#people smoke for years and years but cigarettes are sold everywhere

[majoringinsarcasm]

Ok now under a read more but here’s major’s thoughts on bodies and shit

So I came across someone who is in the process of de–transitioning on Instagram, which made me wary at first because. You know. But it’s really refreshing to just see One Person instead of a static used against people. To hear one singular real person talk about their journey which people in the comments said was akin to a different kind of transition. And how media does not do them justice.

It takes a lot of courage to come out as trans. To figure out so much on your own and then be faced with such hatred and doubt and riddle. To find who you are in the fire and hope you come out alive on the other side.

It takes a lot of courage to say “I actually don’t like this change I’ve made” after however long of talking about it and being on hormones or even having regret with surgery. It’s framed as a reason to keep trans people locked down but that’s not fair. To be unhappy with your identity and to want to change despite how you might’ve felt before. To maybe have overshot where you wanted to be and needing to find a middle ground. To search for your identity in the rubble of what you thought you wanted and trying to find all the pieces.

Being trans is not evil. Detransitioning / transition remix is not evil. Whats evil is using people’s very vulnerable emotions and thoughtfulness of their OWN BODY as a weapon against a community while also MOTHER caring about “this important group that sheds light on the truth of transitioning” outside of using them as a platform to step on.

Had they not detransitioned they’d be back on the chopping block. If they weren’t vocal about their regret and were causal about it they’d be poster children for “getting un-needed surgery like it’s a game”

There are people who have detransitioned who are not kind to the trans community and that sucks. But there’s trans people who aren’t kind to other trans people either. It’s bad because those people are being used for a hateful agenda and people don’t actually care about their journey or lives outside of how it can be weaponized. And it must suck to want to talk about your regrets and changes and how you’re gonna move forward and your words always being used as a gotcha and not what it truly is which is your personal experience

Anyway it was really good for me to see. The media won’t show you allies when talking about those who detransitioned and we have to remember that it’s done like that on Purpose

[thehollowwriter]

I hope the conversations around medical insurance companies start to expand to other big companies and industries that harm or kill people because the impact they have is not talked about or challenged enough

E.g:

The medical industry as a whole (not just the insurance) and how its discrimination against women, queer people, poc people, disabled people, fat people and more leads to people dying due to not being believed or taken seriously.

The cigarette and alcohol industries that sell addictive and life ruining products that cause cancer or active harm to those who don't buy them (e.g: second hand smoke inhalation). The advertisement of cigarettes is literally illegal because of the health risk, and yet they can still be sold on mass. It comes with the warning of the risk of cancer and addiction, but nobody questions the billions of dollars made from selling them to addicts. But yeah, weed is the big bad evil. And pain killers and medicine, can't take our seriously sick patients or mentally ill patients seriously (medical industry) because what if they're addicts looking for a handout??? What if meds to treat mental health are addictive???/s

Alcohol and alcohol consumption is still advertised everywhere no matter what and is culturally framed as a must do, something that makes you mature and cool while simultaneously blaming alcholics for their addiction. Just ask anyone who says they don't drink and are called a killjoy or a boring person. Think about the fact that the hero mc of a movie is shown to be dapper, charming, or cool through alcohol, whether it be the way he drinks it or the type of alcohol he's drinking. Hell, cigarettes are used for the same thing, too.

The beauty industry promotes blatantly unhealthy bodies as the standard that should be achieved and promotes medication, surgeries, and more that can be incredibly risky in order to achieve beauty. Cosmetic items like makeup are so poorly regulated that they can cause chemical burns. And yet when I type "can makeup" the first thing that pops up is "can makeup cause pimples." Cause pimples aren't pretty, and that's what should be the concern/s

The "health" industry and how it works with the beauty industry to spread incorrect "medical facts" about health and weight to advertise weight loss pills and diets and so on that encourage or cause eating disorders and general unhealthiness (no matter what you think or what these companies say, suddenly rapidly losing weight is NOT healthy and is NOT a "solution to weight gain").

If I ask whether a certain food or shake or whatever is healthy the first response should not be "it causes weight gain/weight loss" because that is not actually an indicator or how healthy something is. But when people's main concern is avoiding gaining weight because that is viewed as ugly, of course you're gonna tell them "It's healthy, it makes you lose weight, buy my product! Of course I'm concerned about your health now buy my product!"

The gambling industry and how it actively uses psychological tricks to ensure people will stay and continue to gamble. It actively takes advantage of gambling addicts and, through mass advertising and subtle tricks, encourage and worsen their addiction and cause them to lose money and put themselves and their families at risk. Gambling is oh so taboo, but it sure doesn't stop my 7 year old brother from sitting through an unskippable Hollywood Bets ad when he just wanted me to show him funny cat videos.

I can go on but I'm sleepy, so just consider these examples. There's a lotta shit that needs to be challenged and criticised.

[mandareeboo]

Unfinished Work #60: "Untitled" (Finished)

I never felt up to publishing this, but I've been rewatching BoJack and felt it'd be good to put here! A little goodbye to an old friend between Hollyhock and Diane.

Title: N/A

Summary: N/A

"Sorry about this," the horse said. "You're probably really busy with writer things."

"You wanna know what I was going to do before coming out on the porch to have a smoke and chat with you?" Diane asked dryly. "I was about ten seconds away from telling my husband I was going out onto the porch to have a smoke. It's not even half the inconvenience you think it is."

"Oh," she responded, and fell silent.

Diane let out a gust of lung cancer in a long, drawn-out sigh. Texas is pretty in postcards but hotter than the sun in person, with the added bonus of all sorts of creepy crawlies straight out of the official nightmare catalogue, but it's kind of nice? There's trees everywhere. Lots of open, bumpy land. The spider currently weaving its web a few feet from her isn't even venomous- it's an orb weaver of some sort. All in all, better than death.

It'd be nicer if her company talked, though.

"Let me guess," Diane prompted, making her jump. "You're Hollyhock, right?"

"Bojack told you about me?" Hollyhock asked, ignoring her question.

"He told all his friends about you. He was really excited to have family he didn't loathe with all his being."

"Oh," she repeated, softer this time.

"Relax, you're not gonna end up on his wiki page or anything. And, for what it's worth, I'm really happy to meet you in person. You're shorter than I thought you'd be."

Hollyhock looked at her hands, where her phone was situated, then back at Diane. "Bojack's told me about you, too. He talked a lot about a lot of things, but you especially."

"And that made you think I had answers?"

She shrugged helplessly.

Diane took another drag. "You want the truth? He's an asshole. Whatever you feel or suspect about him is absolutely vindicated."

"Yeah." she said. "But I miss him anyway. Isn't that... awful?"

"No? I don't think it is. I mean, the part that sucks about people is that they're more than just one thing. Sure, Bojack is a sleezy, emotionally-abusive jerk who's slept with almost every woman he's ever met, but he also sends stupid little text messages about stuff he saw on his drive home, and one time when he got drunk he sang the lollipop song and it was actually the prettiest thing ever, and he helps you pack even though he complains the whole time. He's all that shit."

"He once threw his mom's doll out a window."

"I know. He told me."

"He did?"

"He's always drunk-dialed me. Fifteen years now, and I'm his drunk-dial SOS." Diane considered her cigarette a moment. It was her first one of the day. A new record low. "I never met her, but I spoke to Beatrice twice- for his book."

"Oh, yeah, that thing. I never read it?"

"It sold alright, but it wasn't the next great American novel. Anyway, I called the retirement home to get a statement- got the phone number off of Bojack's long-time manager and friend Princess Carolyn- and called. This was before the dementia really ate up her brain- think, I dunno, almost nine years before you knew her- and she was still pretty sharp. I said, 'hi, this is Diane Nyguyen, I'm ghost-writing a novel about your son, Bojack' and she said, 'what, is he too lazy to write it himself'?"

Hollyhock winced. "Woof."

"Oh, I'm just getting started." Diane flicked some ash away. "We went in circles a bit, but eventually I laid it out for her. 'Mrs. Horseman', I said, 'I'm writing about your son's life, and as such I have called to see if you had any note-worthy stories or quotes you'd like to add'. She was pretty quiet for a minute. Then she said, 'sure, why not, I'm dying anyway. Might as well debase myself even more.' She told me all about her husband, Butterscotch-"

"Bojack never said much about him."

"There wasn't much to say, honestly. Bojack took after him and he always hated himself for it. Beatrice despised her husband for being unfaithful, bitter, and sexist. And she told me, 'now, put this in your little book, girl, and put it word-for-word. Bojack took after him, but he had the sense to be a bit quieter about it; which is a bit like saying the hissing roach is less disturbing to the eyes than the American one because it eats leaves instead of garbage. They're both insects, and they're both a waste of the paper their books were written on'." She paused. "Gotta say, she was damn eloquent."

Hollyhock winced again. "Double woof."

"It's the one story I never put into One Trick Pony. Not because I thought she'd regret saying it, or because it wouldn't fit the tone of the book, but because I knew it'd rip Bojack apart. Even back then, I was putting him above my own job. He has a way of worming into things like that." Diane stamped out the rest of the smoke, then pulled out another one. "I used to smoke like a freight train, but now it's only when I get worked up. Sorry about the second-hand."

Hollyhock was quiet again, but this time it was more pensive than anything else. "I... wrote him a letter. I actually don't even know if he read it, because he kept sending me voicemails telling me he would, but he never told me he did before I changed my number. I thought it'd be over. I thought I was moving on, but..."

"Moving on isn't the same as moving away," Diane said. "Trust me. I've packed houses before. But even now, I still find myself looking for him in the news, or thinking back to the good times we had."

"Mhmm. He tried to learn sports for me, you know? Because he wanted to cheer me on. And that still means a lot to me. But then I remember that interview, and I just... I just can't do it. I can't talk to someone who's done stuff like that."

"That's completely in your right! I know you're a grown-up, but you're still pretty young, you know? Bojack's in his fifties. His problems shouldn't be on anyone, but they especially shouldn't be on you."

"You won't tell him I came, will you? I know you're friends, but..."

"I think your definition of friendship is a bit different from us, kiddo. I mean, we haven't spoken in almost a year now. I just go see his movies, and he sends me long rambling reviews about my books, and we follow each other on social media."

"That feels like friendship," she concurred. "Mrs. Nyguyen?"

"God, don't. Diane."

"Diane. Did you and Bojack….?"

"Nope. But not because he didn't want to. I was dating when we first met, and married a good chunk of the time I lived in L.A. Now I'm married again. If I hadn't been... well, he would've tried, if nothing else."

"And you?"

She pursed her lips. "There was a time where I lived in his house and spent every day getting shitfaced drunk, and nothing skeevy happened. He'd come home, I'd be drunk and when was Bojack not drunk? We'd drink more and we'd watch reruns of Horsin' Around. I liked that. It wasn't healthy, but I liked it. And I liked him. I try not to think too hard about it, but... I dunno, honestly."

Hollyhock pulled her knees to her chest. "I came here hoping to find a way to stop missing him. Now I just miss him even more? I hate emotions."

Diane smiled. It was bittersweet. "Now you sound like a true Horseman."

[normalbeast-downformaintenance]

Not a food allergy but nothing makes it evident how fucking batshit insane it is that products that give off cancerous toxic fumes are sold and consumed literally everywhere in civilization with little regulation as having a severe tobacco smoke allergy. I have had to go several blocks at a time holding my breath (yes, you read that right) and had pretty bad reactions several times just this year because someone was smoking somewhere they shouldn't be smoking.

And all of this is because consumption of cigarettes, e-cigs, cigars, etc. is so fucking normalized and because capitalism values the individual's right to consume a product over the right of anyone in their presence not to be exposed to literal poison.

This isn't meant as a jab against people who smoke, it's hard to help being addicted, but rather at how capitalism will push extremely unhealthy and outright dangerous products to the point where whole cities and countries become inaccessible and dangerous to some people

the uncommon allergy haver to anticapitalist pipeline

[theindependentfox]

Poppin' cherries and relivin' memories

Tomorrow, Freddy and I leave for my parents' beach house. The detox will begin. The pain. The struggle. The re-opening of wounds, the psychological games, the withdrawal symptoms. I'm trying to prepare myself as best I can but somehow, I don't think anything I do, say, or think, will be enough preparation for what I'm about to put myself through.

No caffeine, nicotine, alcohol or dope. Sober.

It's a bit of a scary thought. The last time I was sober was at 16 years old. It was New Years Eve, I was at friend-of-a-friends' house party. I had a ten pack of Woodstock pre-mixes and I drank too many in my first hour there. For those of you playing along at home, that's 1.5 standard drinks to a can. A lot of alcohol for a tiny little 16 year old. I don't remember the person's house (whoever it was). I remember drinking in their front yard. I remember my best mate shaking me awake in the bushes. I remember hearing voices. I remember vomiting out my parents' car window. Dad had to pull over into a rotary club car park. I don't know who got me out of the car, who had their hand on my back. Next thing I know, I'm waking up on a mattress with my two best mates. I was not only violently ill, I was embarrassed. I had let down my parents. I had ruined my mates' NYE. I was heartbroken and very strict on myself from then. I went sober for a year.

The first time I tried weed, I had way too much, had a panic attack and had to be soothed to sleep by my girlfriend. I vowed never to smoke again.

The second time I tried it, was NYE at 17 years old. And the only reason why I wanted to was because I was away with my girlfriend's family, they had all been drinking, and I had one day left on my sober year. I was determined to make it past that night without alcohol, even though nobody would've known any better if I'd had some. So I smoked instead. It was a wonderful night.

The first time I tried cigarettes, I was at another house party (why do all these stories sound the same? Stupid peer pressure). It was in my sober year. I was driving, and dropping friend's home etc. A boy in my grade didn't drink, but he smoked. He offered me a cigarette. I took a drag of his instead was instantly nauseated. I disgusted myself. I went to the bathroom and threw up into the sink. I left the party pretty quick after that. But it already had it's hold on me. I found a place in the city that sold to underagers, and went and bought a pack. I remember smoking before choir practice, and then choking on my own voice during rehearsals.

This post has a strong message.

This time in my life, ages 16-17, was very hard for me. Looking back, I was acting out because all the attention was directed onto my younger brother. He was mentally ill. Abusive. My home life was a mess. Adrenaline constantly poured through my veins as I wondered every day if I had to stand up to him. I tried my hardest to protect my parents, but I wasn't always around. Sometimes I would come home to see my Mum crying. Other times, I realised only a few years ago, she was crying for me. Not that I knew it at the time.

I broke up with my girlfriend just before I was 18. She was also extremely mentally ill and I couldn't handle it alongside my home-life trauma. It was like everywhere I looked, people were sad. I didn't want any part of it anymore. She threatened to commit suicide if we broke up. I still left, knowing I needed to prioritise myself. Of course, I still worried excessively. One night, her friend called me and asked me to come talk her down from a depression spiral. They had been drinking in the grounds of a primary school and things were getting out of control. Not wanting her to hurt herself, I drove there in a hurry.

Even writing this, I've frozen. This is my deepest trauma. And it's blurry. My brain has tried to block it out. I will write about this next week, when I'm safe in my parents' beach house. I don't think I'm quite there yet.

A few things grew exponentially during this time of my teenage hood. Anger. Frustration. Anxiety. Depression.

I developed an eating disorder to try to have some sort of control over my life. I looked great. I felt awful. I didn't like making myself vomit because I hated the taste of stomach bile, it made me feel sick. Even to this day, brushing my back teeth is difficult. It makes me gag. It reminds me of a time I'd like to forget.

But this week is about remembering. Acknowledging. Facing it all head-on. Understanding. Raising blame up and away from me. Because it wasn't my fault. It wasn't anyone's. It was a ugly situation and I, unfortunately, took the brunt of it. This wasn't just a few weeks of horrific events. This was years. I woke up every morning wondering if I was strong enough to deal with whatever was going to happen that day. With little or no support from my parents. I don't blame them. They were so preoccupied with my brother, I hid my feelings. They didn't need to deal with my crap as well. They needed me to be strong. At such an impressionable age, it would've been a miracle for me to come out the other side unscathed.

Over the years, I had to deal with four more attempted suicides. Two of those times were a romantic interest who then became my husband. Read into that what you will.

These are stories for another time.

[yourstrulyaiko]

o𓆩♡𓆪; MY HAPPY ENDING PT.2 | HEADCANON 𓆩♡𓆪  

╰┈➤ featuring; boku no hero academia! drummer! bakugou katsuki! x lead singer! fem! reader  

જ about; Heartbreaks. Aches. Dreams shattered. You feel like there was no bridging between you and your goal as an artist. Especially since the bridge that connected you that was your ex-boyfriend, Shindo, who you met at club. Now, that you’re separated. You thought, that was it. No more. Well, you thought wrong.

જ contents and warning; profanity cause bakugou is on it, asshole bakugou, cigarettes, smoking, angst, drummer bakugou, band au, fluff, romance, drama, paparazzi, cheating, break ups, toxic relationships, getting physical (the bad kind) and many more that I have definitely missed.

જ author's note; I actually have a lots and lots of chapter about band au which needs to be revised and re-written. unedited. this is long.

The concert in Tokyo was such a success. It was unexpected if you were being honest.

Since Tokyo Lights is independent who produces their own music video and music, many companies were willing to sign you.

The Tokyo show was going viral everywhere now that you, the lead singer has proven themselves to worthy.

A lot of fans are turning around and willing to give you a chance.

Tokyo Show attendees are tweeting out things like;

“THE BEST SHOW EVER. I was a bit of skeptic of this lead singer (First name) because Camie is amazing, I was even willing to cancel my ticket. But, I’m glad I didn’t. Controversial opinion, (First name)-san is way better of a vocalist.”

“I’m so glad that I didn’t cancel my ticket. So worth it. Where’s the day 2 show?”

“You can’t even compare (First name) and Camie. Camie is an okay vocalist compared to (First name). She’s on another level.”

“Out of all the concerts I’ve been to, this one is the best. (First name) really brought out the amazing rush. Would be willing to spend VIP.”

Remember those fans who cancelled their tickets?

After, seeing all the clips and tweet about the Tokyo show. They’re willing to re-purchase it. A good majority are them are spending more because of it.

Of course, there’s still people that refuse.

But, there are fans that are casual listeners are now spending a bit of money to come see Tokyo Lights.

All their music before you? Well, now apparently, it’s not Camie who sang it.

It’s you.

They’re charting. Going viral. Everyone is talking about Tokyo Lights?

The downfall?

Nope, you thought that was the heights of their career. You joining the band is the height of Tokyo Lights.

Let’s talk about the first song you wrote in the band. My Happy Ending.

It took two days for you to write the lyrics.

Major news site and gossip sites are talking about you and the song you wrote.

Jirou revealed you took a bit of control when it comes to production. She said,

“I’ve never produced for someone like her. She’s not just a singer. She’s an artist.”

“Honestly, I loved it too when she told me about producing freely. Do whatever I want. Then, we can tweak it together.”

Now, everyone is going crazy.

It’s climbing up the charts really quickly

Everyone is writing about Tokyo Lights.

It’s overwhelming. The amount of eyes on the band.

“New Lead Singer of Tokyo Lights, (First name) proves haters wrong.”, “An upcoming band of the year?” “Song of the Year? My Happy Ending”, “Why you shouldn’t underestimate Tokyo Lights.” “Camie, who? (First name) is here to save the day.

My Happy Ending charted and skyrocketed to number 1. Both in Japan and Globally.

The tour that seen as a big flop?

Well, now it’s back to sold out.

Fans who cancelled are rapid tweeting,

“UGH. I shouldn’t have cancelled.”

“DOES ANYONE HAVE GOLDEN CIRCLE? I SOLD MINE AND NOW I WANT IT BACK AFTER HEARING ABOUT THE SHOW BEING THE BEST.”

“I’m so fucking sad about selling my VIP ticket. No one is willing to sell theirs. Day 2 for Amsterdam pls.”

“I’m looking at my friend with jealousy. I cancelled. She didn’t. KMS.”

The band is overwhelmed so they decided to put up statement on their official social platform

“Hey, everyone! Tokyo Lights here.

Everything is moving forward to quickly. We know, from our previous lead singer leaving to a completely new one. We thank Camie for being with us. We wish you all the best.

In this time, we can’t afford to sit around. This is our dream and passion, we have to keep moving forward. With the surge of new fans and old fans, we can’t thank you enough for giving (First name) a chance. We know it’s a lot to ask.

We are speechless. We can’t formulate our thoughts. We know that you demand more shows but, we have an upcoming project to bring before kicking it off to another world tour. Please be patient with us.

Love,

Tokyo Lights”

People are hyped.

A new upcoming project definitely means an album.

Now, let’s get back to the band.

Everyone; Mina, Jirou, Sero, Denki, Kirishima, Bakugou and you are going out drinking to celebrate for the successful show.

Since, I didn’t talk about everyone’s appearance and role.

I’M GOING TO TALK ABOUT IT 

Bakugou 

The dummer.

Is a fit and big guy he’s one of the tallest

Bakugou is definitely the most muscular out of all them,

THICK THIGHS

He has those arm band tattoo around his bicep

A dragon with the head on his pec and the body goes up his shoulder around to his upper back then the tail around to his other shoulder.

So it looks like it’s just hanging around his neck.

One on his upper arm.

He is decorated.

He also has a couple piercings; on his tongue, a helix and orbital on his left ear and ofc a lobe.

Kirishima 

The electric guitar player

He’s fit, big and tall

This man is almost 6ft7

He’s big and big

THE TALLEST. Everyone is always intimidated by him

He doesn’t have any tattoos but he is pierced

A bar on his left eyebrows, a nostril eyebrows and lip.

Feel free to find out where his other piercings are.

He wears clothes alright. Not properly.

His toned torso is always showing especially when he’s performing.

Denki

Bassist

He’s the shortest out of the boys

And he’s not super muscular.

But he’s got buff arms.

Veiny ones too

He has ear piercings; helix, spider lip piercing and lobe ones 

He’s defo planning to get more.

He has some tattoos but not so much.

It’s one of those small ones.

This man wears a lot of rings 

Sero

The pianist

Also, the creative director

Always wearing a beanie

Doesn’t matter if its hot.

He’s wearing it

Now, it’s an official merch of Tokyo Lights

Especially for the Sero ladies, they have all the different colours

He has piercings; on his ears helix motherfucker is stacked, septum, eyebrows, lips and on the bridge of his nose too

Tattoos inside of his arm

Mina

The stylist and makeup artist.

She doesn’t have much piercing surprisingly

Only her helix and lobe

Has bright pink hair

It reaches about to her upper back

No one has ever seen this girl without pink hair

Jirou

The producer and manager

Has highlights

Always wearing leather jackets

DEFO HAS TATTOOS YOU CAN’T CONVINCE ME OTHERWISE

The minimalist and tiny ones 

On the back of her neck, wrists and her rib,

Anyways

Back to the headcanon.

Out to a nice restaurant. It’s your first time being in a fancy restaurant.

Shit.

There’s a fucking chandelier in the middle of the room

They got candles and shit. They got those fancy ceilings too

You’re admiring everything cause a broke bitch got to.

Then, in the midst of your trance, Bakugou bumped into you

(Purposefully too)

He grunts at you

“Hurry the fuck up.”

Okay then... Bitch

You’re at the front desk. While Sero was talking to the front deak lady,

You’re just out here feeling up and looking at everything.

Oh, that statue over there.

That’s 500,000k right there.

Not to mention they frequent here.

Then here you are the poor bitch.

Kirishima noticed that you’re fidgeting uncomfortably.

“Hey, you look nervous? You okay?” He puts his hand on your shoulder,

“I- Uh, I’ve just never been to a restaurant like this before.”

“Maybe you should fucking head home then.” Bakugou spoke which earned a smack on his arm from Mina.

“Stop it.” She hisses.

Bakugou would only roll his eyes, once your table is set.

This man was the first one to get there.

He made sure to sit as far away possible from you.

The man’s even went on to order himself a whole bottle of wine.

Because “He needs to be drunk to be breathing the same air as you.”

While waiting for dinner, this was the chance for them to get to know you better.

Everyone was asking you a bunch of question.

Denki was flirting with you most of the time.

Bakugou was not interested at all.

He was enjoying his own company and tuning everyone out.

You also revealed that your boyfriend had broken up with you before joining Tokyo Lights.

A lot of apologetic looks and the girls were comforting you.

You didn’t mention anything else or nature relationship.

You didn’t think it was necessary.

Though you felt a little teary about it but tried to hide it.

It went smoothly.

Dinner was at least.

Bakugou didn’t say anything and stayed quiet, kept to himself.

Which was good for you cause you’re too exhausted to be dealing with his little jibe comments.

As you were leaving the restaurant,

There was a tip off to the paparazzi that the famous Tokyo Lights was there.

So, the staff warned all of you beforehand and they would help you leave the premises by going through the back door.

Bakugou was pissed cause after eating dinner.

The man just wants to go home and sleep since you all have a Kyoto show the day after tomorrow.

Once, he bursts out the door.

He’s glaring at everyone and shouting at the paparazzi to ‘get the fuck out of his way’

Well, that’s one thing he was good for.

There was  quick flashes of lights everywhere you look.

Thankfully, Kirishima and Bakugou were standing in front of you

Cause you wouldn’t be seeing a thing right now.

They’re pretty interested in photographing everyone as a whole.

But, one in particular stuck to them like a sore thumb

THATS YOU BESTIE

The paparazzi was shouting your name. Trying to get your attention

Sero threw his arm around and put his hand out in front of your face to avoid you getting blinded.

While Kirishima was trying to get everyone to move out of the way.

The van was parked not too far away

Immediately people started to gather around it, Sero and Kirishima made sure you were the first one to get in the van 

Followed by Bakugou 

SO NOW YOU’RE SITTING NEXT TO THIS BIG FUCKER.

You know what makes it worse?

Kirishima is sat next to him.

So you’re squashed up against the tinted window.

While driving away, you’re just wiggling trying to get some space 

I mean, come on?

Imagine being squashed by two buff ass men together?

Bakugou whips his head around and shoots you a glare,

“Fucking stop that.”

“I need space. You’re squishing me!”

“So, what? Deal with it.”

Bakugou crosses his arm over his chest

Making you even more squished again

So, you retaliate back.

You lightly elbow his side to try and get more room for yourself.

He would move around too to fight back for that FUCKING SPACE HE DIDN’T NEED.

“Stop it!” You hiss lowly.

“You fuck off.”

Thankfully, you didn’t have to suffer that long since the driver ask where you live

You tell him.

Once you arrive, you made sure to throw Bakugou your middle finger. 

Both of them.

Waving it around aggressively while the van door slowly come to a close.

You could see him being so pissed off and you could hear a muffled scream as it drives away.

Let’s talk about, you now.

You live in Shibuya.

In a small studio apartment, it’s a pretty shit one but it’s the only one you could afford.

You worked 3 jobs. Along with having to practice with your ex-boyfriend’s band.

You were stressed and having to balance all the responsibilities to live.

That night, where you and your boyfriend broke up. Sat outside the club while there was muffled music playing. 

You were puffing away a cigarette. Something you never did before until you started dating Shindo.

You were approached by Kirishima and ask for your name, how old you were and how long have you been singing for.

He had a small chatter and he even smoked with you.

Then he mentioned that there was no lead singer anymore for his band and he dropped the ball, asked if you wanted to join Tokyo Lights.

You were silent about it. Thinking about it.

He gives you his phone number and told you to think about it.

It was a couple days later, you decided to call him and agree to join the band.

That’s how you joined the band.

It wasn’t till weeks later the news blew up.

You’re going to have to get used to this new life quickly.

It’s been a day of break.

Jirou texted you a night before (she got your number from Kirishima)

Reminding you to wake up early since you have to get to Tokyo Station to catch the Shinkansen to get to Kyoto.

She also reminded you to pack clothes because you will be going to Osaka and Hiroshima after Kyoto.

So, you did.

It was 4am. You’re already at the station.

Kirishima, Denki and Mina being sunshine and so energetic. 

You don’t know where they store it in.

With a rich bad like Tokyo Lights obvs

FIRST CLASS BABYYYY

And Camie is not in the band anymore. Guess which seat has is for you?

HAHAHA THAT’S RIGHT NEXT TO BAKUGOU

Bakugou of course demanded to switch seats with Denki or else he’ll kill him.

But Kirishima was nope. You gotta learn how to get along with her.

So, now you’re stuck sat next to him.

With Bakugou complaining the whole way 

But you tuned him out because

THE FUCKING SPACE, LUXURIOUS AND COMFORTABLE SEATS 

Baby, this is the first class life.

While you’re in the train, you decide to do some work

Bestie, I know you can’t do that

So you slept.

When you arrived, Bakugou got up and didn’t bother to wake you

This guy grabbed his duffel bag from the above head compartment 

THIS BITCH PURPOSEFULLY HIT YOU WITH HIM

Jolting you awake.

He cheekily smirks at you,

Oh, it’s on.

So, guess what you did.

You whack him acorss his shin with your won very luggage while getting out the station

The glare

OH THE GLARE.

He was annoyed, alright.

What did you do?

You smirked back at that motherfucker too.

AT THE VENUE

Sound check and rehearsals time

Since, you’re thrown into touring. 

This was essential every time you have to perform. 

Since, they had to tie up any loose ends.

You’re doing pretty well if you do say so yourself because you’re catching up rather quickly.

But, this still isn’t good enough for Bakugou

Another reason for Bakugou to be pissed at you.

You have learnt that this man is a perfectionist. 

He’s a talented person too which kind of goes with being him being a perfectionist.

It has to be great. Even during rehearsal which is a time for you to make a few mistakes to get corrected.

But this motherfucker is picking at shit.

What irked you the most was this piece of shit was telling you for drinking water.

DRINKING WATER CAUSE YOUR THROAT IS GETTING DRY.

AN ESSENTIAL FOR PEOPLE WHO SPEAK CONSTANTLY OR SING.

“What? Can’t handle this shit?” “Need a break all the time. The fuck do you expect, just relaxing. Eating at some fancy restaurant.” “You don’t get to fucking slack off while we do all work.”

He’s got all that from you needing water? 

He made a whole damn novel

Like 

Who the fuck do you think he is?

“Bakugou.” Kirishima warns. Wanting to finish rehearsals already cause he’s hungry and wants to rest before the actually show.

You’re getting pissed off honestly.

You tried biting your tongue just to keep the peace

But, nope you had enough.

“Then just fucking kick me out and look for someone else. Better yet, just don’t have a singer since you think you’re too fucking good for anyone.” “Let’s see where this goes.”

OH YOU JUST OPENED A WHOLE RAGE.

Sero and Denki in the corner are shook

They’re like, 0.0

You could see, Bakugou clenching his jaw and the vein on the side of his head just popping up.

He was gripping on tightly on his drumsticks.

He stood up, knocking off the drum stool.

He was stomping his feet.

He was mad.

FUCKING SEETHING.

He was all up on your face. 

Not gonna lie, you swore you’re gonna piss yourself.

Cause you know he’s tall but not this tall.

TT.TT

You’re having regrets challenging this big motherfucker now.

I mean, he’s barely shorter than Kirishima.

Here you are with your midget ass self

FUCKING TRYING FIGHT A GIANT

The confidence in you-

“The fuck did you say?” Katsuki challenged you.

“You fucking heard me.” 

Kirishima steps in between you two.

“Alright, let’s stop this. We’re done with rehearsal.” Kirishima says to try and simmer out the situation.

Bakugou could only scoff and leave throwing up his middle finger.

The three remaining band mates could only give a mutter of apology.

You went around for a walk to get some fresh air. 

It’s exhausting, it was so nice to be living your dream.

But, it’s not so nice to not be accepted. 

It feels like everything is going to fast.

Especially with just leaving your toxic relationship.

You felt empty. 

You wanted to go back to Shindo’s arms.

Speaking of-

For reason, he’s calling you.

If this bitch ass-

Anyways,

You don’t know why he’s calling.

It was like a drug that you’re being drawn back to him,

So you answered.

“So,you think you’re big shot now, huh?” He spat

“What?”

“Don’t think I know what you’re doing.” Shindo continues, “Trying to rub it in my face?”

You’re trembling and tearing up at this point

It’s like the words are stuck in your throat. You can’t say what you want to say

“Remember, (First name). You’re nothing.” “You’re always a fucking nobody.” “You were fucking nothing with or without me.” “Remember that, you’re a nobody.”

“Oh, I get it.” He laugh spitefully, “You sucked some dicks to get where you are, huh? I knew you were a little slut.”

“Who was it? Just one of them? Two? Three or all of them at once?”

“That never-”

“Oh, it never happened.” Shindo mocks sarcastically, “I knew that was something you were going to say. Dumb bitch.”

The whole phonecall was just him degrading you.

Telling you that you aren’t worth it.

It went on for an hour.

He didn’t let up even after hearing your sobs.

He bathe in your misery, he loved hearing you beat down.

Oh, he hoped you stay like that.

Mina made sure to dress you so cute and nicely.

She had you wearing those chunky boots.

As usual, she got you into those denim short skirts and simple cropped shirt. Accessories too obvs. Made your hair all pretty.

After all, it’s been a while she actually dressed someone up properly.

Bakugou would have his shirt on but remove it halfway, Kirishima likes open shirts showing off his abs, Sero refuses to take off his beanie even if it didn’t go with his outfit and Denki. Oh, Denki.

Denki likes ripped jeans. Always with the ripped jeans.

You asked her why she keeps putting you on these short skirts.

“You have nice figure and nice legs. You have to show it off.”

You’re so nervous. You already performed a day ago but the pressure is immense

Especially since now they have an expectation now.

You’re afraid of disappointing everyone.

The staff around you help strap the ear piece pack onto you.

“Are you ready, (First name)?” You heard someone speak into it.

The familiar booming beat and rhythm of the drums came alive as the cheers into life.

“Be prepared to get into stage.”

“In 3... 2... 1....”

Your heart jumped into your throat, thumping against your chest.

The fans were screaming their lungs out 

You grinned brightly and waved to them.

“Kyoto.” You spoke into the mic, “You’re looking real sexy tonight.”

They all broke into applaud and whoops.

“Start singing in 3... 2.... 1...”

On stage, you were having the time of your life.

You’re out here shaking your ass, you were hoping all over the stage, feeling yourself, giving some fan service for people who are near the stage etc

The audience was mesmerized.

You were flirting it up with people too which didn’t help the crowd

They were already so wild.

What you were doing ma’am is getting wilder and getting them a little gay.

You were making sure to give a lot of eye-contact.

They were on the verge of fainting because

Honey, you’re too hot for your own good.

You tried to put on the best show despite not being mentally there.

It seems like no one has noticed since 

Once again, the show was praised to be spectacular.

Before leaving Kyoto

You were invited to a photo shoot for a local magazine.

Those photos from the magazine? 

Well, it was used to replace their previous band photo cover on their social media.

Tokyo Lights even deleted a lot of their posts that had Camie in it.

Because this is it.

This a new fresh start for everyone

That applies to you too,

Hence why the reason, you wanted to write about your experience with being a toxic relationship. 

So...

Introducing Love on the Brain Era.

TAGS WHO ASKED FOR PART 2

@bluebreadenthusiast

[blatantlyright]

Bloodlust

_______________________

BillyxReaderxEddie

Tw: NSFW, violence, blood, BDSM, sex, drugs, alcohol, unsafe and generally offensive activities and language

18+ MINORS DNI

This is a 3 part smut-centered story on Wattpad. If anyone sees this and wants the other 2 parts, let me know in comments and I will share.

Pt 2 is here

____________________

Part I

  Smoke billows out of the window of Billy's Chevy Camaro. There aren't many cars in the parking lot, but Billy saw what he's looking for. His mouth waters as he took the last hit on his cigarette and tosses it out his window. The van is parked near the stage door. For a moment, Billy considers smashing out all the windows and slashing the tires. The Munson freak would never recover.

He was wearing dark brown leather boots, tight faded blue jeans, and a black leather jacket with nothing underneath. If blood was shed, he'd rather wear it on his skin than ruin a perfectly good shirt. His curly brown hair rested perfectly at this shoulders, still wet from his shower.

Eddie Munson had sold Billy some pills that were supposed to help him sleep. That was four days ago. Billy hadn't slept since. At first, he considered the possibility he needed to take more for it to kick in. By the time he had taken the third pill, it was pretty evident he wasn't going to be getting rest anytime soon.

The man at the door nodded at Billy as he made his way inside. The Hideout was a small bar full of junkies and drunks. Nowhere else in the state of Indiana would allow such garbage to try to pass itself off as music. Billy liked metal, he liked lots of music, but Corroded Coffin was a joke, an insult to Ozzy Osbourne himself.

Eddie had been one of the first people to try to befriend Billy when his family had moved to Hawkins. Except for women, Billy had no interest in relationships. The two had almost become friends over the last year. Eddie always gave Billy a hell of a discount on coke, and Billy had hidden Eddie under his bed when the cops tried to arrest him for spray painting "DIE PIGS" on a Hawkins Police patrol car that had been parked at Lover's Lake.

None of that mattered anymore. Billy knew Eddie was jealous of him. Women flocked to Billy. In public. Eddie got plenty of pussy, but it was the back alley, don't tell your friends, I'll pretend I don't know you if you say hi to me kind. Billy was drowning in female attention everywhere he went. Part of it was his muscular build and part of it was how he fucked you with his eyes, whether he meant to or not.

Gareth saw Billy and waved. Billy didn't break his gaze from Eddie's scrawny frame. It would be so easy to rip him off the stage and spill his blood across the bar floor. Directly in front of Eddie, staring up from the crowd, was a breathtaking girl Billy recognized from home room.

You were drunkenly singing (screaming?) along to their cover of Shot in the Dark by Ozzy Osborne. You eyes were glassy and pink. The way you swayed your hips made Billy wonder if you'd move like that if you were on top of him in his bed. He cleared his throat just behind you. The noise startled you.

"Oh, hey Billy," you slurred, looking up and back and him. He took out a cigarette and lit it, maintaining eye contact with you. "Hey gorgeous," he flirted, placing a firm grip on your hip. "That's our last song for the night, thank you so much!", Eddie spoke into the microphone before walking off stage and placing his guitar in its case.

Billy leaned into your ear, nuzzling his nose into your hair, breathing you in deeply. "I'm here for business, but let's meet back here in 20, alright doll face?" Billy walked away with a sharp tap of your ass. You giggled at yourself, already wet from such a simple exchange.

"Hey freak!", Billy shouted. He grabbed Eddie by the shoulder and slung him around. You had seen Billy and Eddie talking at school, you assumed this was some silly hazing between friends. As you asked for another drink, you heard the sound of a fist cracking into a face. Eddie screamed. Blood flew from his mouth. "What the fuck Billy?", Eddie asked. He had one hand over his busted lip and the other up in the air.

"You sold me fucking speed, Eddie. I asked you for some sleeping pills and you gave me some shit that, honestly, I don't think I'll ever sleep again after taking these." Billy swung at Eddie again, connecting with his ribs. "What the hell, man?", Eddie screeched. "Stop! I can't fix shit if you kill me!" Eddie tried to run past Billy, but Billy grabbed him by the throat and forced him to make eye contact.

"I am going to ruin you," he growled. Eddie spit in his face. The blood and spit running down Billy's mouth almost made you throw up. Watching Billy break Eddie's face was rapidly killing your arousal. The idea of getting fucked by someone who could do this to a friend over a bad drug deal dried you up. "That was a mistake," Billy whispered.

As Eddie flew across the bar and slammed into the dart boards, the bartender pointed his hand toward the door and told both of them they needed to leave. "Gladly!", Billy shouted, grabbing you by the wrist as he went to the door. You pulled back, slowly sobering up from all of the tension. "I'm good," you said, shaking your head at him. "Are you kidding me?", Billy scoffed at you. He released you and turned to leave. As he got out of the door, Eddie flung himself on Billy's back and started shoving his fingers into Billy's eyes.

"Son of a bitch!", Eddie cried. "Fuck you fuck you fuck you!" He was sobbing, scratching at Billy's hair trying to get a good grip on it. Billy laughed, seemingly unfazed. He reached up behind himself and locked his arms around Eddie. In an instant, Eddie was on his back in front of Billy.

You had followed them outside, worried Billy might really kill Eddie if left unchecked. Eddie was rolling around on the asphalt, screaming every curse word he knew. Billy lifted his foot, aiming to stomp Eddie in the head. It all happened in slow motion. You screamed for him to stop, tripping over your own feet and knowing Billy to the ground. The three of you all got up and dusted yourselves off.

"Change your mind, babe?", Billy asked. He turns your face to him, leaning in for a kiss. You break free and run over to Eddie. "Are you ok?", you ask. Eddie shakes his head. "Nah, man. Not at all. What the fuck is wrong with you?", he yells, puffing his chest at Billy. You stand between them, half excited at the pressure they're both putting on you trying to yell at each other.

You stomp your foot and try hard to push them apart. "Billy!", you scream. "Why are you here?" Billy licks the sweet from his top lip. "The other day this bastard sold me pills. He promised they'd help me sleep. I've been up for days." Eddie's eyes widen. "Do you have any of them left? I wanna see what I did."

Billy nodded. "They're at my house. I want my fucking money back." Eddie nodded, dabbing his bandana against his bleeding mouth. "No problem, man. I haven't sold anyone uppers in like two months. My connect left the state."

"Well," Billy sighed, "You're not getting out of this easily. I'm driving you to my place. I know better than to let you leave here in that van." Eddie glances at you. "Do you need a ride?", he asks. You look around to realize the two friends who brought you here had left. "I mean, yeah, but I can go call someone on the pay phone."

Eddie grabs you and pulls you towards Billy's car. "You're my witness. If he kills me, you have to tell the cops!" Billy lets out a wicked chuckle. "Fair enough." The drive to Billy's house is silent, save the sound of cigarettes lighting. You're uneasy, and you aren't drunk anymore. If you have to sleep with Billy to make it home, you've decided that's okay, but maybe Eddie can just drop you off once he gets back to his van...

Nobody is home at Billy's. "Don't you have a little sister?", you ask, pointing at the pink tennis shoes by the door. "Step sister. The bitch is probably off with her weird friends doing nerd shit." You nod, following Billy up the stairs to his bedroom. Eddie cowers behind you, still not fully recovered from the shock of getting hit in the face.

  "My dad and his wife are out of town until tomorrow," he says, opening his bedroom door. You pause in the doorway, rolling your eyes at the bikini clad blonde taped up on his closet door. Eddie grips your shoulders. He uses you as a shield against Billy. "When I'm right, you're going to pay me and then I'm going to kill you, Munson."

  Billy pulls a pill bottle out of his dresser and chucks it as Eddie. Eddie looks at the label. "Isn't this your step mom's name?", he asks, holding the bottle up so Billy can read. Billy's nostrils flare as Eddie bursts out laughing. "You hit me because you mixed up your shit!", he mocked, swinging fake punches towards Billy. "Let's go outside so I can get even!"

"How about we just go back to The Hideout and somebody take me home," you suggested. "Let's take Billy's mom's diet pills and punch some people in the face!", Eddie cheers. Billy takes off his boots and sits on his bed. "I bet you won't kiss her," he says to Eddie, pointing two fingers at you.

Eddie looked at you, looks at Billy, and puts his hands on his hips. "What?" Billy repeats himself. "I bet you won't kiss her. You don't have the balls." Eddie scrunches up his face in confusion. You look up at Eddie through your eyelashes, suddenly very attracted to him. You'd not yet realized how deep and dark his eyes were. "You don't have to," you frowned.

Your lips were suddenly smashed against his. Your hands were in his hair and his were wrapped around your waist. Billy's bed creaked as he shifted his weight to take off his belt and undo his zipper. You paid him no mind as Eddie squeezed your ass and pulled you closer to him. You were breathing in his breath, swallowing his spit, your core aching to be touched.

  A moan fell from your mouth into Eddie's. He reached to take off your shirt. "She's so pretty, isn't she?", Billy asked. Eddie looked over, surprised Billy was still there. You realized Billy's hand was stroking his impressive erection. "What exactly are we doing here?", Eddie asked. Billy raised an eyebrow at you.

  "I still want to kick your ass, Munson. But maybe, just maybe, we can work this out some other way. I like to watch." Eddie winced. "You want me to fuck her in front of you or you'll beat me up?" Billy nodded. His eyes burned right through you. You felt so vulnerable, so wanted, so turned on.

"I'm sorry, sweetheart. You don't deserve to be dragged through this bullshit. Hopefully I can still see straight to take you home after this pervert murders me." Eddie releases his grip on you, opening himself up for Billy to swing. Billy stands and he's only wearing boxers. His dick is so hard it's poking through the hole in the front of them.

Eddie closes his eyes and braces for impact. You keep your eyes on Billy. His muscles are too relaxed for fighting. You know better. Your breath catches in your throat as Billy nibbles on your earlobe. His left hand is unbuttoning your pants while his right hand is unhooking your bra. You're completely topless now.

  You moan quietly as Billy's tongue traces a circle around your nipple. Hearing this, Eddie peeks out and let's out a sigh of relief. "You guys enjoy yourselves," he huffs, heading for the door. Billy lets you go and jumps between Eddie and his exit. "No way, if I can't watch, you'll watch."

[normaltothemax]

Jason lets himself shut his eyes for just a moment. Lets himself pretend everything’s fine, lets himself melt into Kon, though he can’t quite lose all of the tension in his body, no matter how many pressure points Kon hits. No matter how good that hand feels in his hair, he’s still on edge. Once that moment is up, he’s opening his eyes again and staring at a singular point on the wall. He takes a breath to steady himself, and forces himself to talk. “Don’t…don’t say anything. Just let me get this out. I don’t think I’ll be able to finish if I stop.”

And he needs to get this out.

“When I was fifteen, B fired me. He took Robin away. I was pissed and upset, so I ran away, went back to the building I grew up in. Turned out, one of my old neighbours kept some of mine and my mom’s stuff. My birth certificate was in there and, according to that, Catherine wasn’t actually my mom. Not biologically, at least. I couldn’t make out the whole name, but I managed to narrow it down to three women, and I ran off looking for my birth mother. I found her in Ethiopia. Shelia Haywood.” There’s venom in his voice when he says her name. Clearly, as a mother, she left much to be desired.

“She was working as an aid worker out there. I was so excited that I found her. I was convinced we would be a family. So, when I found out that Joker was blackmailing her…I wanted to help her. She was my mom, you know?” He scoffs. “I was so stupid. She didn’t believe I could help her, ‘cause I was just a kid, so I told her I was Robin and she…” Even now, years later, the betrayal still stings. He takes a shuddering breath. “She sold me out to him. She’s the reason I was ever in that damn warehouse. She just stood there, smoked a cigarette and watched as the fucking clown beat me half to death with a crowbar. He locked her in there with me when he set the timer for the bomb. She didn’t expect that.”

A dark, self-deprecating chuckle escaped him. “I still tried to save her. When we couldn’t get the door open, I tried to shield her with my body. You know it wasn’t even the explosion that killed me? It was the smoke. I fucking choked to death, and the whole time, from the second she gave me up, all I could think was that Batman would save me. Bruce was coming and he would save me and everything would be okay.”

He swallowed thickly, took another steadying breath. “Obviously that didn’t happen. I died. They buried me. And six months later, I woke up in my coffin, six feet underground. Still don’t know how or why, but I did, and I was just…so fucking scared. I remember just…screaming and crying and begging for Bruce to save me. Again. And again, he didn’t, and I had to claw my way out with nothing but my hands and a goddamn belt buckle.

“I don’t remember much after that. There was dirt everywhere…in my ears and my eyes and my mouth. I remember not being able to breathe, choking on it. But I eventually made it out and after that…I dunno. Talia said I was in some sorta, like, walking coma. I had muscle memory, and I’d eat and go to the bathroom and fight back when someone attacked me and stuff, but I didn’t respond to anything else. The only real memory I have after digging myself out of my own grave is choking again. Being surrounded by green and drowning in the Lazarus Pit before I finally made it out. After that was just anger. I was so fucking angry. Killed a couple of Talia’s men before they got me under control.”

His fingers tapped absently against Kon’s hip, Jason’s tongue darting out to wet his lips. “The thing people don’t realize about the Pit is that it doesn’t just amplify anger. It’s all kinds of negative emotions. It…I’m pretty sure it suppresses a lot of the good shit, too, because I’ve been remembering a lot of stuff over the last little while that I don’t think I should’ve forgotten. Good memories from before I died that, up until I got them back, I didn’t think I had. It made it so easy to hate Bruce. To hate Tim. To want them to suffer for what I thought they did, because the Pit was right there, telling me I was right for hating them, giving me even more reasons why I should. Even now, when I lose it, everything goes green, and it doesn’t matter how bad whatever I’m doing is, or how wrong I know it is, the Pit makes me think it’s the right thing to do. It…it scares me. I fucking hate when that happens, even if it’s not nearly as often anymore.

“But back then it was basically all the time. There wasn’t a second that I didn’t hate them, and Talia used that, fed me selective information and twisted it, just to make it worse. I almost killed Tim to prove Bruce couldn’t protect his Robins, like that would force him to put an end to them altogether. I got Black Mask to break the Joker out of Arkham, kidnapped him, beat the shit out of him, and tried to get Bruce to kill him. I had Joker in front of me, gun to his head, and I threw a gun to B. Told him it was the clown or me. Only left him with the option of a headshot if he wanted to stop me.”

He huffs out a frustrated breath, hurt obvious in his voice as he continues. “He didn’t even have to kill him. Deep down I knew he wouldn’t. All he had to do was let me pull the trigger. All he had to do was nothing.” His jaw tightens, fingers tightening their hold on Kon’s hip. “Instead, he stopped me with a batarang to the throat. He chose my fucking murderer over me.”

For a few seconds, he’s silent, trying to calm his racing heart, steady his breathing, having worked himself up. “So, yeah. I have nightmares all the time,” which Kon already knows, “about a lot of that shit. Every once in a while, though, like…like tonight, I get a goddamn highlight reel. Everything gets mixed together and twisted even further. Half the time I wake up screaming. I’m kinda surprised I didn’t tonight.” He forces himself to let go of Kon’s hip, rubbing at his face with that hand instead.

“So, yeah. That’s…I mean, that’s not all of it, obviously, but it’s the majority. I’ve never…I mean, B and the others know most of it, I’m sure, but I never actually told anyone all that. I…I don’t think I’ve been able to.” Even now, he feels like shit. Tired and wrung out and like his entire soul has just been laid bare. There’s an age old ache in his chest, and he knows Kon can’t actually fix it—he can’t change any of it, can’t make that pain go away, but it doesn’t stop the childish part of Jason from wanting him to anyways.

a hum leaves him in a mocked annoyance at the suggestion that he stop listening to Jason's heartbeat. maybe when he was dead. but not a moment before would he stop checking in on them that way. Jason would just have to suck it up. he noses at the younger's cheek when he drops his head on his shoulder. not missing the little smile on his lips. good Jason deserved to smile all the time. though he knew it was likely never going to happen. the grumpy little drama queen.

Kon loved him anyway.

it's not difficult to allow Jason to manhandle him to the couch, amused with the position choice. though it made sense given the current situation. he only employs his TTK in order to shift them a little bit more. letting Jason use his stomach as a pillow instead of his leg. he doesn't waste any time getting his fingers into tangled curls. he doesn't really need Jason to talk to him. or even tell him anything. he was just trying to comfort his boyfriend in a way that he knew that he could. that phantom pressure returns to wrap around the younger's body. the hope was to hit all the pressure points that he could remember in order to help Jason relax.

the question catches him a little off guard, but he doesn't let it show. if Jason wanted to talk, then they could talk. whatever he needed to feel better.

"I know the basics, I guess. don't know how true it is. I probably only know the weird rumors that circulate the hero world. and we know how reliable all that is." he didn't want to assume that he knew what happened to the younger. he wanted to know for sure and hear it directly from Jason.

[skinsharpenedteeth]

Now for something totally new and unrelated to anything else... a prostitution au ficlet. (Malex, rated Mature)

...

“You know, they say you have a sex addiction…” Alex commented, rolling onto his stomach and reaching for his pack of cigarettes on the bedside table without glancing at Michael to gauge his expression.

 The whining window air conditioner cooled the sweat on his skin and did its best to combat the smell of sex that hung in the room. It would never get rid of it completely. Too many bodies had slaked their lust against every surface the room had to offer and then some. It would always smell like semen and despair despite Alex’s best efforts. He was the room’s sixth owner in two years. He’d worked his way up from the gloryholes and breeding benches to being a whore with his own fucking door and mattress. If there was such a thing as rank in a brothel besides madame and prostitute, he’d say he was working his way up quite quickly. He’d only been sold to Madame DeLuca’s three months ago and he’d never had to kneel in a fucking bathroom stall once.

“Who? The media?” Michael chimed in, moving to lay on his stomach beside him. He plucked the pack from Alex’s hand and fished out his own cigarette, sticking it between his lips and waiting for Alex to bring the lighter flame over to ignite for him. He sucked in a long drag before exhaling and moving back onto his back again, curls everywhere against the pillow. Alex looked over at him and admired the long length of his body and the completely unabashed way he showed it off. Guerin was a rich Antaran immigrant with royal connections back home. He was something of a celebrity on Earth, but Alex knew fuck all about what he did besides grace the gossip columns in various states of drunken distress.

“I would rather exchange sex for money. I know exactly what I’m getting. I don’t want to exchange sex for emotions, dependence, or dishonesty. I like to keep some things in my life simple,” he finally finished, not looking at Alex but instead staring with a faraway look at the dark ceiling above. 

Alex snorted and rolled to mirror Michael’s position, watching their smoke trails twist and join in the air above them. He felt so good right then. His body was warm and sated, his nerves alive but his brain finally fucking quiet. Michael was warm next to him, silent and undemanding. An idea occurred to him and before he could question it too much, he let it pass his lips. 

“You know, I could be that for you. You wouldn’t have to keep making a spectacle of yourself. Just put me up in some nice room in that big house of yours and keep me as your fuck doll. I’ll entertain myself when you’re away with online shopping sprees and nights with the girls. I could be the safe option. I promise not to fall in love with you. I’d be at your disposal for every carnal desire you can think up and then I’ll go back to my room before you’re even done wiping down.”

He felt Michael’s silent amusement as he continued to smoke his cigarette. A look from the corner of his eye showed Alex that Michael had almost a curl of a smile on his lips. After a moment, Michael spoke up. 

“You’d like that, would you? Trapped in some mansion in the middle of nowhere just waiting on some asshole to come home long enough to fuck you until you can’t walk straight and then be left alone again?” Michael asked, laughter somewhere buried under the acrid smoke in his lungs. 

“Isn’t that my life now? Trapped in this fucking brothel waiting for the madame to bring up another stranger to fuck me however he wants before sneering at me and leaving?”

“So what do I offer as an enticement to leave all this? At least you get variety here.”

Alex thought about how to answer that while he sucked in deep drags of smoke. He decided since his honesty so far hadn’t gotten him shot down immediately, he’d continue on that track.

“You’re got a pretty good cock on you for one. You’re handsome. You’re rich. You don’t want to save me. And you’ve already asked for me specifically the last four times you’ve come here. I just figured it would be more convenient for you to buy instead of continuing to rent.” Alex finished with a shrug, rolling to grab the ash tray to set on his stomach so he didn’t get his covers disgusting. He normally didn’t smoke with customers. He normally didn’t smoke after sex unless it was bad and he needed to calm down. This felt more like a luxury smoke, however. He felt good and he wanted to indulge some more. He felt calmer than he had all week laying there next to the Antaran.

“How do you know I haven’t been at some other whorehouse with some other whore five times after specifically asking for them?” Michael asked, a little nastily. He was trying to poke Alex’s buttons, trying to get him to react emotionally. It was a test. It was always a test with Michael. Alex understood. He’d been fucked up by people who didn’t mean the things they’d said, people who’d promised to love him, people who’d sworn to keep him safe… He understood having to push back when someone got near the boundary line.

“I don’t,” Alex replied simply. He looked over at Michael who was watching him with a look of confused amusement on his face. Alex decided he was done with the conversation. Michael didn’t look like he was taking the offer seriously. He’d bring it up in another month if Michael was still fucking him stupid like he had earlier.  

“You’re not like any other whore I’ve ever met,” Michael commented, reaching out to trace a finger down the side of Alex’s face. Alex rolled his eyes and shoved his body off the bed, putting out his cigarette in the ashtray before setting it back on the side table. He padded over to his en suite bathroom and turned on the shower, letting the water warm up. He looked back over his shoulder at where Michael was still leisurely smoking in bed. Michael quirked an eyebrow at him when he caught his attention. 

“Well, are you going to shower off before you go or do I need to let the madame know you need another hour?” Alex asked impatiently. Michael nodded and started to curl his body into a sitting position. He stood up off the low bed and walked over to the talk box on the wall. Keeping his gaze locked with Alex’s, he pushed the intercom button. 

“This is Guerin in room five. Let the madame know I need another hour,” he said easily. A feedback-filled reply came through and he stepped away from the wall and sauntered towards where Alex was leaning against the doorframe. When he was standing in front of Alex, shit-eating grin on his face, Alex plucked the almost-finished cigarette from between his lips and flicked it casually into the toilet bowl, eyes glued to the green-gold of Michael’s. Michael’s smile widened as he reached out and grabbed Alex’s waist, pulling him until their chests were flush. Alex didn’t move, just stared. Michael bent his head forward and kissed up Alex’s neck to his ear, causing goosebumps to spring out over Alex’s skin. One of his hands smoothed down to knead at Alex’s ass cheek while the other moved up to tangle in Alex’s hair, pulling his head to the side to give Michael more access to his neck. Alex remained impassive. After a moment, Michael sighed and moved to peck Alex’s lips lightly. 

“Fine. But you don’t know what you’re getting into. And you better remember that you promised not to fall in love with me,” Michael warned in a quiet, defeated voice. He gave Alex such a naked, sad look that he could no longer keep pretending he didn’t want to do this. Alex nodded once and moved in, wrapping his arms around Michael’s neck and he began to kiss Michael for all he was worth. Immediately, Michael’s hands seemed to come alive with more energy against his body. Alex kissed and kissed until he had to pull back or suffocate. Michael was panting and Alex could feel him getting hard between them. 

“Just remember you can’t fall in love with me either,” Alex said. He didn’t give Michael a chance to respond before turning their bodies and pulling Michael into the hot spray of the shower. He was going to get out of the brothel. Then he’d be able to find a way to get out of Michael’s and go home. 

[sincerelyravens]

sobbe hunger games au be like:

since this probably will never end up as an actual story

sander is from district 2 (speciality is masonry). his father is a peacekeeper and his mother is one of the most skilled in her field. despite being raised to fight, to win the games, sander never wanted to kill. he would take a paintbrush for a spear over any day and he was outcasted from his war-loving district. when sander is 14, his name is drawn but no one volunteers for him. it’s unheard of in the entire history of district 2—especially for someone so young—but it’s what happens. his father was frozen, his mother wailed, his little sister begged him not to go, and sander was sent off to the capitol. 

the previous victors, their mentors, focused their sights on cornelia, the female volunteer. cornelia promised that she would make sander’s death easy. the other careers mocked him behind his back, but sander paid them no heed as he circled around the trap making, didn’t give his all to the showing of the judges—walking out with a 6. no one expected sander to survive his games.

but no one expected him to come out and be crowned the victor. 

once the countdown sounded—signaling the start of the games, sander raced off. his agility allowed him to reach the cornucopia first, grabbing hold of a bag and fleeing the upcoming massacre. in the midst of it, someone came at him with an ax, swinging, and sander’s body moved for him, pulling the knife from his bag and stabbing him. as the person fell to the floor, sander seized the ax—and the knife—and raced to the forest. it wasn’t his only kill—he killed the girl from district 12, the boy from district 6, the girl from district 1, and a few others he wasn’t sure of. when there was three tributes left, cornelia found him in the forest, having grown bored to let him die on his own. they fought for five minutes until the gamekeepers summoned mutts. while sander sought safety in a tree, cornelia fled, being killed—leaving only sander and one other person. in the end, the final kill wasn’t even his to take—the last tribute succumbed to a leg injury. 

the trauma from the games stay with him—as they always do. in his dreams, he sees everyone he killed—everyone he didn’t—and he sees them every night. when sander returned, the younger fighters looked up to him but those in his years didn’t—he was still an outcast.

but his new victor status came with new opportunities—and burdens. during his victory tour at the capital, sander snuck on the roof of the president’s mansion and met senne de smet, probably the only normal capital citizen without the fancy or grotesque makeup or fascination with the games—and somehow, beneath the night sky, sander made a friend. in addition, he was finally able to paint like he always wanted to, sticking a suitcase full of paints and canvases to take back to district 2... and they sold. but, one night, president snow made it clear that he wanted one more thing from sander. he introduced him to a rich family—with a daughter his age—and threatened his little sister’s life in the span of three seconds. and, every year with a new game and a new set of tributes to mentor, sander was forced to keep up the rumor of his conquests. 

and it continued... year after year. his nightly duties continued (though the people he was with increased once he turned 18). the gossip spread about the broken hearts trailing behind him. even after senne fell in love with a victor from district 10, a girl named zoë, the same old routine with the same old saying—an oxymoron truly—may the odds be ever in your favor. sometimes, sander thought about ending it all, stripping the president and the capital of their prized toy... and he got as far as his hotel roof before he couldn’t—he thought of his parents and his sister—who loved him, senne—his best friend since the night they met, and zoë—who had become his friend and confidant during the games even as their own tributes competited against each other. so, he stepped off the ledge, headed back inside, back to the same old thing.

until sander saw him.

robbe ijzermans. district 4. 

he was six weeks from aging out—six weeks away from freedom when his name was pulled. despite coming from a district that focused on fishing, he looked more like a fox than anything else with long brown hair pulled back into a bun and wild brown eyes and freckles. he was easily the most beautiful man that sander had ever seen before. when sander turned away from the screen, he found alexandra—his mentor partner—looking at him with a sad look in her face before she said, “Don’t fall for a dead boy, Sander. It never works out.” 

the girl who was reaped with him was a black-haired girl, noor bauwens, about the same age who shook as she walked up to the stand. as they were escorted off the stage, robbe reached over and wrapped the girl in a hug. before the train had left district 4, caesar flickerman had already spun a tale of childhood lovers fighting to survive in the hunger games and the district 4 mentors confirmed it once they arrived (they also cut off his hair, which sander really thought was a tragedy). and they did look like a couple. robbe would always reach out for noor’s hand, hold her close—before the parade, in the hotel elevator, in the training arena. whenever the footage of the training center came on, sander always found himself watching. he told senne and zoë that he was just watching the competition, but he could tell that they didn’t believe him.

when the games had begun, robbe and noor had stuck together, somehow managing to evade the blood bath, racing from the cornucopia with two backpacks and rope wrapped around them. every night, sander found himself rooted on the screen, trying to find out what happened to robbe as well as his own tributes. caesar flickerman kept his attention on the favorite couple of the games. but, overnight, noor had gotten injured in an ambush and robbe had managed to kill them all. even with medical supplies that the sponsors sent over, noor wasn’t getting any better. even through a screen, robbe looked upset and wrought with inner turmoil—like someone who was losing the love of his life. one night, noor breathed out, “you can’t do this anymore, robbe. you need to fight.” and robbe had shaken his head, saying, “i’ve got you, noor.” then he handed her some food and water, making sure she ate it all, before ushering her to sleep. as noor closed her eyes, robbe repeated the phrase. it was only a few minutes later that the cannon sounded off, signaling her death. 

after collecting his things, robbe fled their hideout so the game keepers could take her away. by this time, both of sander’s tributes were dead but he still found himself glued to the screen, unable to turn his eyes away for a second. he lost sleep, but he didn’t care. even alexandra was beside him, curious to find out about him. 

in the end... robbe won, practically holding his pierced stomach together to keep him alive, as the helicopters descended to pick him up. caesar flickerman talked about his heroism for staying with noor, for fighting his way home, but even with the cameras, sander could see how robbe looked whenever they brought up noor but caesar remained oblivious. before they had all gone home, until the victory tour in the winter, sander went up to the roof for a smoke and one last glance at the capital skyline—and he found robbe sitting on the ledge with his legs over the side. when sander had announced his presence, he had jumped but let sander sit down beside him. they had been quiet for a few minutes before robbe asked, “does it go away?” before elaborating, “the nightmares.” 

sander didn’t lie. “no.” he was quiet before he added, “there’s no cameras up here.” robbe had stared at him for a few moments. 

for about ten minutes, they were quiet before robbe breathed out: “everyone thinks i lost my girlfriend, even everyone at home—except maybe one person—but that’s not true.” sander had glanced over at him, the cigarette in his fingertips. “we were never like that. we played it for the cameras, thought it would get us good sponsorships on top of our scores... and it did. but i didn’t lose my girlfriend in that arena... i lost one of my best friends.” he let out a breath and rubbed at his eyes. “sorry, i don’t know why i said that. you don’t even know me.”

“i know you.” sander had interrupted. robbe had looked up. “i know you,” he repeated before reaching out his hand and saying. “sander driesen. district 2.”

for six months, robbe disappeared. 

then came the victory tour and he was charted off to every district like they all were. finally, he arrived back at the capital, back at the president’s mansion, until he bumped right into sander in the midst of talking about paintings with one of the capital people. the two had exchanged muted greetings before the customer was interested in buying his painting—and his sister was interested in something else. as sander felt her making her move, felt himself succumb to the nightly activities (that president snow had told him about), he found himself looking for robbe and found him over with senne and zoë, who were both talking with him.

after sneaking out of the girl’s room, sander went back to his designated room and bumped into robbe in the lobby, carrying a bunch of supplies and cameras in his hands. sander had laughed, helping him carry them to his room. once they were inside, they started talking about the past six months—about how robbe was adjusting. sander had mentioned about how the capital takes some getting used to but promised to show robbe all of the good spots. even in the darkness of the apartment, sander could spot the flush on robbe’s cheeks before he said that he would like to go. 

the next day, sander took robbe around the capital in search for new things for robbe to take home—now that he had an virtually unlimited supply of money at his disposal. everywhere they went, heads would turn to see where they were going, and sander wished they would all go away. sander bought some new art supplies and robbe found some more electronics that he could salvage. sander teased him for being a techie from the fishing district 4 and robbe had blushed, saying that it helps calm his mind. 

when they arrived back at robbe’s apartment, arms full of shopping bags, robbe invited sander in for a drink to thank him for the tour and, somehow, sander had pinned robbe against the refrigerator and kissed the daylights out of him—and robbe kissed him back. kissing robbe felt different than anyone else he had kissed before and sander never wanted to stop—but unfortunately, his phone rang with one of his “clients” who had a sultry voice and wanted his last night before they all left. sander wanted to snap, say that he was busy, but the thought of his little sister being killed—or worse, reaped on purpose—tore him away from robbe with a mumbled “i’m sorry.” 

for the next games, robbe and sander had run into each other in the elevator and had talked mindlessly before robbe got off on his floor and motioned sander to follow. alexandra had looked at him with wide eyes as sander followed in suit. safely in his apartment, robbe asked why he left and why he didn’t reach out. when robbe asked if he was another one of sander’s conquests that he strung around the capital, sander couldn’t helping kissing that thought off his lips. sander told robbe of snow’s threat and how he doesn’t want robbe to be caught in the crossfires and how, if sander could have his way, robbe would be the only one. robbe closes his eyes and kisses him again, pulling him in the direction of his bedroom, and that’s how their life together begins. 

when the games weren’t going on, his mornings and afternoons were completely owned by robbe. if the games were going on, the tv would be on in the background or they’d be out with sponsors, trying to help their tributes in any way that they could. when one of their tributes died or the nightmares got too much, they would hold each other as the sobs overwhelmed them. but, his nights, were mostly reserved for others in the capital—but robbe never left sander’s mind... not even for a second. whenever they called, robbe would press a kiss to his forehead and mumble out an “it’s okay” like he could read the thoughts in sander’s mind.

if snow ever knew, he never said but sander always prepared like he had known the entire time. snow was smart like that. thankfully, robbe didn’t get the same treatment that sander had gotten. instead, with his engineering mind, he was tasked with helping build the arenas, which took it’s own toll on a more permanent basis, and—as much as sander hated his evening work at the capital—he gathered more support for his paintings so he could come to the capital more often, hold robbe a little tighter. 

when it all got too much, the hatred of their situation and the nightmares they wouldn’t wish on anyone else, they had each other to hold onto, to kiss away the nightmares in the rare nights that they were allowed to be together—and, when they heard of a rebellion that would stop the nightmares from happening to someone else, the thought to join the fight, to rebel against the twisted system, was instantaneous. 

[bellatrixobsessed1]

The Dragon Egg (Parts 4-6)

Long post because I neglected uploading for a few days. For @secrettunnelatla

It is all about fibs and careful twists. Change a few names and situations and suddenly Ozai is just a nameless man. A vague set of lyrics and verses on a page. A collection of words that shape the story of an abuser and his victim.

It is all the easier, picturing Zuko as the victim. Surely it can’t be her. Father treats her well; he has given her this recording studio. He has rewarded her for her three new singles with a newer car. He has given her nothing but praise for surprising him with so many new songs all at once.

Father buys her so many new stage outfits and lets her pierce her tongue and decorate it with genuine ruby. She has everything. He loves her. He is proud of her. It is only a hiccup, a lapse in judgment when he shows anything but affection. It is the alcohol that makes him smash the windows on her car. She doesn’t remember what he did it for but she knows that it was the alcohol because he has a brand new car waiting for her the next day.

And she drives it to Seicho’s house to deliver her birthday present. She will open the box and find a skateboard and tickets to see her show. Seicho is a delight and a somber presence all at once. In many ways, she reminds Azula of TyLee and that stings.

Sometimes she misses TyLee. Misses that sweet smile. Misses playing make believe in her backyard. Once upon a time, TyLee was going to be her drummer and they were going to tour from nation to nation in a bus with diamond studded tire caps. Once upon a time, she, Mai, and TyLee were going to be the rock trio that the world wouldn’t be able to forget.

And once upon a time, Mai decided that she liked Zuko more and TyLee decided that she liked Mai more. Zuko always had been the more lovable of the two. But Azula is the more successful. She has made a promise to herself that they would regret abandoning her for him when her faces is everywhere and Zuko is a sellout.

Seicho invites her inside, her friends are already there, a girl named Song, a girl named Jin, and a younger boy named Hide.

“Have a slice of cake or a whack at the pinata.” Seicho offers. She holds out a bat, wrapped with skull patterned duct tape and studded with nails. “You can have the first swing.”

Azula is sure that it would only take one good swing for the nails to shred the pinata. “I’ll have a slice of cake. I can’t stay for too long. I have a show.” There is a part of her, a very large part of her that wants more than a taste of this world. A simpler world where goals and aspirations aren’t make or break. “But I had to drop this off for you.”  The skateboard in the box is expensive, it is more than enough to make up for not being able to stick around for the party.

Seicho’s face falls and Azula tells herself that it is only because she hasn’t unwrapped the gift yet. She knows that the smile is forced when she replies, “thanks, Azula. Maybe you can join us next year.”

Regret doesn’t hit her in full until she has already stepped back into her car. By now it would only be rude to change her mind and ring the doorbell again. Maybe this is why it was so easy for TyLee to choose Mai and for Mai to choose Zuko; she tends to choose her career over companionship.

She promises herself that after Audio of Agni, she will make more time for social obligations.

.oOo.

The stage doesn’t quite have its thrill tonight. The energy itself is excitedly frantic, vibrant with enthusiasm but it doesn’t quite reach Azula. It doesn’t matter, she is good at pretending. She knows what she is supposed to feel like--she has felt it before when the band was brand new, when Mai and TyLee were her backup vocalists.

So she emulates the vibe she is supposed to give off. She pretends like the crowds cheers and shouts and claps mean everything. She pretends like their liveliness gives her life too. Pretends like she can feel the music in her body and soul the same way everyone else does. But she only feels empty.

Empty and alone. A disorienting feeling when she is looking upon more faces than she can count.

All the while she sings lyrics that make her stomach squirm and her heart ache. If her father knew that he is the inspiration behind them, she’d have another song to write.

She doesn’t understand why singing these songs hurts so much. She is singing about Zuko and her father, not about she and her father. Or maybe she isn’t singing about her father at all, but a nameless father and his nameless child. Hell, it can be a mother too. Just a vague musical rendition of a dreadful parent who is merely neglectful on a good day.

It dawns upon her that she is the victim that she sings of when she finds herself getting teary on that stage. They think that it is part of the act. They think that she is a stellar actress on top of a damn good lyricist.

She doesn’t correct them. The only thing that sells more than sex is sorrow.

Things change after that. There is more attention, more interviews, more magazine photoshoots, and more simmering resentment from From Ashes To Phoenix. She basks in the limelight and relishes in Zuko’s envy. And with the spotlight shining so brightly, she can no longer see the darkness that had helped put it on her.

****

Seeing her on TV is hell. Even when she isn’t right in front of him, flaunting her riches, talents, and everything he could have had, she is still able to mock him.

These days, he can’t escape her. She is everywhere; on the radio, on the magazines, on the TV, and on posters. He even sees her in the hallways of Caldera Capital High. He sees her there, though she has been pulled out months ago for a private education tailored to her personal schedule. It is just one more thing for him to envy. He has to manage his band and school, of course his progress is slower. Sometimes stunted altogether.

And for his troubles he averages C’s and D’s--B’s if he is lucky--and music that is half done and not nearly what he had imagined in his mind. He knows that he is going to have to make a choice and he thinks that he has begun to make that choice a few months back. He has lost track of how many times he has stayed after class to discuss his grades. He wonders how uncle will take to him dropping out. Should he turn in the forms that are tucked away in his backpack and seal the deal there won’t be any turning back. He will have to make it big. It will be his only chance.

A gaggle of fangirls fawning over the brooding lonewolf with the choker and black nailpolish can only take him so far. It doesn’t leave the hallways. But he does, he evades the teachers and hall monitors and climbs his way onto the roof. Mai is already there, he can see the smoke trail.

“Want one?” She offers.

“I’ll take a drag from yours.”

Mai passes the cigarette. “Have you told your uncle yet?”

He takes his drag and passes it back. “No.”

Mai gives a little hum. “Make a decision and commit, Zuko. Either you tell your uncle that you’re dropping out or start hustling to fix your grades. You have to succeed somewhere.”

He flinches. She sounds all too similar to Azula. She sighs. “Sorry. I just worry about you, Zuko. Indecisiveness is going to ruin you if you let it.”

There are a lot of things that are going to ruin him if he lets them. To some degree he thinks that he is already ruined. That he should just fester in the failure. “I could use another drag.”

“Sure.” Mai replies.

He takes his drag and watches the smoke curl up to the mid-afternoon sky. Mai leans back with her hands behind her head.

“What are you doing up here, Mai?” He asks. “You can actually pass your classes, why are you letting me drag you down?”

“Zuko, I’ve never felt more...up. Sometimes I just need to get out of there.” She spares a glance to the door. “It’s suffocating and smells like cheap perfume and testosterone. I smoke at least a cigarette a day, gym class is pointless anyways.”

He chuckles. He feels right when he is on the roof with her. When he is with her in general. Pessimistic as she nihilistic as she is, he feels the most hopeful when he is with her. Even if it is just for a moment, Azula’s shadow doesn’t envelop and shroud him. Even if it is just for a moment, he can forget about she and her antics and everything her overachieving has helped steal from him. Even if it is just for a moment he can see, truly envision and believe in a reality where he strums his guitar before an arena full of adoring, audio hungry fans.

He makes a decision, he is going tell uncle that high school isn’t for him. That he is meant for...that he deserves better things. As the sun reaches its zenith, he decides that he will truly work for his dream.

****

The darkness floods right back in when she is away from the stage. When the lyrics that echo through the venue become a reality. She doesn’t know exactly what she has done. Maybe she has done nothing at all. He very well may just be in a bad mood. She is texting Seicho when he enters. “Hello father.” She greets with a smile.

He returns it with a blank face and folded arms. “What is this?” He slaps a piece of paper onto the table. He nods for her to read it over.

“It’s a…” she knits her brows, “a printout of our ticket sales.” She looks up from the paper. “What’s wrong with it?”

“How many tickets were sold for the first show?”

“It was sold out.”

“What about all of last week’s shows and the week before that?”

“Sold out.” She says again.

He nods. “Yes, sold out. What about last night’s show?”

Azula swallows, “1,684.”

He drums his fingers on the table. “Would you like to tell me what happened?”

She thinks that it could be a lot of things; that night had also been the night of the high school homecoming baseball game, people might have been short on cash, the time slot had been a tad earlier than usual. All of these answers seem like excuses--she should have a performance more compelling than baseball, she should have had a performance with spending money on, she should have pushed for a more favorable time slot. “It was a smaller venue.” She says at last much.

Wrong answer.

“I was selling out all of my shows.” He slaps the page and she flinches. “These aren’t metal legend numbers, they aren’t even Audio of Agni numbers.”

She wants to point out that he probably hadn’t been selling out all of his shows when his band had been as young as hers is. Instead she very quietly promises, “I’ll do better, father.” She must and she will because he is right. Only 1,684 tickets sold in a venue that could hold 2,000 people? That is embarrassing.

“Maybe if you weren’t fooling around with that tattoo artist… you won’t be seeing her anymore”

“Wh-what?” She sputters. “No, that’s not it! Seicho isn’t a distraction!” She realizes too late that she has gotten too loud.

She closes her eyes and tenses for the strike that is sure to come. When it doesn’t she cracks an eyelid. He hasn’t even closed the distance between them. She allows herself to relax. It is only then that his hand snakes out and finds her cheek.

Reflexively her own hand comes to rub it. She bites the sides of her cheeks and swallows down the cry that is waiting to come up. More than anything she hates knowing that she has failed him. That she has disappointed him. These moments are few and far between, she makes sure of that. But they are still there and she has just given herself one more ill mark. Has put herself one step closer to ending up like Zuko. “I’ll do better.” She says again when she finds the words.

It was never like this before. She glares at the empty bottles. It was never like this--he used to love her. She used to be is gleaming little star. He would yell at her, sometimes until his face went red, but he has never hit her before. She looks at the bottles, but it might be that she has finally made enough mistakes for him to see her as a splendid failure instead of his rising rockstar.

She takes out her phone and taps the screen a few times before holding it up, “see no more distractions. I deleted her number.” She forces a smile. “I needed to focus on memorizing my new material anyways.”

At last he returns the smile. The tightness in her chest slackens, giving way to an optimistic and relieved fluttering in her tummy. He ruffles her hair, “that’s my girl.” He gives her a small hug. “I should know better than to doubt you.” He smells so strongly of booze.

But she has satisfied him. She is still is gleaming little star.

[kinkinwrites]

Pink Colored Love ~ Ramuda Amemura [Angst/Fluff]

Warning: idk bro, you tell me, it’s just really sad. Also, it’s after the most recent Drama Track, Fling Posse before the 2nd DRB, so I recommend listening to that first if you haven’t, but you do you boo.

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

He breathed out the smoke from his lungs, the smell of cigarette impregnating his clothes. Out of the window of his apartment, he could see his beloved Shibuya. It was early in the afternoon so the streets were bursting with people, every single one of them living their lives without a care about what those above them could do. With one last puff, he pressed the lighted tip of the thin stick cancer against the ashtray.

It was completely unacceptable for his works to smell bad, so he always had to be careful to keep the smoke outside of his home and he did that by standing beside the wide open windows. Sighing, he used the remaining of his strength to close said window and move to the couch, kicking his feet on top of the coffee table. His entire body felt numb from the fight against himself, damn it, Chou-ku had managed to create subjects who were way stronger than he could ever be. They didn't have a single thread of humanity, unlike him they were perfect machines. 

A mix of guilt and something less bitter but more painful filled his chest. He couldn't put a name to it, that sensation, that feeling that had awoken inside of him the second that stupid duo stepped in to help, the moment Gentaro called him his friend. Ramuda's eyes fluttered closed. His delicate hands reached inside of his pockets to retrieve and unwrap one of the various lollipops Dice had found inside the jackets of the clones. The other clones, his brain didn't fail to remind him. He was no better than them… Actually, he was the failed experiment.

He had always hated it in silence. His cute face, his small and skinny body. He was a twenty-four year old man trapped inside the body of a child. It didn't matter how many women he fucked, he never came to terms with how disgusting it was every time he stood in front of the mirror. He wasn't a child for God's sake. Why couldn't he be like Samatoki? Or Ichiro? Or… God damn, he would settle for someone like Dice! And that child-like attitude he had to keep to make everything work like they needed him to… 

His blue eyes opened. And although he couldn't see himself, he knew their reflection showed how all he was could fall to pieces at any moment. Bringing an arm up to his face to choke the sobs that threatened to fall out of his lips, he used his free hand to pick up his phone. Well, the phone Gentaro so gently gave him after he smashed his own. It wasn't an issue really, he knew this number by heart and he needed it now.

You continued to climb the stairs that lead to the top designer's apartment. Were all the other floors sold when he came or was it his Napoleonic complex? Anyways, you were out of breath as you quickly jogged the last dozen steps. Ramuda Amemura was one of your frequent clients and although you weren't exactly fond of him when he wanted to play the idiot, he could afford your fees and then some. However, something felt terribly wrong as you picked up the phone, even though it wasn't unusual for him to call you out of the blue, he didn't use his usual playful tone and when he tried to call you "big sis" it felt off, like he was tired of playing pretend.

In your line of work it was part of your daily routine to deal with broken men and women that looked desperately for leftovers. Leftovers of whatever love they could get. But it sure wasn't something you had ever expected Ramuda to do. He already owned the hearts of multiple ladies with cleaner resumes than yours. You knocked twice instead of ringing the bell. "Come in." 

You gulped at the sound of his deep voice but decided to enter anyway. Pieces of fabric thrown everywhere, cigarette butts filling the multiple ashtrays scattered around the room, candy wrappers on the floor… what on Earth had happened to him? People could argue that you shouldn't care and that with the filthy job you had maybe it'd be a better use of your time to worry about yourself, but you had left society expectations behind long ago. In this fucked up world even someone like the pink haired man, who was lying on the sofa, could go up in flames and become nothing but dust in the blink of an eye.

He hadn't even bothered to look up at you. Head thrown back onto the backrest, both arms covering his face, the end of a lollipop stick sticking out of his closed lips. You took your sweet time taking off your jacket and shoes, leaving everything by the door before tiptoeing around the small pieces of plastic paper that covered every inch of the normally tidy apartment. Although you didn't bring it up to your conscience, you kept note of the unusual deep breaths Ramuda took, and the way his whole body trembled when he exhaled. 

"Can you prepare a bath for me, please?" His voice albeit shaky was clear enough for you to make sure you hadn't misheard. He was asking for it, not ordering you around. Yes, sir, you could. Making your way around the sofa to reach the bathroom door, you made a strategic stop behind him. Both your hands reached down to his arms, slowly moving them down his face. To your surprise he didn't offer any resistance which, to be honest, only fueled your theory of    something being wrong with him. You had never seen the short male look this tired. 

As soon as the idea came to life in your mind, you leaned forward, pressing your lips to his forehead in a soft loving kiss. "I'll get the bath ready, you can relax here Mr. Amemura." His body seemed to stop shaking for a moment as a smile you couldn’t see creeped up his lips. “Don’t call me that.” But he liked it. You could hear the tension leaving him.

Warm, not hot. You swatted your hand slowly inside the half filled bathtub to check the temperature once again before closing the tap, the water tainted a soft pink. Without taking a moment to dry your hands, you stripped off your clothes and covered your naked body with one of the multiple satin bathrobes Ramuda kept in the bathroom.

When he heard you were done preparing his bath, the young man stood up, taking a moment to stretch his sore body before dragging his tired self next to you. He looked up at you for a moment trying to find a reason why it was your face, the one that came to mind when the world spinned out of control. At the end of the day you were just another girl on his bed… even more, he paid for you to be here. Why you, then?

Like almost everyone else, you were taller than him but he didn’t mind it. You were pretty but not like the models that tried on his works and posed for the cameras, you were attractive in a different way. He could recite by heart every single detail about your body yet he never got bored of it. You were a professional, he reminded himself, of course it was part of your duties to keep him hooked. Still, he caressed your cheek with the back of his hands, letting his fingers trail down to your chin.

Maybe it was stupid of him, maybe he should transfer the yen and tell you to go, maybe he should resort to the usual service, to tie you down and have his way but… that sweet bitterness he felt stopped him. You saw his eyes grow teary and tired and just a little bit hopeless. Your hands trembled but your skilful fingers worked through his clothes, taking off his blue coat, putting aside his white shirt and helping him with his black pants and underwear. As you straightened up after picking up his bottoms from the floor, you felt his arms around your waist. 

He didn’t want you to see, not yet. Ramuda’s bright eyes were closed as he buried his head in the space where your collarbones met, inhaling the sweet scent of your perfume mixed with the rose smell that came from the tub. Almost without realizing it, you found yourself threading through his soft pink locks. You were almost afraid of talking, of moving, of breathing in any way that could finally shatter what was left of him.

“Close your eyes for me?” The barely audible whisper made your heart ache but you obeyed nonetheless. He slowly raised up his head, making sure you weren’t looking and only then letting go of you. His hands made quick work of the bathrobe and tugged gently at your wrist, guiding you in the direction of the tub, making its way to your waist as he helped you sit down in the water. “Please, keep them closed.” He asked- no, begged you. He didn’t want you to see, he couldn’t bear to let you see a body that wasn’t that of a man.

He took a moment to admire the scene before his eyes and it took all of him not to break down in tears. You looked so calm, so serene, so… beautiful. The water pooling around your body, your head resting against the wall, your hair slowly getting wet from the dampness in the air around you. Maybe this was the reason he kept on calling your number, not minding how much money he had to throw away. Maybe it was the fact that you didn’t see him as an ex-member of The Dirty Dwag, or the leader of Fling Posse, or even a fashion designer. No, you only saw a man. You saw past his walls, you saw the broken man inside cause maybe, just maybe, you were broken too. 

You rejoiced in the comfort of the bath for a moment, when you felt him enter the tub as well. His breath hitched, as if the simple effort of keeping his balance was too much for him but without receiving his orders, you kept still. You didn’t want to do anything that could potentially hurt him. But why in the world did you care about him? Tears stung your closed eyes at the feeling of him slowly resting his back on your chest, the back of his head finding the perfect spot on your shoulder. He moved your hands towards his torso, your brain picking up fast enough on it and holding him between your arms, a long sigh escaping his lips to be followed by the almost imperceptible trembling of his entire body as silent tears rolled down his cheeks. 

“(Y/N)?” He muttered, between quiet sobs. You hummed in response, your heart breaking at the loss of his playful tone. There weren’t many things Ramuda was truly scared of, probably part of how he was programmed to be, and probably this one fear was the failure in his coding. The terrified faces of Gentaro and Dice filled his thoughts again, the fear they felt not by being in danger but by the possibility of losing him. 

As if he was worth the sacrifice.

He was nothing but a weapon. And useless weapons are supposed to be disposed of. A whimper crept unbidden out of his throat, making you spill the tears you were trying to keep at bay. In his pain, the real Ramuda had stepped out of his persona. He shifted his position so he could hug you as well, holding onto you like you were the only thing that kept him in this world. And for him, you were. He pressed an innocent kiss to each one of your cheeks, and then to each one of your eyelids, a sign you took to open your eyes. “(Y/N)...” He repeated.

He had accepted those feelings in his chest long ago but refused to put a name to them, he wasn’t supposed to feel them in the first place and name them would make them real. But when push came to shove, he wasn’t truly scared of dying. And he was certain that was also the case for everyone else. No one could stop death and therefore there was no point in fearing it, what feared was losing it all. Losing the world, losing his newfound emotions before having the chance to truly feel them all. His fear wasn’t dying, it was never getting the chance to live.

His turquoise orbs fluttered shut as his thin lips pressed a tender kiss to yours. Contrary to what you usually expected his touch was soft, like you were an illusion that could vanish in front of his eyes. Warmth filled your chest and this side of him. If only… no, it was impossible, he was just a client and- Ramuda interrupted your train of thought by licking your bottom lip oh-so-gently, just a touch of the tip of his tongue. His small but sure voice coming right after.

“Please… love me.”

[amarauder]

Fatso, the Alleged - Peter Parker x Reader [ Part One ]

001. fatso, the alleged

PAIRING; Peter Parker x reader

DATE; 12.26.19

WORD COUNT; 8891

WARNING; Bad words, bad writing, fighting, smoking and bad tendencies mentioned, etc.

A/N; I apologize in advance. I really don't like the ending but I have rewritten the ending so many times and I can't seem to get it right. But here it is. So... Also, I did not get Peter's personality right at all but I kind of imagined he would be nervous around her at first then kind of get used to her presence in his house, but then I realized as someone who literally is a girl version of Peter Parker that if someone was that rude then I would never get used to them. But I don't know and I tried to get their chemistry right and tried to make their relationship seem natural but it was rather difficult figuring out a reason to hate Peter and have them gradually start to crush on each other when they haven't even met each other at the very beginning and half way through is when I reveal that they hate each other. But whatever. Let me know what you think and also a big shout out to pparkerwrites for giving me the motivation to start my own. Guys go read hers they are so amazing like I can't even describe how good they are! I couldn't stop reading it and you know it's good when you binge read. Jesus this is a along A/N. Also, I have to split it into two parts cause it’s too long and for some reason since I am on my iPad it won’t let me put a keep reading which is lovely.

TRAILER; In which Peter Parker accuses Fatso of eating his science project, even though he should have known better to choose a mouse instead of a frog.

-

The amount of times Y/N had actually had a conversation with Peter Parker was ridiculously low. The pair had known each other since they were young, but it seemed as they grew old enough to actually hold a conversation-that didn't involve the ever frequent use of 'potty' words and what was Y/N and Peter's three least favorite animals on Earth-the visits seemed to continuously grow further and further apart.

Y/N did have to admit it is rather hard to keep in contact with someone when they lived more than two hours away. But Y/N had always known May's and her Mother's relationship would last through anything-she just didn't think that they would go to such lengths to save it.

Sighing to herself, she sat in the middle of her backyard looking around the place she had grown up once more. The swing set she had constantly swung from had been sold a few days ago, the tree she would always climb looked to be dying, and her bike was in a moving truck instead of it's usual resting place. Everything was just so out of place.

She was moving away from two out of the three most important people in her life, her best friend in the entire world and her Dad, it just was not fair how it turned out.

Her parents had finally decided to go through with the divorce. After years and years of fighting and advice from loved ones to just separate before it got messy, they finally had gotten messy. Bickering over spoon that had been put in the sink instead of the dishwasher had turned into a very loud quarrel of everything that had gone wrong in the past twenty or so years.

If anything Y/N had been sort of happy that they had gotten a divorce, not in a cruel way more in a relieved way. It was exhausting to hear her parents fight back and forth, getting louder and louder as time went on. Sometimes they would even bring her into the fight, either unconsciously taking their anger out on her after a session of bickering gone unvictorious or forcing her to take sides on a topic she didn't even know.

One thing she hadn't expected though was to move so far away from home. She knew the laws about being forced to stay in the same state as both parents during a divorce, but what she hadn't expected was to actually move out of the city.

It wasn't supposed to happen actually, originally the plan was for both parents to stay in a mile radius from each other and have her switch between houses weekly.

But stupid Peter Parker had decided to bring up the idea of moving themselves and "hey, maybe the L/N's should live with us too. Ms. L/N needs help with rent and we do too! So let's just force their daughter to move away from her Father and friends so I can be selfish and stay with my friends for my last year of High School but still move to a different apartment."

She knew it wasn't exactly like that and Peter would never say that but that's what she liked to imagine, it was easier to put the blame on him rather than put the blame of her parent's divorce on herself.

It just was not fair that her Mother got to go live with her best friend and now she had to live three hours away from hers.

She knew she was being a bit selfish, but she did not really care. Anyone would have felt the same, moving into a tiny apartment in Queens compared to her bigger home in the suburbs of New York sucked and it really didn't help that she was supposed to be starting her senior year at her old high school with all of her best friends.

"Y/N!" She heard her Mother call from inside, "Time to leave!"

Blowing out one more puff of smoke from her cigarette, she threw the bud onto the grass and stepped on it. It wasn't like it was her backyard anymore, anyway.

She had already bid everyone goodbye previously. Her Dad had a business trip to attend to this week, something he couldn't change even if he tried. Her friends had thrown her a going away party three days ago, something she had never been more thankful for and Y/N and her best friend had snuck out last night to spend one last night together before she left. It had ended in lost of tears, complaints about Queens, and promises that she knew would be broken within the next few months but Y/N couldn't be more content with how positive the farewells had turned out.

The only thing she had not gotten to say goodbye to the house and even as she picked up Fonzo, the fattest cat in the entire world, while shutting the front door for the last time she still didn't feel like she had properly gotten closure with her forever home.

-

The ride to Queens took shorter than Y/N would have preferred. She almost wished that her whole life was a drive in a car, at least then she would never reach their destination. It was pouring outside as she listened to her favorite song and it couldn't help but better her mood. Her Mother was chatting on the speakerphone with someone she didn't know. She didn't mind as long as her Mother was distracted and not asking about what she would wear on her first day at her new school. God, that was the last thing she wanted to think about. Y/N was a teenager, she knew what high schoolers were like to new kids. Hell, she had even took part in taunting the new kids herself.

To make matters worse, now she was going to be the weird new kid who also lived with Peter Parker.

Fonzo whined as she woke up from her nap on Y/N's lap, the car had suddenly stopped and Y/N hadn't even noticed. It looked like they had arrived in a parking garage. Groaning, she knew her chances of her Mother finally buying her a car had just diminished into almost nothing.

She got out of the car, carrying Fonzo like a baby being burped, the cat's claws were basically ripping her skin as she shook from all the noises and new sights. She had a feeling Fonzo didn't like Queens very much, and Y/N couldn't help but agree as she looked around.

It seemed everywhere she went she smelled something new and to be honest, they weren't good smells. Y/N briefly wondered why they hadn't named New York, the city of smells instead of New York, the city that never sleeps.

"Y/N," her Mother called from behind her who was chatting with the moving truck man, "Why don't you head in, sweetie. May and Peter have already moved in and they have been just begging to see you. Plus, this way you can pick your room."

Y/N nodded and headed over to the brownstone. The outside was pretty enough, just something she hadn't planned on living in during her senior year. She knocked on the door, wondering whether to just open it-after all she did live there now- or be polite and wait for someone to answer the door.

However, once no one answered after knocking twice more, she decided to brave it and check if the door was unlocked or not. It wasn't.

She opened the door, the pearls she had been gifted to her by her Father glistening in the sunlight. The apartment was adorable, something out of a movie, something that her and her best friend had been dreaming about since they were kids, something they were supposed to experience together once they had been accepted into uni.

She couldn't help but wonder if she would have been excited about moving if the circumstances were different.

The hallway was long and arching, leading to what Y/N guessed was the kitchen. There were piles of boxes spewed randomly throughout the corridor and a vase of dying flowers on a table to the left of her, but the place couldn't have been more magical even though she had tried to convince herself otherwise. Dust particles were illuminated by rays of sunlight creating a serene effect that she didn't want to let go of, there were pictures on the walls of a woman, a man, and a younger boy who was so adorable Y/N wished she could squeeze his cheeks, and finally at the end of the hallway there was a welcome home sign made by the only people she could guess, May and the boy who was standing at the end of the corridor.

He looked shocked to see her here, almost like a child getting caught in the act of stealing sweets. It made her wonder whether she was supposed to here or not, she really wished now more than ever that she had waited and rang the doorbell despite the fact that it looked broken.

Oh god, what if this is the wrong apartment?

Her heart rate picking up at the thought, she debated whether to just ask or run out the door and never look back. However, before she could even make up her mind, the boy started to speak and come closer to her, "Umm, Hey, I mean Hi." He cringed at himself and Y/N fought the verge to laugh. At least, he wasn't yelling at her to get out of her apartment and demanding to know who she was. "Are you Y/N?"

She nodded and brought a piece of hair behind her ear. "Oh good. That would be really awkward if you weren't."

Y/N laughed, "Well, I think it would be more awkward for me considering I would be a random stranger in your home."

Peter rubbed his neck and looked down. "True, true." She gave him a tight-lipped smile and went to move around him, she was just relieved that she was in the right apartment and that he wasn't a dick. She didn't know if she would be able to handle her last year at home if she was sharing walls with someone who she hated.

"H-Hey, umm," A breathy voice brought her attention back to him. He sounded as if he was out of breath just by talking to her. "What's your cat's name?"

Y/N raised her eyebrows, wondering why he wanted to keep the conversation going longer than necessary. All Y/N wanted to do was go to her room and cry but he was stopping her from doing that and it was rather irritating. "Fonzo."

"Fonzo?" He asked again as he pat her cat's ears who surprisingly purred and reached her head out towards him to give him better access. He never did that to people he did not know. "It should be Fatso."

It seemed Peter hadn't meant to say that and had accidentally let it slip, but she wasn't in the mood to take a rude comment about one of the only things that seemed to be stabilized in her life, especially since she was the one moving into his apartment and flipping her life upside down so he could stay comfortably in his own home. Y/N wished she could have been more open-minded as she couldn't help but blame him for the reason as to why they moved here.

She was sure if she had met him, along with the house in different circumstances, things would have been different.

"Oh, God. Wait, I didn't mean to-Y/N you have to believe me I..." the words seemed to have died in his throat when he caught a glance of her glare.

"Bye, Peter."

"Wait, no, Y/N I didn't mean it." She could hear him following her but she beat him to it as she stomped up the stairs, hopefully going towards her room.

-

Within the next few weeks, Peter quickly caught onto the way Y/N felt about him and her new home. School was just around the corner and it seemed the more and more school was brought into the conversation, the grumpier she got. He made sure to leave the subject alone, wanting to make her as least agitated as possible in order to dodge as many arguments as he could.

If he was going to be honest, Peter was a bit disappointed. He had been excited to live with a good friend of his, or what he had believed to be a good friend of his thanks to what his Mother had explained.

He had gotten a little ahead of himself, imagining himself and Y/N becoming the best of friends that would last for a lifetime. They would both go to Midtown and later on the same college or one that was close enough that they could visit each other easily.

But the only thing Y/N had proved was that she was a pain in the ass to be around. He just wished she wasn't so pretty, and that May didn't have a habit of trying to make them become friends again.

"Thank you so much, May. This looks delicious."

"Of course. Y/N, darling, have you gotten your license yet?"

Y/N looked at her oddly, wondering why she was even asking that question. May knew she was sixteen right? "Of course I have. Why wouldn't I have?"

"See, Peter! People your age do get their license."

Y/N spun around so fast she almost tripped on the laces of her trainers, her eyes wide with shock as she almost gaped at Peter who looked extremely embarrassed by this encounter. He was glaring at May as he avoided eye contact with Y/N. The girl just didn't understand what it was like to live in New York. Everything was so close, he could basically smell the lunch that he wanted to buy from a restaurant inside some of his classrooms. Peter only had to take two steps from the apartment building before he could find a hot dog stand. Besides, there was the subway that could take you to places faster than driving ever could. (A/n; I'm sorry if this is wrong. It's kind of hard to research something that specific and I have only been to New York once.)

"You haven't gotten your license yet? Do you at least have your permit?"

"Ya, I just need to do the lessons."

Y/N nodded and picked at some of her food. She could still feel Peter's eyes on her but she ignored them. The silence was already awkward enough, she didn't need some awkward eye contact too.

"Hey, Y/N." Y/N looked up to see May and her Mother looked at her uneasily. "As you know your Mother and I have started to pick up some more hours at the office and we were wondering if there is anyway you could maybe also taking Peter to school? I mean, he has always taken the subway but I-"

"I would love to, May. But I don't have a car." Y/N felt bad for interrupting but she couldn't help but feel relieved that she was not able to take Peter to Midtown. Y/N had been surprised that she had even been accepted to Midtown, especially with her previous GPA. Considering what she had heard from her Mother, she knew most of the kids there were above average in the intelligence aspect. She didn't even want to know what May and her Mom had to pull in order for her to get in.

"Well," Y/N's Mother started and it was then that she realized the 'uneasiness' she had picked up on was merely what she had been feeling, thanks to her Mother's knowing smile. "About that."

Y/N felt frozen despite the fact that her brain was whirring faster than she ever thought was possible. She felt like how her foot would feel when it fell asleep, but in a good way, not like the usual pins and needles, a more pleasant shocked feeling. "No."

"Your Father and I have been talking." She didn't hear the rest of it, wondering where the car was and if her Mother would ever let her see it.

"You didn't."

"Peter helped a lot. He picked out the paint color."

"Oh my god. No. There's no way."

"Well, why don't you go see for yourself." Y/N couldn't have ran faster.

——

"I know!" She basically screamed into the phone, her heart felt like it was beating a thousand miles an hour. Y/N had just gotten back from her joy ride and she felt like she was on cloud nine. It had been the most exhilarating moment of her life. She could go wherever she wanted-even back home-if she wanted to go shopping, she could just grab her purse and go. No more asking her Mother if she was allowed to or begging for rides from friends. "It's just what I had imagined! God, now I can even come visit you more often."

The rest of the conversation was just her ranting about her experience driving with her own car. It had ended rather quickly, sooner than the rest of the phone calls had been previously but Y/N was too happy and excited to dwell on that. Hell, she just wanted her car and that's it. She briefly wondered if that was all she needed in life before glancing over her first day of school outfit once more, double checking if it was perfect. She couldn't be looking like a fool on the first day.

She had been so focused on her outfit that she hadn't even noticed Peter knocking on the door. He looked a bit nervous to be there, especially since she hadn't let him know it was okay to come in, but he stepped in anyway. "Umm, Hey, Y/N." She looked up then and Peter felt his breath getting knocked out of him when he noticed her glare. She sure could be scary.

Y/N wrinkled her nose at his presence and turned back to perfecting her outfit, he was the last person she wanted to see at the moment. If it hadn't been for Peter and his dumb idea then she would still be back at home, maybe even driving her car for the first time with her friends. Peter had been the one who had wanted to move out of his apartment, something about new chances and getting away from memories of his Uncle looming over them.

Y/N knew about getting away from people all too well, it's hard to get away from bickering parents as a minor. All she knew was that she hated his stupid idea and because he was the brain behind the suggestion she hated him and that was that. She looked up at his stupid face again to double check that he was still there and groaned when she realized he was. "What do you want, Parker?"

"I just wanted to let you know that we leave at 7:00 if we want to get to school on time."

"Wait, what? But school starts at 8."

"Welcome to Queens, Sweetheart. Why do you think I haven't gotten my license?" Y/N shivered after he shut the door, she couldn't get rid of this weird feeling after he had called her that. Shrugging to herself, she tried to ignore her thoughts of how much cuter Parker was up close. There were too many weird things about him to call him cute, like that eyebrow that was in desperate need of an eyebrow brush.

-

The first day of school had gone great for Y/N, she didn't have any classes with Peter and she didn't see his face the entire day. It could not have gone better, plus she had met some pretty cool people that might even be able to become friends of hers.

She really liked Midtown. The classes were difficult but interesting. Some of the teachers were annoying and one scared her a bit, but other than that she really had nothing else to complain about. She was even thinking about trying out for a sport or maybe joining a club.

The only thing that she really hated was driving Peter to and from school everyday. The air around them was always stifling and awkward. He had tried to make conversation the first few weeks but after a while he started to give up when she refused to talk to him.

The poor boy just didn't get the picture that she did not want to be friends with him.

Fortunately, after he stopped his pathetic attempts of conversation Peter stopped sitting in her car when they arrived to Midtown too early. Y/N was a grump in the morning and didn't hesitate to tell Peter to shut his mouth in rude ways-unlike the afternoons where she would just ignore his presence.

But sometimes she just couldn't keep her mouth shut, especially when he annoyed her.

It had been one of the best days she had at Midtown and she couldn't stop the grin that seemed permanently stuck on her face. A friend of hers had invited her to a get together with some of her other friends. It wasn't a full on party but it would be a huge opportunity socially.

The second she shut the car door she squealed and did a little dance.

Sometimes she felt like the universe was against her because there was no way that Peter goddamn Parker would have decided coincidentally to open up the door right at that moment. Someone above her had to be laughing down at her.

It turned out Peter might be God himself, since he was the one raising his eyebrows trying very hard not to snort out a laugh and Y/N had never wanted to punch him more. No one but herself and her family-who constantly made fun of her about it-had witnessed her little happy dance.

She couldn't have felt more embarrassed. Knowing it was going to be one of those moments that she would think about late at night when she couldn't seem to fall asleep and cringe once it resurfaces, she tried hastily to save some of her dignity and quickly changed the subject.

"What the fuck is that?" She said pointing to the cage he was holding. Some sort of animal was scurrying around in there and after what had just happened she was more than willing to force Parker to walk home and use the animal as an excuse.

"What the fuck was that?" Peter said mocking her and now not even trying to hold in his laughter.

"When the fuck did you learn how to curse?" Peter just scowled at her and Y/N fought the urge to keep a smug smile off her face. He was just too easy to annoy.

At first, she had been surprised that Peter wouldn't bicker back with her. She had heard him snark back to kids before, especially that Flash kid but never once would he give in. Sometimes he would say a comment back or two but after that it was like he was tongue-tied. In fact, most of the time he was tongue-tied around her.

After the first week or so after her and her Mother had moved in, Y/N had done anything she could to piss Peter off. Just to be able to point her finger and say 'See! This is what he does to me! We should go back home.' However, after she learned that he was a lot easier to crack and way too nice for her liking she decided that ignoring him was best. He had a habit of talking a lot when he was nervous, which she noticed was whenever she was around. He would either talk way too much and stumble over his words and not be able to get a word out.

It was kind of cute.

Making a face at the thought, she ignored Peter's odd reaction from her facial expression and instead pointed at the cage again, "Dude, you are not getting in my car until you tell what the fuck is in the cage."

"A rat for Mr.Collagen's class."

"You know for such a smart kid you can be really dumb sometimes." Y/N groaned her with her eyes shut tightly, she didn't notice Peter's ever reddening neck and ears, or hear the sharp intake of his breath. He had no clue that Y/N considered him 'smart' it made him feel, weirdly enough, all warm inside. "I have Mr.Collagen too. Honestly, Peter out of all the damned animals you could have picked you choose a rat?"

He looked at her weird again and rolled his eyes, "I don't see the problem."

She sighed and debated whether she should warn him or not. She knew Fonzo and the way he was with small animals, but it might be fun to see him squirm around in order to find a way to restart his project.

Besides, it was his fault for bringing home a rat when he knew she had a cat. (A/N; why am i so excited that this sentence rhymes?)

"Never mind," Y/N said, ignoring the guilt she felt towards the animal who was now unwillingly signing his death contract, "It's not important anyway."

Peter shrugged his shoulders and went to open the door to put the cage in the back seat when Y/N made a sound of protest and told him to put the 'disgusting disease' in the trunk.

Once he finally got into the front seat and put on his seatbelt, he breathed out a big sigh. Y/N stared at him for a bit, wondering why he was breathing so hard. His cheeks were reddened and he seemed to be nervous because he was scratching his neck. "Why do you keep staring at me like that?" He asked, he wouldn't look at her which was something she was thankful for. She didn't really enjoy embarrassing herself more than once in a matter of minutes, especially in front of him.

"I'm wondering why you look like you are out of breath from just running to the trunk of my car and back?" He didn't say anything back but instead looked so incredibly exhausted, like what she had just said had aged him twenty years.

Looking away from him, she couldn't help herself but be worried for him. Her hand hovered over the button that would ignite the engine, she finally took her hand away from it and rested it in her lap. "Are you alright?" Peter finally looked up in surprise which only made her uncomfortable. Had she really been that horrible to him that one ounce of human surprised him? "You just look really tired and I can hear you at night with your umm, nightmares."

"Oh," Peter said, "Ya, I'm fine. Thanks for asking though."

Y/N nodded and pressed the start button with more eagerness than needed. She really wanted to get out of this awkward conversation and fast, "Tea always helps me you know. I have it stocked up where the coffee is and you are always welcome to use some of my stash if you want."

"I'll keep that in mind. Thank you." Y/N nodded and for the rest of the car ride she let herself enjoy the boy's company, just for a bit.

-

part two

[polygamyff]

50. Part 4

My daughter is loving the toys, especially the ball pit. She is loving it, it is making me smile so much to see her have so much fun “I guess grandma and grandad picked out good toys for you baby?” Reign is determined to give me a ball “it’s ok baby, don’t hurt yourself look” reaching over “mommy got the ball, thank you” she is being giving, I like that. I feel like Reign is learning things in day care, she is giving. She wants to give and see a reaction, and that is from day care and I love to see these changes “it’s ok, mommy will keep it. Awww” she is really watching me, she wants to know I got it still “it’s so nice to have a baby in the home, it warms my heart to see my angel looking ever so happy. Reminds me of Nalah, she was such a joy. Hey” Marquis waved at Reign, that man will do anything for Reign and that is sweet but scary but to hear he wasn’t happy about the prenup, what is the truth about Marquis “shall I give ball to grandma, let’s see if grandma wants it” Reign pointed and started to say something “I give it” passing the ball to Joy, she gasped “oh wow, thank you Reign” she seems so proud of herself, my daughter is just too damn cute. I make beautiful babies, I must add “hello everyone, oh wow! Mi Amor, this is a ball pit” shaking my head at Maurice, I am doing this because I can read what he is about to do “please, don’t…..” it was too late, Maurice is in the ball pit with her, he is a mess “Maurice, that is not nice now. Come on, she was playing alone” his big ass really did this, I am glad Marquis said it and not me. Reign giggled and went to attack her dad “awww my baby, I love you so much. Come and sit on daddy” now Reign is about to be so naughty and it will be because of him, he doesn’t know how to let Reign play nicely “thank you for the tea, it was nice. Maurice, please stop” the balls are everywhere “it’s nice to see this playful side to him” Joy said “honestly, I say it to Maurice. When he takes his suit off his attitude changes, he’s like a big baby” Joy laughed “oh my god, I said the same thing. When Marquis takes his suit off he is a much calmer person, with it on he is very anal about things” me and Joy have things in common already, I can’t help but smile at both of my babies being cute.

Joy got up from the couch “let me take these” she picked up my cup “I will help” I jumped up “oh no, you stay here. It is your day with us, please don’t” I rather go with Joy “no, I want to help. Please, we can have some girl talk too” picking up the plate “aww, you are so sweet. Who would’ve thought. Maurice bringing home a lovely girl like this, thank you Robyn” Maurice pulled a face at me “this is a lie” kicking his leg as I walked off behind Joy “that hurt!” he spat, I shrugged laughing “you are too sweet, sometimes” turning the corner, Joy paused and didn’t say anything “yes, so sometimes I think you are too good for this family. Honestly, it’s a ruthless family. Something I didn’t think would be, but love. My son loves you, so it changes a lot” I guess she has a point “but Marquis loves you, right?” I mean he must do “gradual, it was looks. He wanted me for my beauty, it was never love at first, I mean I did fall for him. Oh, he was such a charmer” this confuses me, why marry “don’t think I am being nosey, just interested” placing the plate on the side “I am truthful” I guess Joy as met her match because I want to know “why marry someone you don’t love? Knew what he was like? I refuse” I couldn’t help it “I didn’t marry for love Robyn, I saw money. You’re right, I have answered this question to my mother. She said why and I said to me, love is meaningless. It never happens in the stories, he proposed, and the rest is history, so they say” nodding my head “see, I always wanted to love. So, I fell for Maurice so quick but got hurt so quickly too, so with you. Things didn’t hurt you?” she shook her head “I knew he was married, he had Adam. He told me he didn’t want it, he wanted me. She wasn’t right for him, I never met them, but he said the child had down syndrome” so that is the story she believes “but Maurice met him, he’s not so he lied” Joy nodded her head “Marquis says a lot” pulling a chair out “then I am all ears, because I am marrying Maurice and into this family. Maurice has this idea that you are a bad person, I don’t think you are?” I said as I sat down, I would like to think she isn’t “I think people assume I went into this blind, I am not damsel in distress, never have been. I have a back bone too” will I finally get to see Joy, the real Joy instead of Marquis taking over with his voice.

Joy wanted us to go elsewhere in the home, so I did. We are in the cinema room, nice place but I want to know more “so what exactly has my dear son been saying?” watching Joy light a cigarette, this woman smokes “a lot, his refusal to call you mom. Only if people are around, or he says it may slip out but I don’t get why. The treatment of Malik, what is this? There is a secret I don’t know” I am confused because this is all so shady “you know what baby, this life. Rich business men, the lifestyle. It’s an evil place because money can buy you everything and anything, it’s a sinister place Robyn. I got to give it you, you’re really not here for the money at all. The amount of times you left Maurice; no girl would do the same. Well a small population wouldn’t, I wouldn’t. I didn’t come here for love, the lifestyle” I swallowed hard “but I am not a heartless woman, this has made me this way. And the day Marquis dies, it will be a good day for a lot of people. I can assure you. Maurice will be angry at you for this. He won’t like me speaking on family life, the business. I mean they like to keep it all in the family” she is not wrong “but then I know why, there is many sides I see of Marquis and sometimes it seeps through. Like when he said he would have made Maurice pick me or him, I do see he hates that I have broke into Maurice. But I can’t marry into a family being blind to what he tells me, I can’t keep telling Maurice off for things I don’t know. I wanted to come here to speak to you without it being overpowered by Marquis” I didn’t think Joy smoked, well I don’t think I know Joy anyways “do you know one of the things in my contract was to not have contact with my family so they cannot claim anything from the Davenport name?” raising an eyebrow “what?” that is scary “mhmm yes, and I signed it. My mom said I could do better, of course I could, but I wasn’t also going to be a broke bitch either. What would you like to know?” Joy asked, this sounds so scary to me. That she really left her whole family for what, an old man.

I know Maurice would be so angry with me if he knew why I came here because no way in hell I came here for his dad “everything, more importantly. Why did you give Maurice away? Because to this day Maurice is still hurt by what you did, why?” Joy blew the smoke from her lips “Marquis at first wined and dined me, I gave him attention. I met him at an event I went with my cousin, she worked in the hotel in Texas. Every year the best working staff get a party, for being such good workers. So, she got chosen with a plus one which was me, so anyways. They flew us out to New York, stayed there the weekend. My cousin was so excited, she was like oh god, he is the owner. He is old and all that, I met him, and he sought me out at the party, his brother came up to me and I thought it was his youngest brother that wanted me, no. It was him, so we just started talking and when I mean talking he literally said to me, you’re beautiful I could change your life. He told he was married, his son has got down syndrome, so he said anyways. I was ok, at that time I didn’t care. I just come out of an abusive relationship with my ex, I needed different. I said ok, he took me everywhere. I was at his side for everything, pictures flying around. He proposed to me, I was excited because he really outdid himself with it. Then it kind of dawned on me when I looked at the prenup that, I was going to get nothing of his worth. It took me two days, Marquis harassed me to sign it. But he was ruthless with it, I said it to Marquis, I goes are you willing to leave that life? Meaning her in Germany, what do I gain. He said yes, he will get his divorce then I said what do I get out of this, no money no nothing. He changed the prenup, he came back to me again. And it said I would get a home and that I would get 10% of net worth which is a lot, but then he verbally promised me he would leave me things, so yes I trusted him. He always goes by his word, so I signed it I mean what do I have to lose” I blinked several times at this woman “but Marquis, never mind just tell” I was going to say that the home he is giving it Reign, I just stopped myself “I then also signed another contract that I don’t speak to my family, I leave them behind so they could never come to them for money, my friends too. I had to birth him a son too. I signed that too.”

“Then I had a baby girl, so happy. So was he, Marquis was incredibly happy, so to say it wasn’t a boy. He seemed to have settled with me, I was the only girl he is with, things went well. And then I fell pregnant again, Maurice was born. His tiny little hand held my finger, it was a beautiful moment and I cried, at that moment that was my boy, my son and then Marquis reminded me that I fulfilled my contract, what a way to ruin the moment. Then I felt like I sold my child on, like my son had a debt on him that he needed to fulfil. We went home, the following night I got up because Marquis wasn’t in bed, neither was Maurice. He’s three days old, went downstairs. Him and his family are here, it was like cult, they were celebrating with my son in his arms. Laughing and shouting, I left to go to sleep. I wasn’t going to put myself in the middle of it, next day I said it to Marquis, he said it was just fun. Then the following week, Marquis left to go to Spain, this is where things fell off. He came back after 2 months, I only spoke to Marquis three times, other then that his assistant spoke to me. I was angry, he was happy. We argued, he slapped me and I goes Marquis, why? You have changed, blah, blah blah. So, a week went by, Marquis has been back and forth, now I seen the difference in him. He was more loving, he was calm, he made me happy then he said. Let me take Maurice to Spain, I said why? And then I knew he was softening the blow for this. And he goes didn’t you read the contract, I said I did. Don’t just come at me like this, he said right, we will see the lawyer. We did and I know what I signed, and I did not sign this. But it said that Marquis will have rights to his first born son, I had no right and then I had no right in taking him to court, I had no chance, so Marquis took him. And then I found pictures of Maurice being pushed in his stroller by another woman, it killed me so much. But every time I spoke he beat me and told me you are here for money, that is it. Then he married her, so I erm. Did something I shouldn’t have, I was angry and the reason why Marquis doesn’t bother with Malik, it’s not what my kids think but Malik is not Marquis’ son, but his obsession with Maurice made him not care about Malik, but then this is where it becomes a mess” Joy breathed out.

“The guy I had sex with was one of the workers that worked in the home, when Marquis found out he beat the man to death. You think he is an old man, but he is so strong, he paid off everyone, he paid off people to get rid of him. He put someone else in jail that took blame, but I took the CCTV footage, I lied to him saying I got rid of it when I didn’t, I put the footage of him doing that in lock safe. When he kept refusing to bring Maurice back, I threatened him with that. I have copies, Marquis didn’t want his life destroyed, I said if you kill me then the world knows. But Maurice came back damaged, he wasn’t my son and he wasn’t the boy I knew, he hated me. But he grew up, he didn’t like to see Marquis hit me, so Maurice threatened him to stop. Yes I let him beat me because if I released such a thing, I knew that wouldn’t just destroy his life but Maurice’ too so I took it. He’s calm now, because he suffered a heart attack, that is why. This whole situation is a mix of me wanting money and being fucked over by the Davenport family, it’s a mess but there is so many secrets that family hold. Malik will get nothing, Maurice and Nalah don’t know but thank god that boy looks like me, Marquis only calmed down with him because Nalah adored her little brother so it stopped him a little bit, and I am still alive to tell the tale. That footage of Marquis saved me, I had to think. But we are all for show, we sleep in separate rooms, and I just use his money. He said he wants Reign to have normal grandparents, he does have a new obsession, but he is scared of you Robyn. Nothing is holding you to him, he has no ropes to pull you in. and that scares him” I am shook, I need to breathe or maybe think “so, let me get this straight. Malik is not Marquis’ son but you have evidence of him beating a man to death so he had no choice but to be with you because you kept the footage?” I am just trying to take this in “yeah, he didn’t know what he was doing. At that moment he was angry, he just kept punching him which showed me he cared but then I felt like he wanted to do that to me, he had another woman in Spain, I was angry and did what I did. So yeah, this whole marriage is a mess. Now he’s on his death bed” I did not sign up for this.

I can’t even believe this “like” I said before laughing “you couldn’t even think of this mess. How are you so calm about saying this, to me!?” I pointed at myself in shock “because you can finally tell my son I didn’t want him to go but I had no choice! This was never the deal Robyn when my son came to me he wasn’t mine. We never bonded at all, Malik chased his dad, but we did bond and I love that boy with my heart. The reason why I can’t help him because I don’t have the money to do so, only thing I could was pray Maurice picked it up. He did, Marquis has left nothing to him, not a single thing and it was never his fault, it was mine. I wanted Maurice but I lost, when I gave birth to him he was Marquis’ and never mine. It’s not a sob story because it’s my mistake too, I let it happen, but I want you to tell Maurice, tell him everything. Because he treats me like nothing anyways, what is the difference. The reason why I am flourishing more now, I know he won’t be lasting long, I see his doctor when he comes. He can barely walk anymore; you know how he is standing? He injects Demerol or whatever, things will change once he dies and I think it will be for the good. Maybe break the wall Maurice has with me. I am a shit mother, I know that. All of my kids are the way they are, I am in his shadow and the most I do is smile when I am with him. The Davenport family are dark and twisted Robyn, they have killed. It’s been said what I think is true that the company was stolen in the past but what do I know, Marquis’ mother was a witch before she died. I cringed, you see Marquis with Reign well she was the same with Maurice, the old bitch. The next king she would say. She would beat her kids, so would their father too. You know how much of a mess that family is? But you have a mind, you are a scary force they don’t want here. Maurice is changing it too, the future is bright with you both” what a mess “I didn’t expect this” I mumbled “this is horrible, I assumed you was hard done by?” I said “stupid” Joy said “not stupid enough, I know he is giving this home to Reign, every little thing to Reign and that does not upset me. But for years, I have kept money away. I will be ok till the day I die, god got me” so she already knows “Robyn I know, Marquis tells me everything now that he is close to death” she really hates this man “what does he say about me then?” I would like to know.

She better not hold back now “first he knew of you, and this is like the first time he heard. And about the baby, he said to me anyways we will get rid of her, I goes another death in this Davenport name? Another? Really, leave her be. I didn’t know you, so that was my opinion, I did feel Maurice was warming to me, it was me telling him to stop and for him to leave her alone and Maurice knew that, I was on his side but he then switches to the I hate you and you let me go. But he wanted to get rid of you, he said we can pay her and I just left him to it but then heard he actually visited you in the hospital, he made you his target but he realised he couldn’t. He was losing the battle, he was losing his son, he is getting weak, his end is there so he gave up. He saw his son change, he saw his son moving money, he was seeing names being changed, contracts being changed. He saw Reign-Texas Davenport on the paperwork, he was so scared. What is this boy doing, what about Naomi. He was going crazy, but right now his happiness is Reign” I kind of knew all of that “the only person that I see will be hurt from losing Marquis is Maurice and out of all of this the only person that I care about is him, I got him a ill man, I have made him to who he is now. You can flaunt the fact he is dying but it’s me that has to console Maurice, because he is going to be the most heartbroken. I think as a woman Joy, and I am not being disrespectful, the younger you did you no favours because money is nothing, it’s not. I can see how much this family has internally destroyed you. I don’t know how to feel about this, it’s a mess. And you’re right, once Marquis is not here things will be relaxed but maybe in your world. Maurice says you should have done more, and I don’t know maybe you could have. Because I rather them kill me then see my daughter be with any other person, I will give her anything. I am sorry if that is harsh but it’s just what I think. This is a lot Joy” I was expecting shit but this, this is just a whole fucking mess.

[naomixhill]

3 July 2020

I haven’t wanted to go here, but I am ready now. 

It was 2015. I met you in the darkest year of my life. It was the year of ultimate betrayal. It was the year that I sold myself for my best friend’s tuition; the year where I woke up every day and enjoyed a a bowl of Ritalin to get through advanced mathematics and computer science coursework; the year I made it into one of the most exclusive investment banking programs in the country with an acceptance rate under two percent; the year that I co-ran a finance club and fell into every bad habit that I never quit; it was the year that, while on the surface, seemed like I had achieved so much and had a steady slew of investment banks pursuing me, and was constantly in and out of New York, I realized perhaps for the first time that things were not getting any better. 

It was the year that I was found out, blackmailed, and nearly kicked out of school. It was the year that my best friend met a drug dealer, stole everything out of our apartment -- right down to the bathroom curtain! -- when moving to a fully furnished home and I was so poor that I couldn’t replace a thing, so I slept on the floor every night and waited for her to come back. She never did, but from September to May that year, I waited. (Sometimes it feels like I’m still waiting.)

And then I met you. And you were everything. You were the CEO of a proprietary trading firm in Manhattan, traveling to Columbus on business. I was going into my junior year and had just decided to turndown my dream internship at a bulge bracket investment bank to accept a worthless job at a small financial services company locally. It was full time and I was so hungry and so poor. I couldn’t tell my family how I was living or what was happening, so I just survived. 

We met at a small Mexican restaurant in a yuppie town outside of Columbus during a trivia night. I was out with my new coworkers, and you were out celebrating after having closed a business deal. I saw you from across the room, and thought you were the most handsome person that I had ever laid my eyes on. You were dressed in a black button down. Chiseled jaw, slcked back hair, fiercely green eyes. You went home with me and it began. 

For the first few months, you would fly to Columbus and I would fly to New York. You’d surprise me frequently by showing up with flowers to my door or showing up at a restaurant or bar on High Street. Somehow, you always knew where to find me and you would take me out on the town, somehow finding places that I didn’t even know existed in my own city. And when I would go to New York, we would stay at the Gansevoort and parade around the Upper East Side and the Meatpacking District. It never ceased to amaze me that no matter how long the line was, or how exclusive the place was, you walked right up to the bouncer and they knew you and would let us inside. It was that easy. 

In October, the day before my birthday, you closed up the Manhattan office and joined me in Columbus. You had so many investors that worshipped you that it didn’t matter much if you had a prop shop or a commodity pool. So you ran a pool from our apartment while I went to school, and we planned to return to New York the following year. 

Less than two months later, while working full time and going to school full time, I found out that I was pregnant. You had mentioned so many times that you wanted a familia. And soon following, you admitted that you already had one. In the outskirts of New York, you had a wife and three year old son. In a wealthy New Jersey suburb, you had another ex-wife and two other children. Your wife was a playboy golf girl who was frequently seen on reality television. I knew her long before I knew her. She was beautiful, and I’d imagine you as a couple and how you must have turned heads everywhere you went. But she was also reckless and impulsive, and lived in a ski resort as her primary home while she drink and inebriated her entire life away. 

I never suspected it, and things were never really the same afterward. On a Tuesday in December, right before Christmas, I aborted our child. I have never said those words, but it is the truth. The guilt was immeasurable. 

Not long afterward, you had asked me to go clubbing with you at one of the nearby EDM clubs. Cosmic Gate had come to town, and you desperately wanted to go. But I was in pain and bleeding and tired from my hectic schedule. So I said no. It was the first time I had ever said no to you. You threw me into the bookcase so hard that a neighbor came up from the ground floor to see if everything was alright. I said nothing as my head bled from behind. When the neighbor left, you ran back toward me, and pushed me back up into the wall; I slapped you, the wrong move, and ended up beaten to the floor. 

I couldn’t walk the next day. But I deserved it and I knew it. 

So I smiled at you when we woke up the next morning, and we never spoke about it. By the spring, I was offered a promotion in Philadelphia, which allowed us to get closer to your children, who by then, we were going to visit every two weeks. It made so much sense to relocate and drop out of college. I had you and you took care of me and the least that I could do was take a position that allowed us the chance to be closer. 

So we moved to Philadelphia and we married. And then you started disappearing in the night. Sporadic at first, then consistently. It took nearly a year before I realized who you were and what was happening.  

At the same time when you were coming home bloodied, bruised, and sometimes vomiting, I was going through it in my own way at work. I was one of fifteen new hires. We were all young, capable, attractive, and very close. Our manager was unlike anyone I had ever met in a corporate environment, but it was fitting for Philadelphia. She was a size zero with implants and shiny tan skin; she had bleached blonde hair with pink strips and loved to wear mini-pencil skirts and collared-shirts with about three of the buttons missing. Everyday, she wore large hoop earrings, dark eyeliner, and five inch heels. But she wasn’t just attractive, she was hysterical and endearing and intelligent and multi-dimensional. And being with her made me happy. 

The manager, myself, and several other new hires were as close as people could be. You were often doing whatever you were doing, and I had hours to spend however I wanted. So after work, we would all go for drinks or grab cigarettes from the local Wawa and smoke at a nearby park. 

Everything was great until it wasn’t. By the fall of 2016, everything went irrevocably to shit. I was in the company bathroom freshening up after an upsetting call with a client, when my manager walked in. She grabbed me from behind and put her head up to my shoulder as we locked eyes in the mirror. She tried to kiss me, but I pulled away. The next day, I was in a meeting with human resources about my poor performance and attitudinal issues. I was so stunned, so humiliated, that I had no idea what to do. So I simply said I would work harder to improve myself and apologized. 

After that day, no one at this company ever talked to me again. I was put on an action plan and nearly fired. Through all of it, you were busy, and when we did talk about it, you aggressively had mentioned that I had provoked the situation. And I was so confused, I thought that was probably the case. I took a job at a nearby company in downtown Philadelphia, but it haunted me. It still haunts me now. 

Things started to get worse. The new company, the new job, was too much for me. I couldn’t comprehend what was happening in my life anymore, and I had a breakdown. You told me to get stronger. So as I was breaking, you began hitting me with more frequency. I remember one specific night where you had picked me up and thrown me across the kitchen table. 

I stopped being able to work by April of 2016. We relocated back to Ohio in order for me to try to finish my degree, again. I began having panic attacks almost every time I left the house. We began fighting with more frequency and more violence. 

By 2018, I was able to finish my schooling and got a job at a shitty local company in the area. Our plan still was always to return to New York, but I needed to stabilize myself first and this was the way we decided to do it. One day in the fall, only about two months into my job, I woke up to an empty bed. I assumed you were out blowing off steam, like you did with some frequency, but then I noticed many of your clothes and your luggage was gone. For three days, I called you and I sat next to the door in complete silence. 

But I never heard from you again. 

You left me. And I never figured out why. 

[excelxiors]

one final burden; boreo; 3.6k

so i wrote another one

tw// talks of suicide and drug use and sex stuff

After the dust settled, I went to Antwerp. The painting was no longer mine, but it was safe, back where it should have been all of those painful years. Ridding myself of that burden meant that maybe, finally, I could move on. Put that chapter of my life behind me and heal. The reward money meant I could right the many wrongs I had committed over the years; compensate all of the people I had scammed by buying back all of the changeling antiques I had sold as originals. I’m not a saint, but I felt bad about the things I had done and the people I had hurt. The prospect of going back to New York right away scared me, though I knew I would have to do it eventually. I would have to go back, face Hobie and Kitsey and Mrs. Barbour. Apologize. Make things right. Boris, though, had talked me into going with him to Antwerp, at least for a little while. Actually, he had begged me to do so, crying “Potter, please! You cannot go back to New York and disappear for another 10 years!” I wasn’t in any rush to get back to New York (courtesy of my aversion to being confronted with my mistakes by the people I cared about), and just a few days earlier I was certain I’d lost Boris (courtesy of his gunshot wound and my poor mental state), so I agreed to go.

Getting to Antwerp from Amsterdam was around an hour and a half ride by train. I packed my things, including my blood stained clothes and the suicide notes I had written, and met Boris at the train station in the late afternoon. He had considerably less stuff than me: a perk of living everywhere and nowhere, having houses around the world but no real home. His shoulder was still heavily bandaged and his arm in a sling, but when he saw me he outstretched his non-injured arm and wrapped me in a hug. “Potter, I am so glad you are coming. You will love Antwerp,” he said. He looked relieved that I was there in front of him. I wondered if he could see it on my face, how much I had wanted to be dead in those past few days. How close I had been to being gone forever. Maybe that was why he had asked me to come with him; because he was scared for me. It wouldn’t have been the first time. As kids, he had stayed by my side constantly, afraid of the things I would do if he wasn’t there, and afraid of the things I did when I was drunk or high. Laying in the street begging to be dead, jumping from the roof into the pool, and trying to drink more than what would have been safe, though we were so young that none of it was very safe at all.

The train ride went by relatively quickly. Nobody knew who we were, nobody was looking for us anymore, and we enjoyed each others company in a silence that was unusual for us. Seeing that Boris was safe and sitting next to me alive and almost completely unharmed gave me one of the biggest senses of relief I had felt in over a decade, comparable only to knowing the painting was safe and that the burden of it’s whereabouts wasn’t on me anymore. I don’t know what possessed me to do so, but the impulse to grab Boris’s hand was so strong that I couldn’t resist. His unharmed left arm pressed against my right, and I wrapped my fingers around his hand, squeezing tight. Boris was here, next to me. He was alive and he was okay and I could feel his pulse through my fingers. His heart was still beating. He gave me a funny look, as I was very rarely the one to initiate any sort of physical contact, especially in public. I had always been so afraid of what people would think if they saw me and Boris together, but not now. I was so sure I had lost him that any reminder he was still alive came as a warm welcome. He grasped my fingers back tightly, and we sat like that, hand in hand, until we got to Antwerp and had to let go of each other.

Boris took me to his apartment, a small but well furnished one bedroom in the heart of the city. Antwerp was beautiful, all old buildings and muted colors on the backdrop of a beautiful blue sky. He saw me staring at the architecture, making fun of me for my love of “old shit”, as he called it. I couldn’t deny that it was true. But better than any architecture or antiques or “old shit” was finally being able to drop my bags, take off my shoes, and relax. To sit down on Boris’ couch and not have to worry about any of the things that had plagued me for nearly half of my life. “You want food?” Boris asked, standing in front of his fridge.

“I’m good.” I laid down on the couch, curling up against the back, my face away from Boris and the rest of the room.

“When was last time you ate? I worry about you, Potter.”

“Uhh, yesterday I think?” I wasn’t sure. It definitely hadn’t been any time today, but maybe it hadn’t been yesterday either. The thought of eating made me nauseous after having nearly puked myself to death just a few days before. “I’m okay, though. Not hungry.”

“Please just eat something small. Bread and sugar? Like old times?” This had made me smile a bit. Back in Las Vegas, we ate bread with sugar nearly every day. Boris never had much else at his house, and this meal born of desperation made me think of him in the many years we spent apart. I sometimes made it when I felt particularly bad, thinking of Boris as I cried.

“Okay. Just one piece, though. I’m really not hungry, Boris.” He made it quickly, pulling a piece of sliced bread out of a bag, covering it with butter (something we didn’t do as children), and then sprinkling white sugar over the top.

“Here, Potter. Las Vegas, Nevada delicacy,” he smiled. His new teeth were startlingly white and straight, such a contrast to the crooked yellow I remembered from my childhood. I accepted the plate from him, hoping that the food wouldn’t make me puke. It didn’t. After a bite, I realized how hungry I actually was, wolfing down the sweet bread and asking Boris for another, which he quickly made.

“Thanks.” It felt weird to be thanking Boris for food. We were here in his place, not his dad’s, but it still felt like we were kids again, desperate and hungry: making bread with sugar and messing around with one another. “Where should I put my things?”

“Just put them in the bedroom.” He gestured to the bedroom door, and then to the door off to the side. “And this is bathroom, if you need to shower or anything like that.”

“Alright. Thank you.” It was all pretty shocking to me, Boris having some semblance of a life that was put together. I knew he was involved in shady business and I knew about his addictions: heroin, mostly, but also booze and cocaine and just about anything he could get his hands on. He had always been able to function surprisingly well intoxicated and high out of his mind, but the fact that he had made a life for himself while keeping up his habits was almost impressive.

I put my things down in Boris’ bedroom, which was relatively empty other than a dresser, a queen sized bed, and a side table, though all of the pieces of furniture were quite nice. I took Boris up on his offer to shower, stripping out of my Amsterdam clothes, standing under the hot water until it ran cool, and then changing into something more comfortable. When I walked back into the bedroom Boris was there, sprawled out on his bed over the blankets. “Are you feeling better?” he asked.

“Not really.” I hadn’t been feeling particularly great those past few days, what with killing a man, thinking Boris was gone, and wishing I was gone myself.

“Come, Potter.” He patted the bed next to where he was laying, and I sat down there. It was so strange to be next to him in a bed again, like we were kids. As kids our beds were much smaller, but we were smaller too. Now, as adults, the queen sized bed felt about the same. I was close enough to Boris to smell him, all cologne and cigarette smoke. “Tell me,” he whispered, “what is wrong.” I laid down, so my face was on the same level as his, and closed my eyes.

“I killed that man, Boris. And then I went back to the hotel, and you didn’t come for days, and I though you were dead. I though they had gotten you somehow or that when you were shot it was worse than I thought or-” Boris reached his good hand out, and touched my face. I was rambling, getting worked up. And he had noticed, stroking my face until my breathing calmed down, though I wasn’t finished, meaning the rambling would undoubtedly come back. “You didn’t come for days and I thought they were coming to get me. That they were going to kill me too. And it was all so unbearable. I was writing notes and-”

“No,” he interrupted. He sounded heartbroken, like I had just given him the worst possible news I could have given him.

“I thought you were dead, Boris,” was the only explanation I could give. “I wrote to Pippa and Hobie and Mrs. Barbour and Kitsey but the only person I could think about was you. I chugged vodka and whiskey and the rest of the little bottles in the hotel fridge, and I was going to take pills, but you showed up.” I was crying now, and Boris’ good arm was draped around my neck, stroking the skin behind my ear. “I was puking, bad. The whole bathroom smelled like bile and alcohol and I was cursing myself for not taking the pills earlier, but then you showed up and I thanked God I hadn’t. You are the best thing that has ever happened to me, Boris.”

“I am so sorry, Potter. I should have found a way to contact you. Call you, tell you I was okay. Get to you sooner.” He seemed distressed at the idea that I had been waiting for him.

“None of it was your fault and you don’t need to apologize. You’re here now.” Laying in bed with Boris after so long stirred feelings within me that I hadn’t thought about in years. I knew now that they were feelings of love. Attraction. As a kid, the idea had disgusted me. It was wrong and unnatural and I’d play off all of the nearly sexual encounters we had as horny teenagers just fooling around. It never felt like fooling around to me, and I don’t think it did to Boris either, but we never talked about it. I was too afraid and he never brought it up, so we didn’t.

“Will you be alright if I take shower, Potter? I will be quick.”

“Yeah, don’t worry. Go ahead.” I laid in Boris’ bed, the smell of him on the pillows and blankets, and thought about Kitsey, of all people. Beautiful, rich, smart Kitsey, who I didn’t love. It wasn’t because of anything she had done, not really. She had cheated on me with Tom Cable, which hurt, but it didn’t make me love her any less than I already did. I had never loved her at all. If I couldn’t love a girl like Kitsey, who could I love? Not Pippa, certainly. She wasn’t as beautiful as Kitsey, though I had always found her unusual looks charming. She didn’t have Kitsey’s money or intelligence, and had been badly stunted by the accident. I thought for so many years that I loved her. I didn’t. She had told me time and time again that we were bad for one another, and I had ignored her. She reminded me of that day and of my mother and of everything I had before, but it wasn’t love. It was an obsession, and realizing that she had moved on and I hadn’t was difficult, because it left me with nobody. There were no women I loved. No women I saw on the streets that I found attractive or wanted to sleep with, not in the ways other men I knew did. The only person I ever thought about was Boris. My body squished next to Boris’ in bed when we were kids, Boris’ hands on me all of those nights, Boris’ lips on mine before I left for New York.

Boris came back into his bedroom wearing boxers and a t-shirt, his dark curls dripping wet. “Okay, Potter?” he asked.

“Yeah, I’m fine.”

“Scoot over, then.” He motioned for me to move, and I made space in the bed for him to lie down next to me. We had shared a bed so many times that it shouldn’t have been weird, but the last time I had laid next to Boris I was 15. At the time, I hadn’t been truthful with myself about how I felt.

“Boris, I need to tell you something.” It came out fast, before I could stop myself. I just wanted to get this one final burden off of my chest. It was my last big secret, and once it was out in the world I thought maybe, just maybe, I would be free.

“Yes?” With just a t-shirt on, I could see all of Boris’ arms. They looked thin and weak, covered in track marks from years of serious and repeated drug use.

“I love you.”

“I know this, Potter. I love you too.” He smiled at me, showing his perfect new teeth.

“No, Boris.” I didn’t know how to say it. I had never said it before, not to anyone. Not even Hobie, who would have understood everything I was going through. “I’m gay.”

“You were always big homo, Potter. I know this already.”

“I’m sorry. I love you and I always wanted you to love me back but you’re not gay and I can’t expect you to be something you’re not it’s just-”

“You are stupid, Potter. I like women, yes, but I like you too. Always liked you. Don’t like to label but bisexual, yes? That is the word?���

I was dumbfounded, so I replied only with “Yeah, that’s the word.”

“You are surprised?” He seemed surprised that I was surprised. He was smiling, and his hand was on my face, his thumb rubbing over my cheekbone.

“Yeah,” I breathed out. I was so relieved that I started to cry. “I’m sorry.”

“Why are you crying? I thought you would be happy, Potter.” He was being coy, I could tell. Joking around with me.

This made me laugh. “I am happy. It’s just all so much. I never thought I’d say it, I was always too afraid.”

“I will ask you something, and you need to answer me honestly,” Boris said.

“Okay, yeah. Anything.”

“What teenage boy sucks another teenage boy’s dick if he is straight?”

“You, I thought!” I realized then how stupid it all sounded. Once, maybe, but Boris and I had given each other handjobs on many occasions and he had sucked my dick more than once back in Vegas. “I was ashamed, and I thought you were too. You never said anything, and you always talked about girls. You and Kotku, god! It was Kotku this and Kotku that!”

“She was fun sex, yes. But not love, Potter. You were love.” He kissed me then, pulling my face close with his good hand, as his other arm laid at his side in its sling. It wasn’t like the kisses of our youth, quick and desperate and shameful. It was slow and passionate, his mouth warm against mine. I wasn’t ashamed of my desire for Boris anymore, at least not in private, and I kissed him like it was the only thing in the world that mattered. Maybe it was. A couple of times my teeth knocked into his and we laughed, pulling each other closer.

He started to bite my lower lip and he must have heard me gasp because, lips still against mine, he whispered “You good?”

“Yeah,” I moaned. “It’s good.” He moved down to my neck, sucking the skin there. My face was in his hair now, and I grabbed the dark, wet curls to ground myself. It felt like a dream, being here with Boris as he sucked bruises into my neck and then kissed the tender skin. He was almost completely on top of me, kissing and sucking bruises down my neck and chest. My hands were on the sheets, in his hair, around his neck, anywhere I could grab to remind myself that this was real. That Boris had his warm mouth on me and that he loved me too, enough to want to do all of this.

I felt him, then. He was hard, his boner pressing through his boxers and against my leg. He was grinding against me, and I could hear his breaths growing heavier. “Let me,” I said, my hands on the waistband of his boxers, waiting for him to say yes.

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah, I want to.”

“Okay.” He smiled, and continued to kiss me. My neck, my mouth, my jaw. I slipped my hand into his boxers, and he gasped at the touch. I had never done this before, not to anyone else, but I put my hands around his dick and began to jerk him off in the same way I had done to myself hundreds of times before. Within a few minutes, he was breathing hard. He was close, and with a few more strokes he came into my hand. I didn’t know what to do, so I licked most of it off of my hand, wiping the rest on my pants. “That was so good, Theo. Thank you.” He never called me Theo. “Want me to take care of yours?”

“Yeah, Borya. Please.”

“Borya, huh?” He grinned as he pulled my pants down, exposing my hard and almost painful erection. He wrapped his mouth around my dick, bobbing his head up and down, licking the tip, and using his good hand to jerk me off a bit. After an embarrassingly short amount of time, I came into his mouth. He must have swallowed it, because he kissed me shortly afterwards and it was gone, only a bit of a bitter taste remaining.

We laid together for a while, kissing each other and coming down from our orgasms. I was afraid I would wake up and that Boris would be gone, but that didn’t happen. He was still next to me, breathing and alive and beautiful. He was real. “Boris, I love you.”

“I love you too, Potter.”

“Do you think maybe you could come to New York with me? Leave your business behind, get clean? We have the reward money now, we could do it. We would never need to work again. Come home with me, Boris.” I didn’t know if any of it was realistic, but I had dreamed about it for years. Boris coming to live with me in New York, saying with me and Hobie before we bought our own place. Both of us getting better, turning our lives around.

“Not yet, I don’t think. I am in it all too deep.”

“Soon?” I asked. I was desperate. I wanted him so badly, and knowing he wanted me too made it even worse. We could have each other, but not if we were an ocean apart.

“Perhaps, yes.” He was looking past me, at the wall.

“What’s wrong?”

“I don’t know who I am without all of this, Potter. Coming off heroin? It is terrifying. The withdrawals and the detox? I am afraid.” He seemed ashamed. Boris was fearless, but this was one thing he was afraid of.

“You’re the strongest person I know, Boris. We can find a place that specializes in this sort of stuff, and I’d be with you the whole time. We could be happy together.” I lifted his arm, looking at the mass of track marks, and kissed them. “I worry about you every day, Boris. That every time I see you might be the last. I don’t want to lose you.” I grabbed onto him, kissing his lips and then his cheeks, which salty tears had begun to stream down.

“Soon, Potter. Go back home, make everything right, and I will follow. It won’t be like last time, I promise. I will come, and we will be happy. Just give me a little bit of time. A few weeks at the most.”

“I can stay, Boris. I’ll wait for you to sort everything out and we can go back together. Please. I don’t want to leave you. Not now.”

He took a minute to think, his eyes locked with mine. “Okay. We will go soon, I promise. To New York. To our life together.”

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