his cousin and grilled by his dad, a fishmonger and the very driest of wits, about my intentions for this article. He’s seriously proud of his boy, having supported him since the very beginning, even playing the supportive parent role when Lewis auditioned for Britain’s Got Talent aged 12. 

The afterparty moves to a private room at a nearby pub. Lewis’s hulking great cousin – the one who brought the Buckfast – is getting the shots in. His auntie is looking on, concerned, as two girls chat him up at the same time. “He’s only a wee one,” she mutters. While his friends and family enjoy the party and a certain NME journalist accidentally smashes the first of a series of glasses, feeling the effects of downing that Buckfast in an ill-advised attempt to curry favour with the family, Lewis makes his final rounds then politely excuses himself, looking a bit hangdog about it. He has another big show tomorrow. Sad to leave your own party, you imagine.

At points in the interview, Capaldi had been making a short, forced coughing noise, which he shrugged off as nothing. But the next week, he cancels a number of shows on health grounds, having been warned by his doctor that he risks losing his voice altogether if he doesn’t take action. In the end, he plays just four more gigs of the UK leg of the tour – in London, Edinburgh and twice in Glasgow for the homecoming finale. All further activities are cancelled by management, including a follow-up NME interview, but he is sent to complete the year’s touring commitments in the States before heading home for a well-earned few days celebrating Christmas with his family, which he says typically involves plenty of booze and lots of piss-taking. If you think you’re feeling ready for the break today, spare a thought for Lewis.

Next year looks to be just as busy as this one. He is, right now, just about the most in-demand young man in the world. At some point, he’ll have to start thinking about his next album too. “I don’t know what the fuck it’s going to sound like, I don’t know what the fuck it’s going to be,” he says. “Ballads, havin’-it tunes, I don’t know. I’ve got voice notes, melodies, stuff like that, but that’s just me and an acoustic guitar.” 

Considering what he said about his hypochondria, it’s likely the idea of losing his voice is weighing heavily on Capaldi’s mind. But he’s already decided there’s a backlash coming anyway. “You do get warned, as you’re coming up: ‘By the way, everyone’s gonna turn on you pretty soon’,” he says. “I guess I’m always just kind of waiting for it. I’m very doomsday. Like, if it’s not happened yet, it’s gonna come. And I can’t wait for the downfall!”

He might be surprised. People have plenty of different reactions to Capaldi’s music, but it’s pretty much impossible to find someone who doesn’t think he seems like a bloody great bloke.

And besides – if he ever finds he can’t sing, he’d make a killing at The Fringe as a physical comic. 

The extended edition of ‘Divinely Uninspired To A Hellish Extent’ is out now

[chokefriends]

Pit-town Strays Ch.1

Kidlaw softness and redneck shenanigans in a northern mining town. Everything's fucked but whatever.

Rated T, no warnings, or just general warnings for setting-specific social ills and violence (racist cops, shitty parents, etc). Someone ordered wholesome kidlaw family feels? well HERE.

[Ch. 1] - Ch. 2 - Ch. 3 - Ch. 4 - Ch. 5

Read on Ao3 too, I’m Ossicle

“What the hell are you going to Pit-town for?” Bellamy chewed at Law with his mouth open, a smarmy sneer on his pasty face.

“None of your business.” Law scowled, turning his eyes away from his brother’s ground-up breakfast. He shoved a random pile of coursework into his backpack.

“Well I know what kids like you go up there to do. Everybody knows.” Bellamy drawled on, like he knew shit about anything besides scamming beer and shooting bottles at the quarry.

“Don’t make assumptions, idiot. I’m just babysitting.”

“Why?”

“It’s called a job? You should try it,” Law suggested primly. “Feet.”

Bellamy lifted his feet off Law’s pile of textbooks. “Why, though? You got that big scholarship, I seen the letter when it came in.”

Law frowned at him. “How did you…”

“Well it was just there, so I read it. Why don’t you move out, if you got all that money? You hate it here so much.”

Law waved this matter aside. “I owe that money to someone. Give me the volvo keys.”

Bellamy didn’t move his stupid stumpy self from the ancient recliner—prized spot in the basement space the three brothers shared. “No, I need it, I’m meeting up with some guys later to go down to the quarry. Dad said I could.”

“Bellamy, I need it to get to town. Just gimme the keys.”

“Well I need it to pick up little ladies! You can hitch, right?”

Law didn’t bother arguing. He sighed through his nose and slid his feet into his severely ratty sneakers before heading out into the yard.

“Don't tell Dad where I am or I'll tell him about your girlfriend!” Law called on his way out.

“Obviously,” Bellamy muttered.

The ancient volvo wasn’t feeling cooperative today, or Law was having a lapse or something because he couldn’t fucking hotwire it. He slammed his fist on the dash and took out his phone. It was an oddly summery fall day—not too cold to walk or bike—but his shoes were getting thin in the soles, and Law didn't like asking his dad for little stuff like that. Didn't wanna be such a burden all the time.

He scrolled through his messages and sent a couple off to see about a ride. But Robin (who'd suggested the job) was teaching, and Baby (sweet, bitter Baby) was already in the sauce.

BB: i cn still come tho? you real stuck?? big bro awwwww im sry

You: Nono dont go driving if youre partying it up, Ill hitch a ride I guess

BB: Where?

You: Just into town

BB: Where in town??????

You: The Pit.

You: or whatever.

BB: LAWWW NOOOOOOOOooo jus kidding lol no judgement here

BB: id sell it on weekends too if i were pretty liek U

You: I’m not selling my ass!!!

BB: Lol

BB: sure

BB: why else ndn boi hangs w miner trash? Shady.

You: Lots of reasons, including a babysitting job. Don’t make assumptions.

BB: “babysitting”” “””job”””’

You: Yes.

BB: God ur sheltered

BB: shltered bebe in u nice rich house

BB: don get picked up there, pit-town piggies love ndn bebes

Law pocketed his phone with an eyeroll and started walking down toward the highway.

Once he’d found a ride and gotten dropped off, it was a twenty minute walk from the highway to the Pit. Law ended up climbing over the bare, rocky hill behind the truck stop, cuz his phone’s map had the place all wrong. On top of the hill, he could see the Pit in all its glory laid out before him.

Pit-town was the weird little enclave where the town’s mine workers were housed, in tar paper houses as outdated as the mine itself. The tangled machinery of the refinery loomed just beyond the houses, and above all that, the smokestacks. White smoke drifted from their peaks, as high above him as the clouds. Nothing except low bush berries grew around here—it was like an outpost on the moon.

Law went down into the village. Men with tattooed arms watched him from pickup trucks, and women smoking in lawn chairs whispered. Half-feral dogs barked and circled.

“Ya lost, hun?” one busty woman called from her front step as he passed, and her friends chuckled.

“No…” he mumbled back, and hurried on as they all laughed.

He was flustered and out of breath by the time he got to the address, on the other fucking side of the whole village. The house was like the rest: a single-storey bungalow on a small plot of land with a car port full of dead appliances. There was a little pink bike lying on the front step, and a short dog chain attached to a pole in the middle of the bare yard. A deep trail had been trod in a circle around the pole but there was no dog in sight. Law went up and knocked lightly.

He stood there for a few minutes, feeling the neighborhood eyes on his back, before trying again. He knocked a little louder. “Hey, um. Hello?”

A harsh voice called, “YEAH IT’S OPEN.”

Law tried the door. “No it’s not?” he called back.

“YEAH IT IS JUST KICK IT AND TURN THE THING AT THE SAME TIME.”

“...No, definitely not open,” Law assured him after trying every kick-turn combination.

“AH FUCK.”

“Yeah.”

“OKAY, CAN YOU JUST BREAK IN?”

“...What??” Law was almost offended.

“I’M DOING A THING, CAN’T GET THE DOOR RIGHT NOW, JUST TRY SOMETHING.”

Obviously Law could break into stuff, because his shitty little brothers thought it was hilarious to lock him out of the house all the time. And because their father thought it was prudent to keep things like Law’s ID in a secure location. Law didn’t think that skill set was a great way to start this ‘job’ thing, though… He looked around at the prying eyes across the street and they flitted back behind their blinds. He sighed.

The lock was just one of the doorknob ones, and the jamb didn’t have a guard on it so it was easy to get a credit card in there. The door swung open and Law stepped into a cluttered hallway.

“In here!” the big voice called from down the hall.

“I here!” a little voice added.

Law navigated his way carefully, stepping over baskets of laundry, unreturned empties, and sealed up moving boxes. Something obnoxious was playing on tinny speakers in another room. He rounded the corner into a sweltering little kitchen that seemed like the only clear spot in the house.

There was a very tall redhead with a face full of piercings sitting at the kitchen table in his boxers, and a much smaller redhead in a frilly blue bathing suit beside him. They were painting their toenails black, with their feet up on the table.

The bigger redhead seemed really shocked to see Law. He almost toppled backward on his chair. “H-hi! Uh! You’re Native.”

Law blinked. “Yeah. Um. You’re naked.”

“I’m Nami!” announced the little girl.

The guy was pretty much naked, by Law’s standards. Also kind of jacked… Law could feel his face heating up and was glad that it didn’t really show on him. The man sitting there in his boxers was pale as a fucking ghost, though, and so his sudden flush was super obvious. He rushed to recover from that intro.

“I don’t mean like, ‘oh, you’re Native.’ Well, obviously you are, heh, but I don’t mind or anything!"

“Yeah, uh.” Law nodded helpfully. “I don’t mind either, that you’re… naked.”

“Kidd is a naked...” Nami sang to herself.

“I'm not even,” Kidd protested. “I'm just hot as hell. Aren't you hot?”

“Am I??” Law was completely lost.

“Not—! I mean, yeah, but you're in a hoodie? Aren't you sweltering?” Kidd clarified.

“Oooh. No, not really. I like to keep covered up,” Law explained, picking at a fraying sleeve. He supposed it was weird to be wearing jeans and a hoodie in this weather, but no weirder than wearing Crocs in public, like people here seemed into doing.

Kidd was distracted by Nami painting patterns on her feet with the nail polish. “Fuck, Nami, stop, we just paint the nails. It’s messy, see? MESSY.” He took the tiny girl and sat her on the counter instead, then went about cleaning up the table. “Sorry about the door. Can’t go anywhere with wet toenails, it smears like hell.”

Law nodded harder and went to help him. “It’s cool, I know how to break into stuff. I mean I don’t usually! But your door was easy. Not that I’ll do it again!”

“Not a problem… uh, Kidd. I’m Kidd. Hi.” The guy finally got his head together and extended a hand. His fingernails were painted black too. He had a really firm grip.

“Law,” Law replied in relief.

“And this is my sister Nami,” Kidd jabbed a thumb at the toddler perched precariously on the counter. “She’s a fucking psychopath.”

Nami ignored them, sticking towels into the toaster instead.

“You have a dog too? I saw the chain outside.” Law wondered.

“No, Dad took the dog with him. And the fuckin car…”

“Your parents are both working?” Law asked, and immediately regretted it. God, he really was sheltered.

Kidd blushed again and started stacking dishes.

Law rushed to clarify. “Or, ‘parent'? I only got one too—a dad. I'm adopted though, and my birth parents are both passed, so.”

Kidd was wiping off each dish absently under the running water, not really cleaning anything. “We got a dad and mom, they’re just… not around right now. So it’s just us! Which is better, believe me.” He growled the last bit under his breath.

“Oh, got it.”

“Anyway. I didn't wanna ask someone to come all the way here to watch Nami, but that bitch down the street won’t take her anymore because of lice or property damage or something, and I got an interview today. I’ll prolly find another illegal daycare somewhere around here if I do get this job, though, heh.”

“Yeah don’t worry about it.” Law tried not to seem squeamish at the mention of lice.

“If they do take me I’ll be starting right away, so I might be out til pretty late,” Kidd warned him. “I’ll pay you for however long you’re here for though.”

“Sounds good. You gonna work at the mine?”

This seemed like another sensitive issue. Kidd looked away and muttered, “No… you gotta be 21, and take all these courses and stuff. And anyway, like HELL will I end up in the fuckin pit,” he finished with unexpected heat.

Law was saved from having to come up with a response by Nami blowing up the toaster outlet. The kitchen appliances all blinked out.

“FUCK! Again…” Kidd rushed to pick her up and sit her back on the table as a loud dryer beep sounded from the bathroom. “And fuck, there’s my pants. Listen, can you grab a fuse from the drawer there and stick it in? I actually REALLY gotta go, like right now.”

“Yeah of course!” Law watched the strange redhead duck through the kitchen door and pick his way down the obstacle course hall to another door.

He pulled his eyes away from the muscled back and onto the little girl, who was… eating nail polish.

“You!” Law scolded her, and put her in a chair. He grabbed the few towels that weren’t burnt, and tied her to the aluminum frame. “Okay, eat cheez-its while I fix this.”

Law had got the new fuse screwed into the panel and the nail polish off Nami’s face by the time Kidd came back, dressed in clothes that didn’t seem like interview clothes to Law: heavy duck pants and steel-toed boots. He grabbed a duffel bag that was sitting on a box stack, shouldered it and then stood looking at Law.

“Uh,” Kidd was blushing again. It was kind of amazing to see this tough blacklung brat acting so unsure. “If I come back really late maybe I could bring something? To eat? And we could eat it here?”

“Yeah, that'd be good.” Law shrugged like he didn't mind either way.

“KFC?” Kidd suggested.

“Oh I don't like breaded stuff. Fries are good, though.”

“Chinese?”

“I'm trying not to eat MSG actually…”

Kidd tried to think. “So what do you eat?”

“Mostly sushi.”

“I didn't know there was any sushi places in this shit town,” Kidd admitted.

“At the college there's one. Uh, but whatever you bring is fine, don't worry about it!” Law reassured him.

“Okay. Well, see ya.” Kidd made his way outside, yelling at some hovering dogs to git!, then started swearing. “Aw fuck, Nami's FUCKING bike…”

“You trip on it?” Law poked his head outside.

“No,” Kidd was looking at an empty front walk. “Fuckin kids took off with it again. I'll just go punch their dad in the throat later, not a big deal.”

“Holy,” Law commented mildly.

He watched Kidd pull a frankenstein-ian motorcycle out of a side door and roar away on it. Then he looked around to see if anyone had caught him looking. He was just sending a good glare at the prying eyes across the street when he remembered that he was babysitting. He returned to the kitchen where Nami was sitting once again on top of the table, drawing circles in a nail polish puddle with one finger.

“Your brother is an entire entrée,” Law informed her.

She didn't reply, intent on her craft. But she objected when he tried to pick her up. “Nooo!”

“No?” he put her down.

She glared at him, a tiny girl of no more than four, ginger hair in little pigtails and her frilly blue bathing suit spotted with nail polish.

“I'm Law,” he sat down so he was at her level, and introduced himself. “Lawww.”

“Law...” She appraised him solemnly for another moment and then seemed to deem him acceptable. “I’m being a witch,” she confided in a whisper.

“A witch?”

“Yah.”

Law sat back in the chair with a laugh. “My girl! Let's talk!”

Law had the kitchen scrubbed to his own exacting standards in short order, having secured Nami firmly to a chair (with duct tape and towels this time).

She was starting to nod into her cheezits by the time he'd finished, and Law figured it was nap time. He went to review the rooms along the hallway, looking for a baby room. He couldn't figure out the logic of the place, though. There was a largeish bedroom, which seemed to be the source of the stale smoke smell, mostly taken up by a tacky king bed and Seinfeld DVDs. It clearly hadn't been used in forever. He closed that door. Then there was a smaller room that might've once been a child's room, decorated with glow in the dark stars on the ceiling and complex Lego structures piled in one corner. It was stacked floor to ceiling with file boxes and covered in dust too. Another small room seemed to be Kidd's hideout, though the bed was just a box spring covered in laundry and books. There was a guitar and practice amp, and a desk piled with half-dissected old laptops. Law resisted the urge to snoop, and closed the door.

He went back down to the other end of the hall, past the front door, where the narrow corridor opened into a small living room space. A couch and a single mattress were neatly made up into beds, in front of a large TV that seemed like the only new thing in the house.

“I want a Kidd nap.” Nami had somehow gotten out of the duct tape high chair and was at Law's side, rubbing her eyes.

“Okay? In the big bed?”

“You're silly,” she accused. She went to lie down on the couch, pulling a fuzzy blanket over herself.

Law went to sit next to her. He gestured down at the mattress on the floor, with its orange and blue comforter and many fuzzy cushions. “Is that your bed? Don't you wanna nap there?”

“No,” she explained patiently, eyes already closed.

“Right, obviously.”

He watched her shuffle and sigh her way to sleep.

“I could've had a sister,” he murmured, partly to her and partly to himself. “I mean, I do have a biological sister, but I didn't grow up with her. I think it would've been nice, though…”

Nami was already asleep when he looked over again. Easy! Law totally had this babysitting thing in hand. He pulled his stats assignment out of his bag, and got down to the real work.

Nami turned out to be a pretty chill baby, as well as being an utter terror. She mostly ignored Law, preferring to go about her little play tasks uninterrupted, with the TV playing in the background. “Being a witch,” she explained whenever Law asked what she was doing.

“Keep it up,” he encouraged her, turning back to his own work.

He quickly learned, though, to keep an ear out for silence, because she was probably blowing shit up. Law found her building a fire in the oven, then making what he was pretty sure was mustard gas in the toilet.

“How’d you do that??” He took the bleach from her and she threw a mild fit before toddling off to the next game.

By the time Kidd returned, Law was just sitting in a kitchen chair with his stats assignment disregarded in front of him, watching the four-year-old expertly jimmy the makeshift lock he'd put on the knife drawer.

“More twist on the lever,” an amused Law recommended.

“So this one's being a psychopath huh,” Kidd entered and threw his duffel bag on the table.

Law corrected him.“Um, she's a witch and a prodigy? She made several deadly potions with cleaning supplies today."

“Oh jesus now there's two of you.”

“One more and we got a coven.”

“Great. Nami, it's like 11, why ain't your ass in bed?” Kidd growled at his sister, who ignored him.

“She went down for a couple hours, but kept getting up when she heard a car go by. And I couldn't get any pajamas on her,” Law reported.

“Yeah she won't take the bathing suit off unless I bribe her. She's big into being a ‘mermaid’ this month, on top of being a witch.”

Nami had gotten the knife drawer open and was feeling around in it with one chubby hand.

Kidd scooped her up. “No knives.”

“A knife!!!”

Law shook his head and smiled. Child after his own heart. “What's she want a knife for?”

“She's been trying to slash my tires lately, so probably that. It's usually pretty funny to watch, but yeah, not at bedtime. Eh, Nami?”

“I WAN A KNIFE! A KNIFE A KNIFE A—”

Nami stopped and stared at the chocolate coin Kidd was holding up. She grabbed it and wiggled out of his arms. They followed her to the living room where she was stashing her prize under the couch.

“Holy, she's got a hoard,” Law gave a low whistle at the cache of foil coins and random shiny things.

“Yeah I think she's more dragon than mermaid,” Kidd commented.

Nami lay down in her floor bed, where she could see the glittering pile.

“I got food, if you wanna…?” Kidd nodded back toward the kitchen.

“Is she good here?”

“Yeah she pretty much puts herself to sleep, just leave WrestleMania on for her. She likes the noise.”

They went back to the kitchen, and Kidd turned on a thing Law had thought was a smashed toaster oven reconstructed with safety pins, but which turned out to be a radio. Kidd gestured to a bag on the table, and Law unpacked it while the redhead fiddled with the receiver. It mostly seemed to be picking up country music and static.

“Can almost get that alt rock station with this thing,” he muttered, “probably just needs another coat hanger.”

“You went and got sushi??” Law pulled out several little plastic containers.

Kidd’s back was to him but Law could see his neck and ears going red. He kept fiddling with the dials. “Yeah, whatever.”

“From all the way at the college?”

“Yeah. Whatever.”

“...I think that radio is using you as an antenna,” Law observed, changing the topic.

Kidd snorted and let go of the screwdriver-dial, and the radio went to mostly static. “Faboo. Maybe it wants a piercing too.”

His face had returned to a normal color under all that metal, and he joined Law at the table. Law offered him the dragon roll and took the sashimi plate.

The chopsticks were an obstacle.

“Do you stab it?” Kidd glared at the sushi and the two little sticks.

“No, look at my hand: hold one like a pencil, and the other one loosely—”

“I stab it.”

“Don’t stab it, hey, you’ll ruin the integrity of the roll shape!”

“Hm,” Kidd chewed his mangled piece. “Tastes like salad.”

“Here.” Law scooted over a chair. He took the chopsticks out of Kidd’s fist and rearranged them. Kidd’s hands were large and rough to the touch, and the scent of sweat and gas clung to his clothes. The sudden impression of body heat and machinery smacked Law right in the back of the brain.

“I’m gonna say this is finger food,” Kidd decided.

“Yeah,” Law agreed automatically.

“Yeah, fuck this. Want a beer?”

Law hated beer. “Yeah. I mean, whatever.”

Law sat and nursed the beer with determination, trying to pay attention to Kidd's animated take on government surveillance vans and Nicolas Cage. His brain was getting fuzzy really fast, though. He was such a fuckin lightweight.

“He’s not an actual human person, is all I’m saying. You seen his face tryna do face stuff?” Kidd argued, crunching his second beer can and tossing it in the bin across the room. "Nother beer? Hey, you’re not even done that one.”

“Tastes like bread,” Law noted distractedly.

“I guess. You don’t like Bud?”

“I liked the first movie,” Law hiccuped.

Kidd laughed like a fucking hooligan, and Law had to laugh too. Normally loud laughs grated on Law's ears, but he decided he liked this one. It wasn't mocking or cold; just big.

Kidd shook his head with a final chuckle and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “Me too. Sooo uh, what you studying at the college?”

“General science right now, thinking I'll go into the pre-med stream,” Law answered right away. “Or maybe something more research, less clinical… uh. Or you know, like. Whatever.”

Kidd actually seemed interested. “Yeah that sounds awesome. I always wanted to go into engineering, but pure research would be cool… You um. Doing some math, there?” He looked over at Law's assignment, abandoned on the table.

“Stats. The bane of my existence. Don't stare at it too long, it'll put the bleed on your brain.”

“...you're stuck, huh?” Kidd glanced over again.

“No.” Law sniffed. “I'm considering it from many angles.”

“Okay, man.”

“Oh, like you know anything about sample sizes and shit.”

Kidd shrugged, but the line in his forehead deepened. He cracked another tallboy.

Law gripped his own beer can in the uncomfortable silence that followed, and then downed the rest all at once.

“Nother,” he wiped his mouth and Kidd raised an eyebrow but passed him a fresh one.

“Git it in ya.”

“Mhm.” Law took a deep swig and almost fucking barfed. “Sooo… you make that bike yourself huh?”

“...yeah,” Kidd's face lost the put-out look and split into a grin. “Or whatever, I just added some stuff and changed other stuff… actually, it's…”

That got another good long ramble out of the redhead, full of startling laughter and crass parallels with female body parts. Law wondered idly if Kidd was actually familiar with any female body parts, or whether this was just how people in Pit-town talked.

“Hm?” Law sat up straight, realizing that Kidd had asked him something. His brain was definitely all swimmy now.

“Or I can give you a lift back now. It's a long way to the Rez.”

“I'm not from the Rez, I live down the highway. I can just hitch my way back, it's not a big deal." Law looked at his phone—after midnight.

Kidd was giving Law a look, like he wanted to say something about that, but then grunted and downed his beer instead. “Here, for today,” he said, taking an envelope out of his pocket and pushing a few folded bills into Law's hand.

“Thanks.”

“If you're free tomorrow I'll be working again at noon. And like I said, you can stay here tonight if the trip out is—”

“Oh!” Law felt his face heating up again. “No, I gotta get home. My dad's gonna kill me as it is. I'll come back tomorrow, though, okay?”

“Okay! Or, whatever, good.”

“Yeah.” Law stood and started stuffing things back into his backpack. “Okay see ya tomorrow.”

Kidd gave him a flippant salute and cracked another beer.

Pulling on his sneakers at the door, Law felt a little tug at his pant leg.

“Law, you are going to go?” Nami worried.

“Yup, gotta go home.”

“Law, you won't be here if you go,” she started snuffling.

Law picked her up and put her back in her bed. “I'll come back tomorrow. Okay?”

“No.” She hid under the blanket and kept snuffling.

He hesitated. “I have to go.”

“She’ll get over it in a minute,” Kidd told him from the doorway, leaning backlit against the frame with crossed arms. “It's better not to draw it out.”

Law looked at the little lump among the cushions and shrugged. He stood to go.

The redhead chewed at his tongue piercing and watched him. “Okay, I don't wanna be weird about this, but like. It's the Pit. And you're... You know?”

Law wasn't getting it. “I'm...?”

“C'mon, you stick out. And it's really late, and it's just past check day, and… it'd really just be faster if I gave you a ride.”

Oh, fucking chivalry or whatever.

“So I'll put my hood up,” Law dismissed this.

“It’s the Pit, though,” Kidd said again.

“... See you tomorrow.” Law left without drawing it out any further.

Law got halfway through the village before someone pulled up next to him, apparently to offer him further unwanted courtesies.

“Looking for a place to stay?” the man offered.

“Just heading home,” Law deflected.

This didn't seem to be the answer the guy wanted, and he followed Law in his pickup at very close range, until they got to the village limits and the end of the street lights. Law gripped his phone in his pocket. He heard the truck door slam just as he went to detour off the road between two houses.

Law tried not to back away as the guy advanced. “I'll call the police.”

“I am the police,” the man pointed to the badge on his belt.

"Shit..."

"And you're trespassing."

Law held onto his phone, a harsh roaring steadily growing in his ears. The smart thing would be to play dumb and helpless so he wouldn't fucking get shot, and just hope someone came by… but the man went to grab him and he panicked just as the roar peaked. Law snapped the fist holding his phone into the man's temple, and it made a loud crunch. A couple more frantic strikes sent the pig down in a confused pile of limbs.

Well he'd fucking done it now. Maybe he could run before—

“Oohhh shit, haha,” someone commented.

Law glared over at Kidd, who was sitting there on his noisy rat bike, peering at the man on the ground.

“Hi?” Law crossed his arms.

Kidd scratched his neck. “Saw him drive past after you left, and figured… yeah. I was just gonna come and like, bam! Do a drive-by with a crowbar. But that Rocky shit was actually way cooler, haha. Is that a brass knuckles phone ring?”

“Yeah.”

“Yeah…” Kidd considered the lump on the ground. “Kay, well. Can I drive you home now?”

“...” Law really, stubbornly wanted to refuse.

“Just so you can see how Marlene here rides,” Kidd patted the motorcycle. “Did I tell you I built her?”

Law's tension cracked and an incredulous laugh bubbled out. “Yeah. You told me. She's a beauty.” Kidd passed him the helmet and Law slid into place behind him.

“She’s a rubber-tit, chain-smoking old blacklung biddy, fuck yeah she's a beauty. You can ride her all day and night, she don't get tired.”

Law had been wondering how he'd get all the way home like this without popping a boner, but that mental image cleared it up.

“Uh,” Law gave the unconscious cop a guilty glance, “should we get this guy somewhere…?”

“Oh, I'll just call his wife to come get him, I guess,” Kidd snorted at the pathetic pile and took out his phone.

“You know him?”

“Everyone knows everyone here… hold on a sec. Hey, Mrs. Kyle? Yeah I just seen Kevin going off tryna fight that goose again.”

“Fuckin what??” Law snickered.

“Yeah, Cobb Road. Looked like he'd taken a good one on the head already. I dunno who taught that thing to make a fist. Yeah, anyway. Yeah, bye.” Kidd hung up, nodding to himself like that was it.

“No one's gonna believe that shit,” Law objected.

“Oh the goose? That's real, the thing's a monster. I think they should just shoot it but there's a pool on who'll defeat it in hand-to-hand combat.”

“...okay. Sure.”

“It's the Pit,” Kidd explained again.

Kidd tied a bandana onto his face as a windguard, and they pulled out of the village and onto the highway. It was fall but the air was warm and smelled like tar. Law held onto Kidd's waist and directed him by patting his arm and pointing. The smokestacks receded behind them, though the tar smell lingered on through the treeless landscape. Eventually Law signaled for them to stop.

Kidd pulled off the highway and stopped just under the lone streetlight at the turnoff. He looked around. “This is just a carpool lot. I might as well take you all the way home, right?”

“Nah, my Dad's already gonna be pissed that I'm out this late. If I ride up on a bike smelling like booze… yeah.” Law passed him the helmet and dismounted. “It's not far from here, I'm good now.”

Kidd was still processing the first part. “Aren't you in uni? You still have a curfew?”

Law shrugged. “He's strict. He just worries. Though, yeah, he's nowhere near as protective about my fuckin brothers so—”

At that exact moment Law's brain registered the whine of a familiar car, and he had to grip his bag to keep from bolting. He relaxed slightly when he saw it was just the Volvo.

“Hey Lawnboy,” Bellamy chuckled, leaning an elbow out the window.

“Hiii Law,” a gawky, sharp-eyed girl chirped from the passenger seat.

“Monet, my dream girl,” Law flirted mildly, leaning on the door frame. Monet giggled and Bellamy scowled.

“That your ~boyfriend~?” the blond troll mocked, jabbing a thumb at Kidd, who tensed and sneered.

“Yeah,” Law shot back.

There was a pause.

“Really???” Monet scrambled to get a good look at them both. Bellamy's face went slack with shock.

Kidd stuffed his head into the safety of his helmet.

“What're you doing?” Law questioned the helmeted Kidd.

“He's shy!” Monet squealed. “Ahhhh you guys are perfect!”

“Are you blushing?” Law tried to flip up the mirrored visor and Kidd held on stubbornly, shaking his head.

“Law, bring him to Hawk's place with us, I'll make youse guys’ drinks!! I got sourpuss and peach schnapps!”

“They're not coming to Hawk's,” Bellamy told her sullenly.

“Shut up Bellamy. Law, you guys coming?”

Law demurred. “Gotta work tomorrow, Monet-fique. Nother time.”

“Aw.”

“See you at home, Bellyache,” Law dismissed his pouting brother, who scowled.

“‘Babysitting’, huh. I'm telling Dad you're hoeing it up in the Pit,” Bellamy threatened.

Monet punched him in the shoulder. “Oh my god Bellamy no you're not. Later, Law! Byyye, strong silent boyfriend!”

Bellamy took his cue and screeched away.

Law turned back to Kidd, who was still hiding under his helmet. “Sorry. That was my brother. It just seemed like the best way to get him to leave.”

Kidd gave a slight shrug.

“So. See you tomorrow?” Law shouldered his bag.

Kidd nodded.

“Thanks for the ride. And for dinner and stuff…”

“Yeah it's whatever,” came Kidd's muffled voice.

“Oh yeah I mean, whatever.” Law started off down the road.

“Uh…! Thank you too, for… coming...” Kidd called after him a few steps later.

Law stopped and looked back awkwardly.

“...And for being chill about Nami's issues, and the house, and dealing with that creeping fucker… You don't have to come back after that crap. And if all this is gonna get you in trouble with your dad anyway,” Kidd offered in a nervous jumble, as Law wandered back over and stood there, feeling suddenly sad.

Law had had his share of sweet goodbye kisses under this streetlight, when he'd been a little younger and a little less worried about everything. He kinda really wanted another like that right now… But Kidd was holding onto the helmet on his head like a life preserver. And a kiss seemed like such a shallow, wrong-headed kind of assurance to offer against all ‘that crap.’

Law leaned in, and bonked his forehead lightly against the glossy helmet instead.

“Well, pick me up tomorrow, at the highway. So I don't gotta risk crossing the goose,” Law shrugged too, like it really was all just whatever.

He couldn't see Kidd's face but he could see his heaviness lift.

“You got it, Cap.”

The scruffy redhead leaned into his bike and the road, and became a fading engine roar in the dark. Law walked home slowly.