#screw her and her nicotine cloud

[fireflowersims]

Aaaaaaaand the Roommate from Hell struck again.

Not gonna go into too much detail here, but she went too far and managed to get on my Shitlist. Something only a handful of people before her managed to achieve. Like, it takes Extreme Talent to get to that point. The Shitlist is reserved for those I actually Hate. And I don't Hate easily. Severely dislike? Sure. Don't give a damn? Sure. But actual Hatred is just not my thing.

So yeah, I want her gone yesterday. I hope she effs off and lives a long and very unhappy life.

It's gonna be me or her leaving this house and like hell I will let that bit h get any sort of satisfaction from my suffering anymore.

[lunarxdaydream]

‘👀’ Amaia

( send me ‘👀’ for something my muse has said about yours to someone else / when they’re not around )

“Talk about strong impressions.” Billow of smoke rises; nicotine soon entwined with crisp pine and spice. “Without even meeting you, sounds like she almost has you pegged.” A single tap releases the stack of ash onto a glass tray. Wide grin soon tugged on his lips; a fang visible as a dimple dug into his left cheek. No doubt the entire situation was humorous. Leave it to Harkan to push the boundaries for his own pleasure. All else be damned, or so the saying goes. “Got to hand it to you, it’s one hell of a way to keep ‘busy’.”

“Must you encourage him?”

Doors open to reveal a familiar figure; curtain of silver snow trailing behind in silken waves. A glass of wine held in hand, so nearly matching the hue painted on manicured nails. Her shoulders are tense. Notes of frustration laced in her words. Ah … she must have finished meeting with the Cardinals. Best to ask later behind closed doors.

“I don’t see the problem with it.” Harkan shrugs with abandon. His arm readily thrown back over his chair, glimpsing at Josefine before taking another drink. Dry bite of liquor is soothing to the senses. Hint of citrus chased by the smokiness brought forth from aged barrels. A fitting combination for his entire mood. “I’m getting the job done.”

“Even so,” Kreios inhaled another drag from his cigarette. “Your instability is starting to show.”

A muscle in Harkan’s jaw twitched with irritation. The implication made loud and clear yet the gravity of it hardly seemed worth discussing. “Josefine already took care of it.”

“It’s only a matter of time.” Delicate fingers brushed against freshly plucked roses. Rubies finally sweeping back toward the demon, a smirk soon tugging on colored lips. “Don’t think I haven’t heard about that little incident with the vampire.”

“There’s nothing to be concerned about.”

“Doubt it.” Kreios chimed before exhaling another cloud of smoke. “According to Mikael and Adalene, the bodies you left behind were … less than recognizable.”

“Maybe it was their fault for pissing me off.”

“Possibly.” Rim of her glass pressed as wine slipped past lips. Delicious notes of cranberry and sherry danced in harmony. Surely this would pair well with the apples freshly picked from the nearby orchards. “Frankly, I could care less what you do with the dead.”

“The issue lies with the vampire interfering.”

“Oh yeah?” Now skepticism entered Harkan’s voice. Frustration easing to annoyance and dare he admit, even curiosity. “How so?”

“First it’s that little demon – not that ‘little’ comes close to describing that vixen.”

Josefine rolled her eyes without comment.

“But now a vampire.” Kreios tapped his cigarette again. “I’ll admit, I took her as a gentle soul. Someone who wouldn’t necessarily stomach the grotesque despite what she is but colored me surprise. Let alone to hear that she’s been coming around far more than just a quick job.”

“Have to keep the customer happy.” Chuckling, Harkan took another drink. “Besides, it’s a one-off incident. It’s not like she knows, nor do I expect her to make a report to her boss. I mean, what’s the point anyway? It ain’t going to solve their dilemma or solve the case you so ‘kindly’ volunteered me to do.”

“And yet tell me how you’ve already managed to make a name for yourself – even by insult – to her friends?”

“Maybe they’re nosy.”

“Or maybe they’re keeping a closer eye on you than you think.” Her tone took on a dangerous edge. Roses that once bloomed in their base soon begin to wilt. Measured steps are taken, halting to stand alongside Kreios who watched from his seat. “Don’t misunderstand, Harkan. What you do with your time is your business. I don’t care who or what you decide to screw – but if they interfere even one second …”

“Including your little friend.” Kreios threw in as his eyes brightened into pools of molten gold.

“You’ll have my head.” He ground out; anger laced alongside a note of defiance. “Don’t worry, she won’t. Her concerns are focused somewhere else and if she does …” Great, as if he needed another thing to deal with. It was bad enough his behavior has been edging toward instability. And her concern?

He couldn’t deal with it. Would not dare feed that curiosity when she looked at him with such … pity? Sorrow?

“I’ll handle it.”

|| @strawberryxdreams | @arcxnumvitae ||

[jackyjango]

Part 1- Mouth to Mouth Combat

Pairing: cherik

Written for this prompt

Erik's empty stomach grumbles in protest. The digital clock on his monitor displays it's 2:30 PM, but he hasn't had a bite to eat since that morning. An ache has been steadily building in his head that throbs with every pump of blood through his jugular. Three ounces of coffee somehow hasn’t seemed to tame it. He needs something stronger. Something like nicotine.

He's mulling over how he wants to torture Sean for screwing up the third blueprint in a row when his phone begins to ring. Though he's set the ringing volume to the minimum, it draws the attention of his interns. Angel gets up from her seat with an excuse of locating a fallen pen while Sean leans back in his chair pretending to stretch his legs. Even though Alex’s eyes are stuck to the monitor, Erik knows that his ears are pointed in his direction. Utter bastards. At least Darwin is the only one in their lot who has the decency to pretend that he’s minding his own business. Pretend, being the key here.

Erik glares at all of them until they pretend to shrink back to work before picking up the call.

'Hello, aunt Ruth.’ He tries to keep his voice to a whisper, but it comes out as a growl. ‘No aunty, I'm not angry with you for calling. That's absurd- No aunty, I'm just at work. Yes, yes…. - yes aunty. You know I will. Of course, I will. Yes- I'm eating. He knows it too. What? This Saturday? Alright, I'll ask him if he's free. Yes, I'll bring him if he's free. Of course, I will.’

On the other end, aunt Ruth goes on berating Erik’s unhealthy eating habits without giving him a breathing pause while Erik nods and aquices to whatever she says. He’s just about to reassure her the third time that he’s been eating his meals on time when Azazel bursts into life in front of him with a hiss of air which overlaps with whatever Aunt Ruth says next.

Tapping on his watch, Azazel mouths the words: ‘Let's go.’

'Alright, aunt Ruth, I have to go now,’ Erik says, half getting up from his desk. 'Yes, yes. I'll check with him and text you. Love you, too… Bye.’

Pocketing his phone, he turns to glare at his sad-excuse of team members. Like a flock of birds dispersing at a pelted stone, they lung back to staring at the screen and tapping idle keys.

Azazel chuckles beside him as they head out into the roaring Genoshan sun.

The chicken roll they both take from the street vendor manages to vaguely quieten Erik’s stomach. He lights a cigarette after walking a short distance to the smoking zone in front of their office building. Floating the lighter to AZ, Erik sends out a text to Charles.

Hey, Aunt Ruth’s invited us to dinner on Saturday. You free?

The reply comes immediately, which means that Charles is on his free hour.

When am I not free for her cooking? Count me in! :)

While Erik sends aunt Ruth a text to confirm that both he and Charles would be coming for dinner, a second text comes from Charles.

Speaking of dinners, how does pasta sound for today?

Smirking, Erik takes another puff of his cigarette.

Are you cooking? Really?

Hey, my cooking isn’t all that bad. I’m decent. Well… mostly.

They both know that Charles’ cooking doesn’t come anywhere near the decent territory, so Erik doesn’t comment on the decency of Charles’ cooking or bring up the fact that he almost burnt the kitchen on three different occasions. Instead Erik sends out: In that case, A okay for pasta.

Stomaching substandard pasta is a small price to pay for being Charles’ roommate.

I assure you, my friend. You won’t be disappointed, comes Charles’ text followed by a grinning emoji.

The devil that he is, Az peeks into his phone and smirks. 'Taking to your boyfriend, huh?'

Erik rolls his eyes. 'Charles is not my boyfriend, Az. He's my friend, just like you are.'

Az shudders and blows out a cloud of smoke through his nose, the image rendering as the incarnation of Satan himself. 'Please, don't compare me with him.'

Erik supposes Az is right. It'd be grossly unfair to compare someone like Az with someone like Charles.

‘Hey,’ Az says, inhaling another puff of smoke into his lungs, ‘A friend of mine is playing at the pub downtown this Saturday. I’m going out with the boys. Wanna join?’

‘No, I’m going to aunt Ruth’s for dinner. You carry on.’

‘And is Charles going with you?’ Az asks way too innocently for Erik’s liking.

‘Yes.’ Erik agrees begrudgingly.

Az pins him with a look that spells out crystal clearly, see what I mean by boyfriends?

Erik barely restrains the urge to smack Az on the head. ‘He’s a friend and a roommate, Az. Nothing more.’

‘Really?’ Az asks leaning on a pillar, his movements gracefully feline; almost akin to a bored cat toying with a ball of yarn aware of the level of destruction it’s capable of. ‘Is that why you refuse to move out or is it because you prefer to travel twenty five kilometres to work?’

Okay. Erik will agree that travelling almost an hour to work is a bit of a hindrance. But it wasn’t a hindrance two years ago when Erik was looking for a place near the engineering firm he was interning at the time. He’d seen an ad on a communal mutant app asking for someone to share a two bedroom flat with. The man who had posted the ad, Charles Francis Xavier, at the time had been a freshly minted post graduate eyeing the position of a junior lecturer in the Genoshan university with a lease amount to a nice house too hefty to bear on his own.

The house itself was more agreeable to Erik and More importantly to Erik’s meagre stipend.

Charles had declared that he’s gay and a telepath the day they’d met, and that Erik should look elsewhere if he had a problem with either of those. In response, Erik had plucked the pen tucked into Charles’ breast pocket with his powers and had signed his half of the lease agreement.

Erik’s not an easy person to live with (and Az will enthusiastically attest to it). He’s weird and particular and controlling and territorial (And that’s just the first four entries on AZ’s list). He doesn’t know what to attribute it to, but living with Charles for a roommate is …. easy.

His living arrangement with Charles is comfortable. Charles doesn’t have any irritating habits. He isn’t stingy with money or particular with the groceries. He carries out his fair share of cooking and cleaning around the house. They take their turns doing the laundry and the dishes. What talent Charles lacks in cooking, Charles makes up for it in baking (And that’s coming from a man who hates anything with more than two spoons of sugar in it). He isn’t overly dirty or messy. Charles picks up after himself (except when he has finals or is in the middle of a research. The house is a dump zone for his tea mugs and their dining table is a disaster zone for papers during such bouts).

More importantly, Charles respects Erik’s boundaries. He doesn’t poke his nose into Erik’s business or needle Erik for anything he isn't willing to share. It helps that they keep their personal lives separate, too. Whatever flings he has, Charles keeps it outside of their shared home and Erik returns the favour. The only things they argue on are which show to watch on TV or which place to order in from. And all the times they’ve come very close to fighting are nights spent over a chessboard pitching points to and fro, for or against human-mutant relationships and ideologies. Erik would be lying if he said that he didn’t live for such nights.

In little over two years, Charles has become Erik’s best friend. And apart from Az (who’s more of a brother Erik can’t get rid of no matter how hard he tries), Erik doesn’t have many of them. So he doesn’t see why he should give up all of that for a few hours saved in commute to work.

Voicing any or all of it will only encourage Az to needle him more, so Erik shrugs and squashes his spent cigarette with the heel of his boot. ‘Come on, it’s getting late. I still have two blueprints to review before seven.’

Az groans at the mention of blueprints. ‘I have three to finish. God, Shaw will bite my head off my shoulders if I don’t complete it by today.’

With that, they move into the blessed cool of the air conditioned building.

Just before Erik turns on his monitor, a text alerts Erik (and by proxy all of his interns he shares his cubicle with). It’s from Charles and says: Got to get to my classes now. See you at home Erik! :)

See you at home, Erik sends and smiles to himself.

He just hopes Az doesn’t see it.

-

[nypmphetsbastard]

Paradis Island ch2

Genre: slowburn fanfiction, college!au

Pairings: yelena x fem!oc

Summary: college becomes a whirlpool of new people and emotions once you meet a woman by the name of yelena manages to weasel her way into your once perfect life and tear down everything you ever thought to be true. together, she introduces you to new world she likes to call 𝗽𝗮𝗿𝗮𝗱𝗶𝘀 𝗶𝘀𝗹𝗮𝗻𝗱.

Warnings: angst, smut, hurt/comfort, struggles with religion, homophobia

A/N: reminder that this story is also posted on ao3 [NYMPHETSBASTARD]

————————

PIECK'S FRIENDS couldn't be described anything short of...odd. Porco didn't talk much and when he did it was always sarcasm slipping out of his tongue and multiple eye rolls. Hange was....a character. You had recently come to find out about their wild science obsession that they swore up and down wasn't an obsession, was the main part of their personality. They rambled about random scientific theories that were proven right, wrong, unidentifiable and theories they believed to be correct. It was interesting and gave you a new perceptive on a lot of things you haven't thought about before.

Hange tackled you into a hug and rocked the two of you back and forth on the sidewalk outside of the library. Porco both tried and failed trying to get them off you and with a sigh he just gave up.

"I'm gonna miss you so much! Thank you for listening to me!" They pulled away with a gasp, "We need to hang out again soon! I have so much to tell you about!" You laughed at their excitement

"Okay okay Hange, I think she gets it." Pieck chuckled lightly, Hange dismissively waved their hand at their dark haired friend and pushed up their satchel.

"Bye! It was nice meeting you!" Hange exclaimed, waving their arm around wildly and almost smacking Porco in the face, earning them a glare from the blonde.

"See ya." Porco waved, ignoring Hange's air talking towards you that said 'call me' with a fake phone in their hand.

Laughing at Hange being yanked away by Porco for taking too long, you turned back to Pieck as she linked her arm in yours.

"You're friends are interesting." You pointed out, Pieck giggled and nodded

"Yeah they're definitely different, but I prefer a couple of weirdos than a big group of fake friends." Nodding in understanding, you began to think back to your home town.

"I wouldn't know. I've never had many friends and the one friend I did have barley paid attention to me or my life so..." you mumbled, drifting off thinking about how sad your life actually was.

"Well don't worry, you're not missing out on much." Pieck nudged you, "I had a big group of friends in high school and the one thing I learned is that popular people are only popular for their looks, definitely not personality." You two laughed together, "The group ended up being problematic for a lot of reasons and the only ones left that were still close were me and Porco. Funny thing is, Hange used to be considered a huge nerd in our school and our group made fun of them but me and Porco hung out with them and for some reason we just..,couldn't shake em off. They love us and we love them, even they do have a little screws loose in the head."

You laughed her joke but couldn't help but think about yourself. Wishing you had friends that cared about you and talked about you like Pieck did even when you weren't around.

Noticing your frown, Pieck nudged you once more, "And now you're our friend" you smiled at her and nodded. The one question that had been itching at your for hours finally felt like enough as you looked down at your moving feet.

"So...what's the deal with...Yelena?" It felt almost sinful saying her name, Pieck's attention instantly turned to you at the mention of her name.

"What do you mean?"

"Like...are you guys friends or....? How did you become close?" You asked hesitantly, the fair skinned girl looked over at you with a raised eyebrow.

"Are you asking me how to get a date with Yelena?" Pieck questioned, you stopped in your tracks and looked at her with wide eyes.

"No no no no no, I-I'm not— I don't— my religion I-" you sputtered out nervously, Pieck's eyebrows came together at your random word vomit as she crossed her arms staring at you, "I mean! I'm fine with gay people I just— I'm not" your words were cut off by Pieck's soft angelic laugh.

"Relax, kid. I don't think you're homophobic but your questions were a little...off putting" She searched for the words to say and cringed at the one she came up with, you shook you head and sighed.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to intrude."

"No it's fine. I'm not actually close with Yelena...in that way, I am in other ways but we're not really good with day to day conversations. That's Zeke's job. They've been friends since middle school I think and I guess it's stayed that way, don't know why but I guess history keeps friendship alive." She shrugged, you nodded and fished out your dorm room key out of your pocket, unlocking the door and bringing the two of you inside.

Honestly, you didn't understand why you felt such a pull towards Yelena. She was nothing short of intimidating, she wasn't short of anything actually. Her tall stature loomed over everybody in the room no matter how tall they believed they were, she was taller. Not only that, her dark colored sanpaku eyes made her already bored expressions look so blank yet so intimidating at the same time. She was an enigma to you. One you couldn't figure out.

"Shit, we don't have anything to drink." Pieck cursed, taking a look inside the mini fridge she had under her desk. Technically there wasn't enough space in the door to get an actual fridge so Pieck had just bought a mini fridge and insisted the two of you share it.

"I'll get some juice from the vending machine." You offered, Pieck let out a breath and gratefully took your offer.

"Here, buy me a cranberry juice, please?" You took the money Pieck handed you and nodded, sliding on some frog slippers and making your way own out of the dorm and towards the vending machine.

Truthfully? You had no idea where the vending machine was. A small glance towards it while walking past gave you idea enough that the machine existed, where? Well you'd have to figure that out. Trying to retrace your steps at any was hard enough given how short your memory was so you tried your best to think of the last time you crossed it. You probably looked crazy peaking over every corner you came across and looking up at the sky trying to remember but it was nearly one in the morning so you doubted anyone was just casually walking around for fun.

"Are you looking for something?" Asked a familiar voice from behind you, you whipped around and definitely did not make eye contact with whoever was in front of you. Your eyes slowly slid up till they landed on the two eyes you couldn't get out of your mind.

"Huh?" You choked out

"You're walking around like you don't know where you're going, are you looking for something?" She explained patiently, you blinked as the wheels in your head finally began turning.

"O-oh yeah, I am actually! Do you know where the vending machine is?" You asked despite your nervousness, the short haired girl looked at you with a blank face for a moment before she titled her head to the side and let her eyes fall behind you to the large vending machine that sat at the end of the open alleyway. Nearly heating up in embarrassment, you quietly thanked her and walked over to the large machine.

Your mind was so clouded with forcing yourself to not embarrass yourself while also trying to remember what drink Pieck asked you to get her that you didn't even notice the steps getting closer. Her steps got closer and closer till she walked around your crouched frame and leaned against the wall. You could barley look over at her, only catching the click of metal and the hiss of a lighter. Yelena snapped the metal lighter shut and looked over at you.

"You like cranberry juice?" She asked, pointing at the small bottle in your hand as a small smirk gracing her lips as she popped the cigarette in her mouth.

"Mmh? Oh no this isn't for me it's...it's for Pieck." You explained, Yelena simply nodded and continued taking a drag from the deadly paper wrapped nicotine. Deciding to finally make a move, you walked over to her and leaned against the wall as she'd done previously.

"Smoking is bad for you." You said bluntly, Yelena chuckled and blew the smoke out of her nose.

"I know." She stated simply.

It was a one word response, not much for a conversation but it didn't need to be. You were fine just staring at her while she stared right back, not a word being said. For once in your life, silence wasn't awkward or condescending. It was just...quiet. The kind of quiet you seeked in the middle of the night when your parents fought or when the day felt like too much, the kind of quiet you craved in the middle of an overcrowded area, the kind of quiet you longed for. You didn't mind the quiet. You didn't mind the quiet with her.

In your eyes is your humanity, the person you really are. There are times it gets lost, when you wear that facade, the facade of not caring about anyone or anything. But in that alleyway you stared into each other's souls. She said cheeky was good; she let you be yourself. You laughed so much, at times stopping because you knew a torrent of giggles would wake any scholars in nearby dorms. That's all you ever needed to connect to her in that moment, you and her, just eyes, no words. If you were mute your words and hushed giggled it would be all the same.

You bit your lip, trying to hold back to the unattractive snort that nearly made it out as Yelena chuckled at you,

"Hey, I'm serious! It was a very traumatizing experience." She joked, pushing your shoulder lightly

"And you just had to share that traumatic experience with me of all people?"

"Well, who else was I gonna tell the story of how I found a birthmark in the shape of Texas on Zeke's ass?" At that point you couldn't let it in and just begin laughing at her serious face, you looked away and leaned your head on your hand that rested on your knees as the two of you sat on the sidewalk.

"Literally anyone else! You have so many friends." You exclaimed. Yelena sighed and leaned back, holding herself up on one arm and running the other hand through her short blond hair.

"Not real friends. My 'friends' haven't laughed with me like this in...years." She revealed

"What about Zeke?" Just as the words slipped out, the blond woman's eyes widened as she side eyed you.

"Zeke? You think Zeke has any humors bone in his body?" Yelena asked incredulously, at that you truly snorted and let your head fall forward.

"Okay, okay, fair point." You agreed, lifting your head up just on time to see the woman letting her tongue slip out from her mouth and wet her pink lips, a silver shine of metal catching your eye in a quick second.

"You have a tongue piercing?" You asked curiously, besides the obvious silver septum piercing with horns pointing out the end, you never even noticed the metal piece in her mouth.

"Yeah" was all she said, dropping her hand between her man spread legs and looking at you with a head tilt.

"Can I see?" Yelena looked at you and smirked before leaning in closer

"Well you'd have to take your pants off for that." You blinked

"h-huh?" You stuttered, not expecting the answer. The blond chuckled at your nervous state and stood up in front of you, leaning down and grabbing your chin in her hand, her face getting closer to yours.

"You're an adorable little kitten, aren't you?" She whispered, you sat paralyzed as the two of you stared into each other's eyes once more, your eyes faltering down to her lips once more.

Sucking your teeth, you looked away from her sharp gaze and focused your attention on a random garbage bag a couple feet away from you .

"I have a name, you know?" You asked with a raised eyebrow, Yelena stood up at her full height and tucked her hands into her pockets looking down at you.

"Of course you do. See you around, kitten." Were her final words before she sauntered off, leaving you starstruck on the sidewalk.

You dropped your head backwards till it hit the soft plush bed you'd been craving the entire day. Falling asleep was one of the best parts of the day, there in the cozy blankets, snug and safe was where you could finally let go and let the world of dreams come to you in its dancing way. Let your mind rewind recent events and turn it into some weird ball of a mess that you would t even remember once the sun rose and your tired eyes blinked open.

Warm hands shrugged you somewhat roughly, effectively waking you up and not giving your mind enough time to catch up.

"Psst, it's time to wake up." Whispered a soft voice, you groaned and rubbed your eyes.

Once you adjusted to the natural lights beaming through the window, your mind finally processed Pieck running around your shared bedroom and dropping random clothes onto your bed hurriedly.

"What's going on?" You asked groggily

"You told me you have Professor Erwin first period, I had him last year and trust me you do not want to be late to his class, especially on the first day." She rushed out, handing you a random pair of sneakers as the wheels in your head finally began turning and you realized you had to get your ass out the door and to his classroom in 15 minutes.

"Oh fuck-" you cursed, throwing on the clothes Pieck had picked out for you and being stopped in your tracks by the short woman who shoved a croissant in your mouth and pushed you out of the dorm, not waiting to hear your mumble of gratitude from behind the piece of bread and butter.

Honestly, it hadn't processed how much Pieck for you beforehand until you made it to class and realized she'd packed your school laptop, a notebook and pencil in your bag as you made it to a random seat in Erwin's class just before he closed the door. You sent a prayer to the goddess known as Pieck Finger and immediately began immersing yourself into whatever came out of your professors mouth.

A small noise from behind you caused you to turn around and notice Hange sitting directly behind you with a wide smile. They waved excitedly at you but put their pen up to their lips as a way to tell you to be quiet. You smiled at them and turned back to focus to the lesson, making sure to write down anything that seemed slightly important. It was only after class that you felt you could finally breathe.

"Hey again!" Exclaimed a voice beside you, you looked over and smiled over at Hange.

"Hey Hange, what's up?"

"Nothing much, I woke up super early today and even got in a early jog before class."

"Pfft, cant relate. I woke up so later today by the time I even gained consciousness Pieck had already packed my bags, thrown a random outfit at me, put a croissant in my mouth and threw me out the door" you explained, Hange laughed and nodded.

"Yep, sounds like Pieck. She's just naturally like that, although I'm surprised she didn't wake you up earlier rather than just shoving you out the door." Hange observed, you shrugged.

"Oh well, at least I made it on time. I'm pretty sure Erwin was about two seconds from shoving the door in my face." The two of you laughed at the joke till you finally made it to a cross way.

"I gotta go but I'll see you later, okay?" Hange patted your shoulder and you nodded at their words, agreeing to meet up with them sometime after your classes.

Picking a random seat, you slumped down in your chair and began pulling out your laptop as the teacher started to set their things up as well. The warm hand in your cheek nearly lulled you into a slumber as the class dragged on for a while. After the 4th period, you could finally rest your head on your arms and lean against the desk as your teacher just rambled on about their life story, effectively dragging out the period even longer.

Finally, you lifted your head and rubbed the back of your neck as you made your way back to your dorm room. A mistake on your part to lay your head on a hard desk and ruin your posture even more, straining your neck in order to find a comfortable position. This tiredness didn't seem to pick up on the 'Do Not Disturb' sign at the handle of your door as you pushed your way into the room. Mistake.

The two bodies occupying the bed on the right jumped apart at the sound of the door opening but didn't turn around to face you.

"Can't you read?!" Shouted a familiar voice, your eyes adjusted to the darkness in the room and noticed Pieck laying under a mess of short blonde hair, her eyes not meeting yours until you spoke up.

"Oh shit...I- sorry" you stuttered out in a moment of shock, and only then did Pieck's brown eyes met yours. They widened significantly and pushed the blonde body off of them, revealing the same face you had been staring and blushing at the night before.

"Wait—!"

Now that was when you well and truly slammed the door shut and stepped back, not waiting to hear Pieck's response before immediately doing a 180 and started walking down the hallway. The squeak of a door behind you and the rush of steps trying to catch up to you was all you needed to hear to know that Pieck had run out after you.

She grabbed your arm and spinner you around, "Oh my god, I am so sorry! I forgot to tell you about the sign and—" she sputtered out

"Pieck it's fine! I'm not your mom, I can't stop you from having sex." your eyes lifted away from Pieck's, taking notice of Yelena who stood outside your dorm room door watching the interaction with the same blank expression she always wore. "But a warning would be very much appreciated next time." She sighed and pulled you into her arms.

"Of course, of course. I'm so sorry, it completely slipped my mind today." Pieck apologized profusely, while you wanted to be even a bit mad, you couldn't help but wrap your arms around her as well yet let your eyes fall back onto Yelena.

It was only now that you felt awful about last night, the moment you and Yelena shared made you feel like you had gone behind Pieck's back and made out with her girlfriend or something. You pulled away from the hug and adjusted the straps of your bag on your shoulders.

"Um you guys can...continue, I'm just gonna go." You said, motioning away awkwardly trying to hint at your new escape.

"No no no you don't have to, we could just find somewhere else to go, I don't wanna kick you out of your own room." Pieck insisted, regret flashing in her eyes at your words.

Subconsciously, your eyes went back to Yelena again. "No it's fine, I'm meeting up with Hange in the library anyway. You two...do what you do. I'll bring you back something to eat." You dismissed Pieck's suggestion, waving her off and turning around to make your way to the library, not turning your back once to see not only one but two eyes burning into the back of your skull.

Mistakes were all you seemed to be making today.

[recurring-polynya]

Request: RenRuki; Mad Scientist!Renji shocks Frankenstein Monster!Rukia with electricity to test the endurance of Mikasa's heart

I am not quite sure who you mean by Mikasa-- I am guessing either Masaki or Hisana? I really enjoy making Renji into Byakuya’s beleaguered minion in any universe, and I was extremely charmed by the idea of the latter, so that’s what I went with. I supposed this is a little less “Mad Scientist” and a little more Ticked-Off Postdoc, but a crumbling castle on a moonswept cliff? In this economy??

CW: Some detailed discussion of building a monster out of body parts. It’s not intended to be scary or gross, but just wanted to be on the safe side.

Read on ao3 or ff.net

🧪   🧠   ⚡

I should have finished my dissertation, Abarai Renji thought to himself, irritably rubbing at the nicotine patch under the collar of his shirt.

Education-in-perpetuum was a rich kid’s game, though, and when he’d had to choose between a paying entry-level gig at Kuchiki Biotech or a continued monk-like existence grading freshman papers and scrubbing out the autoclave, he’d followed the money. It had seemed like such a good idea at the time, working in industry. Eating food that didn’t come with a seasoning packet, living in an apartment that had both heating and air-conditioning, the indescribable luxury of a monthly transit pass. Yeah, it stung a little when Kira and Hinamori sent selfies of themselves at that conference in Berlin, and later, in their stupid graduation get-ups, but after seven years of working his ass off, of being on time every day, of covering his ink and minding his manners, Renji had been noticed by Kuchiki Byakuya himself, the reclusive CEO of the company.

“You were a student of Dr. Aizen Sousuke?” Kuchiki had asked, his cold grey eyes skipping past Renji’s carefully knotted tie and spotless lab coat to linger on his bandana and the cover-up smudges that protruded from beneath it. “The cephalopod neurophysicist?”

“That’s correct.”

“His work on artificial chromatophores was stunning.”

Right. That.

“Er, the camouflage stuff wasn’t my area of interest, but I have a couple of friends in that area if you’re--”

“You studied nervous system regeneration. But you did not graduate.”

Renji had tried not to look surprised, because his supervisor had warned him that Byakuya liked to try and surprise people and then judge them for being surprised. Byakuya had probably just dug up his resume from HR prior to this interview. “That’s right. Well. About the nervous system thing. I did graduate, just, y’know, ABD. That’s not even true, I wrote about half a dissertation. Maybe two-thirds.” His mouth snapped shut. Kuchiki Byakuya definitely did not want to hear about his two-thirds of a dissertation.

“I read your article in the Journal of Zoological Neuroscience, the one about using a donor octopus brain to reanimate a dead specimen? I assume you wrote it. You were listed as second author, but it was not rife with Dr. Aizen’s usual bloviations. It was excellent work.”

Renji had failed in his attempts to keep from looking surprised.

“I am starting a special project that could use a man of your expertise. Dr. Shirogane spoke well of your time here, and felt that you were ready to take on the role of primary investigator.” Byakuya looked at his extremely expensive watch, as though he were already getting bored of this meeting. “It is a small project, a one-man project, and I am afraid it will not produce any sort of publishable results. In fact, I will require you to sign a number of non-disclosure agreements, should you accept. But it is a very important project to me, personally.”

Renji could still remember the excitement, the feel of his heart stuttering in his chest. He imagined telling Kira and Hinamori about the personal project he was doing for the wealthiest biotech entrepreneur in Japan. He felt smart. He felt important. He felt like industry was finally paying off for him.

Two days later, he found out that this project involved grave-robbing.

It turned out that Kuchiki was a widower. His wife had been a kind, beautiful angel who had died of complications from cystic fibrosis at the tender age of 34. Despite everything, her heart has been very strong at the time of her death. So Kuchiki kept it, y’know, like a normal person. And then he found one of his employees, a guy with big muscles and no family and a lot of student debt, and asked him to make a new body to put that heart in.

That was three years ago. Since then, Renji had acquired his own sub-basement laboratory and a used pick-up truck. He had a lot of middle-of-the-night meetings with Kuchiki, where he got used to delivering absolutely deranged progress reports in a calm and conversational tone. He’d taken up smoking again, but then he had to quit because Kuchiki didn’t like the smell. He stopped seeing most of his old friends, in favor of his fabulous new friends, like Isane, the nervous assistant mortician at the hospital, and Hisagi, who worked down at the funeral home and drove a hearse like it was a Shelby Cobra. His new best drinking buddy was a guy named Akon, who worked over at Kurosutchi Heavy Industries and was building some sort of cyborg daughter for his creepy boss.

And now he had her.

Maybe she’ll turn out to be better than a dissertation, Renji thought, contemplating the girl-thing floating in an antifreeze bath in his sub-basement lab.

She was small, in part because the original Hisana had been small, but also because regrowing the nervous system had been the hardest part, and the less he had to grow, the better.

At first, he’d put a fair amount of effort into making her look like Hisana, but Byakuya never seemed to give a shit about stuff like that, so Renji started to take a few liberties here and there. An athlete’s limbs (well, more like three different athlete’s limbs) gave her a lean and powerful build, instead of the wispy slenderness of her predecessor. He’d been very picky about the eyes, but his patience had paid off when he scored a stunning pair from Ishida, a bitter med student who had a part time job in the university’s dissection sample acquisition department. They were deep blue, nearly verging on purple, like a starless sky. Renji wasn’t very good at suturing at first, and the big, clunky stitches that held her mismatched parts together were a little jarring. Renji had come to rather like them, though. She wasn’t a perfect, flawless angel. She was a pile of lost potential, cobbled together and given a second chance, and he liked that she wore that openly on her skin. If she didn’t like it, well, he could always offer to take her down to his tattoo place.

The only thing Byakuya had objected to was the brain.

It was a criminal’s brain, or at least that’s what Byakuya said. The brain had belonged to a teen girl who’d been caught shoplifting, and in her attempt to make a break for it, darted into traffic. It was extremely fresh, though. The girl died in the hospital and Isane called him right away. By the time Byakuya even found out about it, Renji already had the brain nestled in among the little baby human-octopus hybrid nervous system he’d been growing, so there was nothing to be done. Renji had assured Byakuya it would be fine, she wasn’t going to remember anything about her old life anyway. He did not mention that he’d done a fair bit of petty theft in his youth, and he’d turned out… well. Never mind.

He’d turned out to be an insane person, actually. A person who flaunted the rules of ethics and nature. He was an actual, real-life, mad scientist (ABD). Well, assuming all this worked.

In the morning, Byakuya was expecting a demonstration. The demonstration. The part where Renji pulled a lever and sent enough voltage surging through that precious little Kuchiki heart to bring Byakuya’s new sister to life.

He’d run and re-run all the individual organ tests. Reviewed his check list three times. Read and re-read all his notes. It was either going to work, or it wasn’t. If it worked, he was a genius, a mastermind. Kuchiki would give him a pat on the back and a big bonus and he was also going to start addressing Renji as Doctor Abarai, dissertation be damned.

If it failed, Renji was going to be lugging his belongings to the curb in a cardboard box.

It was now 2:16am.

If he went home, he’d just stare at the ceiling for four hours, but at least he would be able to shower before he had to face his moment of doom.

You could just do it, he realized. Pull the lever. Pull it right now.

Byakuya would be pissed, of course, he wanted to be there for the Big Shock, but if it worked, he’d be so happy to have a living, breathing, undead sister that he’d probably overlook Renji jumping the gun. If it didn’t work, Renji would have those four hours to troubleshoot.

The more he thought about it, the better the idea sounded. He honestly wasn’t real sure what kind of mental capabilities, if any, his monster girl was going to have. If she woke up spitting and clawing, he was okay with that, but Byakuya might not take it so well. Yeah, it definitely made good sense to give her a boot up now, so there were no surprises in the morning.

Renji stood up, and strode over to the portable generator he’d rigged up over the weekend. His hand hovered over the switch. He was gonna do it.

No.

In a minute.

He walked back over to the cold tank and plopped down in the chair sitting next to it, where he often sat when he had Serious Thinking to do. She floated serenely an inch under the liquid, her pale skin tinted blue, her hair floating in a cloud around her face. The cold was necessary to keep her organs in stasis, and it’s not like she could feel it, but he felt a little bad about it anyway.

“Hey, there,” he said softly. “It’s me. Renji. We’ve been through a lot, you and me. I’m gonna turn you on, in a minute. I’m not sure how it’s gonna go. I’ve been kind of a screw-up my whole life, but you seem pretty perfect, so may we’ll even each other out.” He chewed the inside of his cheek. “Another guy is gonna come by in the morning. He’s rich and powerful and has, like 17 cars. He’s gonna be your brother, and if you can be a convincing enough person, he’s gonna treat you like his sister and you’ll be set for life. But I want you to know that even if you’re a failure, even if you try to eat my face or something, that I always liked you. Hopefully, I’ll still get to see you a lot. But if not… I just wanted to let you know that I’m only giving you up ‘cause I gotta, not ‘cause I want to.” He breathed out through his nose. “Kuchiki’s probably gonna give you some flowery princess name. He’s never told me. But a while ago, I started thinking of you as ‘Rukia.’ I don’t really know where it came from. I think it means ‘light.’ So if you don’t like whatever name he gives you, you always got that one to fall back on.” He slapped his knees and stood up. “Enough of this! It’s time for you to get up.”

Once again, Renji stood, gripping the on switch in one sweaty hand. “Here goes nothing,” he declared, and flipped it.

First, there was a hum, which gradually raised in pitch until his ears rang. The needle on the voltage gauge climbed steadily. A few wisps of Renji’s hair began to stand on end. Rukia’s body bucked.

And then, with a loud crack, all the lights went out. Fuck.

Of all the things he had double and triple checked, the power supply to the generator had not been one of them. Renji groaned, and scrolled through his phone, trying to find the damn flashlight app. He only had 6% battery, which meant it was going to last about sixteen seconds. Fortunately, his lab was on an isolated circuit, so hopefully, he hadn’t knocked out power anywhere else in the building.

He had his phone pointed the wrong way when he turned the app on, and it immediately blinded him. “Ah, shit!” he exclaimed.

As he was blinking the stars out of his eyes, he heard a splash and he realized that he might have actually managed to bring Rukia to life before the generator died. He dashed over to the bath frantically. If she tried to get her own oxygen mask off, she might drown. Renji scanned liquid with his flashlight, but it was murky with bubbles. He couldn’t see anything. Had she sunk down to the bottom? He was practically leaning over the tank when he felt a hand on his arm that was so frigid that it burned, even through his lab coat and the shirt beneath it.

Slowly, Renji panned his already-dimming flashlight around, keeping it pointed at the floor, in part, so he didn’t blind her as he had himself, and in part because… well, because…

“Hi,” he said, as a pale face swam into view.

“Hi,” she repeated in the exact same inflection.

She could talk. She had speech, or at least repetition abilities. Renji wanted desperately to take notes, but he was frozen. “How do you feel?” he asked.

Those big, dark blue eyes blinked at him. “Cold,” Rukia replied.

[eugenesmorphine]

My Girl // Merriel “Snafu” Shelton Imagine

AN: Okay so the ask box glitched out, so I couldn’t properly answer, but, I tried my best. So, Anon, I hope you enjoy.

Taglist: @alienoresimagines​ @hihosilvers​ @floydtab​ @punkgeekchic​ @hellitwasyoufirstsergeant​ @adamantiumdragonfly​

Words: 2,786

 Y/N worked endlessly in the hot sun of the Peleliu Island. A wrench in her hand as she went around, fixing mortars and other small gadgets all day. An engineer's work was never done it seemed. Always something breaking or needing to be built in order to keep the Marines safe and or able to continue the fight.

  Her palms and fingers calloused from working her metal wrench and screw drivers day in and day out. Hour by hour. Some oil and grease scattered all over her. Her face had been covered in sweat dirt, and dried blood from a few cuts that littered the female Marine's hands. Beads of sweats dripped from her brow, and onto the hot dirt and sand mixture beneath her boots. Her white tank top forever stained with dirt, grease, oil, and god knows what else. 

  Snafu watched the woman work on a mortar from about twenty feet away. A smirk on his lips while he twisted a toothpick between his teeth. Enjoying every inch of the view in front of him. Her back arched, slightly bent over, dog tags dangling, sweat dripping from her sweet pink lips. Mr. Shelton could sit and watch the woman all day. 

  It was no doubt Merriel Shelton had a thing for Miss Y/N L/N. He was head over heels for this woman, and everyone knew it. It wasn't like one of the Marines just trying to get some because he hadn't seen a woman in years. Well, maybe that is how it was in the start when he first met her, but after a while. When she just kept shooting him down, only made the want for that woman grow more and more. And it almost turned into some sort of need. Just the way his name would roll of her tongue. How she would scoff at his comments. Her insults never even hit him. Each word was just another notch of him falling deeper for the woman.

   Y/N's eyes glanced upwards and met with the Louisiana native. Scoffing at the sight of the wide smirk on his face. "Take a picture why don't you, it'll last longer!" she called out as she stood up the Mortar, wiping the sweat off of her forehead and flicking it off her hand. Snafu whistles with a response, god he thought she was just so pretty. 

 "You know if I could, I would, sugar!" he called back, chuckling slightly. Y/N's cheeks dusted pink as she let out a soft laugh. Dropping the wrench from her hand and into the dirt. A small cloud puffing up in the process. The female approached the male Marine, her canteen filled with water stood besides his right leg. 

  Y/N reached for the metal container, but Snafu saw this as some sort of opening. Snatching up the canteen filled with water, and holding it high above his head. She threw her head back and let out a loud groan at the man.

  "Don't you have work that needs to be done? I just fixed up your stupid Mortar and I deserve a cold sip of water. And not have your filthy little Infantry hands on my canteen!" Y/N she scolded. Jumping up and down, trying her best to grab at the canteen. While Merriel was just getting his jollies.

  "Aw come on, doll. Don't you know that I broke that Mortar just to see the beautiful view of you fixing it?" that was a lie of course. The Mortar had been hit with a large rock while working at the air field that was flung by an Japanese artillery shell. Y/N huffed once more, dropping her hands down to her side and stopping her boot. Her brows furrowed. But the Cajun's smirk just grew wider. His teeth were still pearly white, she would be lying if she had said that she didn't find him at least the slightest bit handsome. Whether seeing him digging gold teeth out of a dead Japanese soldier's mouth, or washing the dirt and blood off of his face. 

   "That's my damn water Merriel, I got more work to do unlike you. And I need some water in this heat!" She huffed. Licking his chapped lips her leaned in closer to her. Her eyes never leaving his.

   "Maybe for a quick kiss from the pretty little lady herself," he spoke lowly. Y/N mentally thanked the muck on her face that covered her cheeks as they turned a deeper shade of red. She laughed softly, thinking maybe he was joking. There wasn't any way possible that he found her pretty. Her hair was greasy and dirty, her uniform stunk along with the rest of her. Bruises and cuts littered her body along with sweat stains, dirt and mud caked over her body, along with patches of dried blood all over her. But when she looked into his eyes and could tell that he was in fact not joking, it made some kind a switch flip inside of her brain. A smirk came to her face as an idea came to mind.

   Y/N got up close to him, pressing her chest against his and slipping one of her legs between his. Catching the Cajun completely off guard. Making him freeze completely. That's right. Merriel "Snafu" Shelton actually froze and shut up. Something nobody would of thought a woman would be able to do with the rather 'forward' Marine. 

   The tips of their noses brushing against each other while their lips only centimetres apart. Her hot breath on his lips. "Well, Mr. Shelton," Y/N trailed off, still capturing all of his attention. Using the time to snake her free hand upwards snatching her metal canteen quickly from his tight grip and pushing away. Laughing loudly as she took a huge gulp of water. Leaving Snafu pouting slightly, but he couldn't help but laugh in response. His stomach had been filled with butterflies, and his heart felt as if it was doing back flips. Something he hadn't felt since he was a teenager. "Thanks for my water back! Now I got some more stuff to fix!" Y/N gathered her composure, a few giggles still slipping from her lips as her cheeks were feeling like they were on fire. 

   Y/N turned and waved him off, plucking her wrench and other tools off of the ground, still having laughter erupt from her mouth as she walked away. Snafu just kept enjoying the view of her hips swaying as she walked away. Placing a cigarette between his lips and pulling out some matches. Staring down at the small package that sat in his palm. Remembering that the woman that had just left him completely starstruck. A smile spreading on his lips remembering the stupid little memory.

/// 

    Patting down his sides, looking for something to light the stick of nicotine that rested between his lips. But he couldn't feel one thing. Strings of swears spilled out of Snafu's mouth as he just kept searching. It had been a long day, the sun had just went down and the heat had began going away. The crave of the nicotine hit him as he just reached his foxhole when night hit, the stress of the day finally washing over him.

  "Hey, Sledge," he whispered to the Marine besides him. Who seemed to be sleeping. He pushed his shoulder lightly, seeing if he would move or wake up. Nothing. He grunted slightly and pushed his shoulder again, this time a little harder. "Sledgehammer! Wake the fuck up!" The Cajun whisper-shouted. With one more hard push, the fellow Mortar-man shot awake. Grabbing his rifle that rested besides him quickly, his eyes wide but still filled with exhaustion. And a slight string of fear. Snafu placed his hand on his shoulder, trying to tell him that there wasn't any threat and he could relax. 

  "Relax, Sledge. Just need to know if you got any matches or a damn lighter on you," he asked, voice sounding almost desperate. The other Marine just yawned and shook his head slightly. 

  "Sorry man, I don't smoke so I don't have either one," was all he said before rolling back over and falling asleep. Snafu huffed as the itch within him to have a smoke just kept messing with him. Throwing his head back and huffing loudly. That was until the sound of someone dropping into the foxhole caught his attention. His head snapped to look at a rather tired looking female who let out a sigh and looked over at him.

 "Need matches?" she asked softly. Noticing the cigarette dangling between his lips and the look of aggravation written on his features. His eyes widened as he nodded quickly. Y/N giggled softly as she dug into one of the pockets on her trousers. Pulling out the pack of matches and holding the small package up to show it to him. She watched as he reached for it, but yanked her hand back when he just almost grasped it. He let out a grunt as he glared at the woman who was deciding to play around.

  "What?" she asked playfully. Snafu actually gave a small plead with his eyes. Y/N rolled her eyes and tossed him the small thing of matches. Laughing softly as she watched him tear open the pack like a wild animal to grab a match and quickly light it and light up his cancer stick. 

///

   A pat on the shoulders brought Snafu out of the memory daze he was in. He looked over to the side of his shoulder, his eyes meeting one of his close buddies Eugene Sledge. He had a small smile on his face as his eyes darted between him and the female who was now far away.

   "You done annoying her?" he asked jokingly. Knowing all about his feelings for the female. Snafu scoffed and turned to look at Sledge, a small smirk quirked up onto his lips.

  "'Annoy'? I am not annoying her, I'm winning her over!" he spoke as he picked up his rifle and started walking the opposite way with his battle buddy. Who just laughed at his comment and shook his head. As they walked, they chatted. 

  "You really like her, don't you Snafu?" asked Sledge with a smile wide on his lips. Snafu chuckled, thinking for a moment. A small sigh left his lips as he lit the cigarette that rested on his lips. Taking a long drag and letting the nicotine filled smoke flow around his lungs for a second or two before exhaling it out into the atmosphere.

   "I'm telling you, Sledgehammer. That is my future wife right there," he retorted. Sledge just let out another laugh, shaking his head slightly. He opened his mouth to say something, but they sound of a loud bang like something exploding was heard. Causing the two Marines to jump and look in the direction of the small explosion. Assuming the worst they quickly ran over to that direction of the sound. 

   When Sledge and Snafu reached the spot, they exhaled a small sigh of relief as they realized that it wasn't any enemy artillery rounds, and no one looked injured or dead. Surveying the small area that more Marines came to observe, Snafu noticed a familiar female, with black soot on the front of her body. She lifted up a pair of goggled that had left huge rings of where now soot was. Y/N looked like a reverse raccoon. The thought caused Snafu to laugh slightly. That was until he saw one of the newer Marines that was probably fresh out of boot camp that stood a few feet from her. 

 See, what happened was Y/N was asked to fix on the new Mortar squads Mortar due to a jam. A small shell was lodged within it. And while Y/N was busy trying to fix the mistake caused by the two privates, one of them was talking her ear off. Trying to catch her attention by complimenting her, boasting about himself and how many Japs he killed. Y/N could care less honestly, she was older than the private and had more rank than him. So she just ignored him, working carefully as she tried to dislodge the Mortar round. Knowing fully well that the slightest hit the wrong way onto the round that it could go off.

   Though, the tuning out of the young Marine seemed to have worked for a while. It was until he placed a hand on her shoulder suddenly. Causing the female Marine to jump and her screw driver hit the tip of Mortar shell. Y/N immediately jumped back. "Shit!" she yelled, grabbing the private and yanking him away from the Mortar. And in seconds, that shell busted within the artillery machine. Completely breaking the Mortar and causing the loud yet small explosion. Dirt and soot covered the two. 

  Anger radiated off of the woman as she pushed herself upwards of the ground, lifting her protective goggles onto the top of her head. She huffed loudly as she stood herself up, looking around at the crowd that was now forming. This made it even worse. But, the private didn't stop there. 

  "Damn, Corporal. I got you falling for me. Maybe I can help you get cleaned up," he smirked. The female Marine just sat there in anger, yet in awe at the fact on how this Marine was acting. Like he didn't almost just blow her up. She slammed her wrench on the ground and began marching up to him. Planning on stinking his head in the blown up Mortar. But was stopped short with a hand wrapping around her waist and pulling her back shortly. Her gaze went up to stare at the person that held her waist tightly. Of course, there stood Snafu. Whose eyes were locked on the new recruit that stood just feet in front of him.

   "Hey, Devil Dog. Don't you ever listen? You could've killed little old, L/N. She is one of the smartest we got. Let me catch you," he looked around at the rest of the new recruits, "Let me catch anyone of you rookies, talking to my girl like that. And or nearly kill her. It won't be no Jap that guts you like a pig," he fumed, his eyes dark. 

   The look of a smug, flirty Marine quickly faded into a intimidated and scared look as his mouth clamped shut and nodded fearfully. Snafu smirked as he looked at a few other Marines. "Clear this shit up, make sure nothing else with these dumb asses happens. I'm taking her to get checked out by the Corpsman," Snafu ordered as he pushed Y/N along. Who was trying protest, but Snafu was having none of it.

/// 

  "God damn it, Snafu! I can take care of myself!" Y/N shouted, finally pushing away from the Marine. She huffed, her chest heaving. Adrenaline still coursed through her veins. She tore off her goggles that rested on her head and through them to the side as she walked into her little hut. Snafu following along side her. Totally ignoring the anger she faced towards him at the moment. She grabbed an old rag and immediately began vigorously scrubbing at the dirt and black soot that was on her arms and face.

   "Now now, Y/N. You keep scrubbing that hard you are gonna ruin that beautiful skin of yours. Why don't I help you-" he flirted. Y/n grunted loudly and stomped her foot.

   "God, Merriel! Why are you so... so-" Snafu saw this chance of her stutter to approach her, a small smirk on his face as usual. Grabbing the rag and taking her arm, wiping down her arm softly. Instead of being so rough and tough like he usually was, it made Y/N's anger melt away so fast, it confused her. Her eyes landed on the hand that held her arm and watched as he softly scrubbed. Her lips hung open, not knowing what to say. 

   "So, gentle all of a sudden..." she finished.  Her eyes went back up to his. Gulping slightly.

   "I can be gentle. Sometimes," his voice raspy, just how she liked it. She chuckled softly, not really knowing what to do. The female Marine just leaned back against a small table, allowing Merriel to continue what he was doing. Not at all disliking the softer attention she was receiving from the rough Marine. 

 "You know, Snafu. I don't mind you calling me your girl. I quite like it, actually," she smiled as the Infantryman looked up at her with his eyes. He smirked and looked back down at what he was doing.

  "Then I'll be glad to continue saying it."

[araingirl]

Remnants

The night was calm, and cool-just it had been before six summers. The sky was coated with the layers of black clouds who were busy in confining the moon. Thus, the night queen couldn’t appear to enlighten the ink-smeared environs. Compelled in a way or another, the yellow-golden sodium lamps guarding both sides of the narrow streets of Bakuten were fulfilling the duty on behalf of her, yet, not succeeding completely. Under the old breeze, the ever-pacifying river was flowing like a serpent. The liquid black crystal was shimmering-even in the blinding darkness. Two leaves trembled in the soothing, yet, ruthless late spring breeze, others were asleep. The atmosphere was obscure, soundless, empty…well, really?

“Huh…”

The 21-year-old neko-jin threw his golden orbs to the boundless, limitless blue-inked in murk as a little amount of white smoke touched it-coming out through his exhalations, belonging to the half-burnt cigar held in his hand. His lips were turning dark, nostrils were burning, he was feeling as if any volcano had been placed there. The vapors were getting invisible by each passing moment which felt like an eternity to him. The taste of nicotine wasn’t too delicious to his tongue. Rather, it seemed poisonous to his taste buds-well, it really was. Nonetheless, unknowingly, he couldn’t drop it on the ground and pass by. Mysterious the attraction…no no, the addiction was.

With another puff, he took a look at his wristwatch. 11.00 pm, she should have come by then. At least, the text sent in the afternoon had said so. Only for her, he’d crossed miles after miles and reached here. Since he was in solitude, the piece of cigarette was accompanying him. It couldn’t be said that he was enjoying the company of the cigar but it was better than being lonely on the old bridge of Bakuten, wrapped with many bittersweet memories. He’d met her at first at the edge of the river, on the greeneries. She’d smiled like a rose, leaving her own color in his heart. They had got to know each other on the same bridge. He recalled another event when he’d slept while waiting for her but she hadn’t come. His soul dried. Would she….

“Honk!”

Startled, the raven-haired neko-jin looked back, carefully holding the cigarette. A pair of golden headlights shown in the darkness like the eyes of a tigress, waiting silently for its prey. Pulling the door of the black wagon which was almost invisible due to the excessive and strange depth of the night, she came out. Just like that night, he was surprised. Though he was waiting for her, he actually didn’t expect her to appear there. She pushed the door of her car back as it retreated, producing a shrill. Her black heel-worn feet walked towards him, her eyes were somewhere else.

No smile bloomed in his lips. Of course, she’d changed a lot during these years. Her hair wasn’t spiky anymore, blood tresses were straight, smooth, unbound-crossing her slender waist. He couldn’t differentiate between those kohl-streaked bumblebee eyes and the mysterious, passing night. Skin tone in black and dark-violet fitting outfits bloomed like the moon confined in the four walls of the dense nocturnal clouds, along with her hourglass figure and a slight portion of her cleavage. Wine-shaded lips became a bit thick but it only added intoxication to her features. Smirk didn’t rise there too. Seeing her appearance, Ray felt to fall in love with her once again, but couldn’t. Just couldn’t.

With a glimpse, Salima examined Ray. She must have admitted, Ray had grown up too. He was always attractive-it just got enhanced during these seasons. Beefy triceps were visible under the half-sleeves of his white collared T-shirt. Well-built, delicious collar bones could clearly be seen because two buttons at the neckline were undone. Eyes were shinier than the sodium street lamps, the perfume emitted from his body was exotic, erotic. Recently, he’d got a haircut but the black yin-yang bandana was present, wrapped around his forehead. He was looking like a seductive gentleman right now with the cigar. Salima praised him inwardly but didn’t utter a single word. Smiting the concrete surface of the bridge with her heels, she moved towards him.

He was waiting for her, enthralled, speechless-yet, his expressions were blank. But at the last second, she turned back, only displaying her back to him. He screwed his brows, not understanding what actually was wrong with her. To his horror, she slid her hand into the pocket of her jeans, hauling it out with a packet of cherry mond cigarettes and a lighter. Putting one on the flame of the navy-blue pocket ignitor, she simply tucked it between her scarlet-painted lips as if it had never been a big deal to her at all. While doing the entire task, she hadn’t looked back at Ray for once, ignoring his existence on that bridge.

The unexpected boldness of the girl who had been a sweetheart once upon a time shook the neko-jin. He was so awestruck that he didn’t even notice that the cigar between the two fingers of his right hand was decaying. The intoxicating fragrance of cherry and nicotine hovered around him. Then, he noticed that his cigarette was on the verge of dying. Quickly turning back, he puffed it, emitting the vapors in the air. The innocent but inebriating aroma of cherries and the dark but desperate stench of clear red wine got dissolved in each other and created a new flavor, hitting both their nostrils.

“What will happen consuming too many cigarettes?” Surprising the man, the woman pronounced first, “You have already started smelling like a pink rose.”

“And you smell like a blue lotus,” He smirked, puffing a bit of smoke, “No worries, when the intoxication will be over, you’ll also be gone.”

“So will you.” Salima voiced, “By the way, I’m getting married in the next month.”

“So am I, in the next week,” Ray breathed, “Needed a bit of celebration.”

“Independent celebration, huh?” The redhead cocked a brow, not facing the neko-jin, “Sure, continue. I’m doing the same. Coz after it, instead of cherry monds, I’ll get to quench blue lagoon.”

“And I’ll guzzle strawberry milkshake.”

“Here I thought you are a man,” The scarlet chuckled, “However, my addiction for coke is no more. It’s harmful to health, you know. I’ve realized it.”

“Am I still addicted to red wine?” Whether the neko-jin questioned the cyber-princess or himself couldn’t be guessed when he sneered, “Whatever, I think I should break the bottles returning home. They can only increase the pain inside the chest.”

Right at the same time, they tossed the residuals of their cigarettes back. Cherry collided with wine and landed on the ground-not a millisecond before or after each other. When their flames met, it lit more brightly. But they didn’t notice it. Their eyes were burning; they didn’t know whether it was for the side-effect of the cigars or something else. Before tears could have blinded them, they straightly walk towards the respective vehicles, rode them and closed the doors. Not even looking back for seeing each other for one last time, they started their cars, they moved towards at 180-degree, pulsating the spring flurries more and more.

Only the remnants to a pair of cigarettes remained on the bridge, hugging each other, smothered, yet the smokes coming out from them implied that love took place here, once upon a time.

________________________________________________________________

Now now...tell me....should I publish this on ffn? xD 

[blooblooded]

Lee bullies some children

It was only out of paranoia that Lee Harlan did not vape inside of Kip’s apartment. Logically he knew that the chances of it leaving an odor were low to none-- after all, he vaped inside of his own home and never noticed anything. But he used cherry flavored pods and the risk of Kip’s mother coming home, noticing the smell, and confronting her children about it was too great so he always went outside to the landing when he needed a hit of nicotine.

If Police Commissioner Nguyen found out that a 22 year old man was habitually hanging out at her home unsupervised with her children and their friends...it was best not to think about what would happen.

Lee slid the glass door shut behind him to ensure that no vapor could get inside, turned and found that he was not alone. Kip’s youngest friends were out there. Well, not his friends, not really, more like the kids that hung around because they had to. Esther Bellamy’s twin siblings and their friend.

And Marty.

He didn’t know how old any of them were, only that the differences in maturity between them and 18 year old Kip were noticeable. The twins, Eddie and Evangeline, sat in two of the landing’s rickety old deck chairs, pretty and redheaded, unconsciously mimicking each other’s body language. Nervous, quiet Rome sat in another chair. And on the table between chairs was propped a tablet, the screen broadcasting Marty’s face from the mysterious outside land he came from.

They had clearly been chatting amongst themselves but shut up the moment Lee came outside. He smiled at them and projected his will to put them at ease with his presence, then leaned against the railing and took a hit from his vape.

Instantly, there was a problem.

“Are you fucking smoking?” Marty demanded. His accent was strange, round and musical and nothing like anything heard in Eden. 

Lee exhaled. He didn’t understand why this kid had such a personal problem with him. They had met 4 times, and every time, Marty would try to incite him by accusing him of bad intentions. He didn’t trust him and nothing Lee said or did seemed to help. It was strange to not be liked instantly, usually his slight psychic abilities masked him from mistrust. “Relax, I’m vaping.”

Marty’s round face screwed up like it always did when he came across a term he did not understand. Dumb ass kid didn’t even know what vaping was. Where did he come from, that’s what Lee really wanted to know. How was he in contact with people in Eden? It was information he doubted he would ever get due to Marty’s hostility. He exhaled another cloud.

“Can you not do that around people?” said Marty. 

Lee looked at the other teenagers and raised his eyebrows. “Is this bothering you guys?” he asked.

“It’s cool,” said Eddie, who was trying to lean his chair back on two legs.

“Whatever,” said Evangeline.

Rome didn’t say anything. He usually didn’t, it was hard to get more than two words out of him. 

Still, it was all he needed. It wasn’t a no. Nobody ever said no to him. He smiled at Marty and continued to vape, enjoying the expression of pure disgust and anger he was receiving. 

It dawned on him that he desired to make Marty angry at him. The novelty of pissing off someone who was thousands of miles away and helpless to do anything about it was good. Getting away with doing things he knew was wrong always gave him a little thrill, it was one of the reasons that he had been enjoying hanging out with Kip and all his underage friends so much. Not because he had any ill will towards them or wanted to harm them, but because he found it funny that he could if he wanted to. Most of their parents were powerful people, a police commissioner, a career capitalist, a member of the intelligentsia: all people he hated on principle. If he wanted to, he could really hurt them. Not that he wanted to. He wouldn’t. But he could.

This was different. Marty was just a fat little teenager on a screen. He had no power over Lee. He was not responsible for any of his suffering, his poverty, his frustration. The only thing Marty had was the inability to be influenced by his psychic abilities. The only thing he could do was watch. Lee thought about all the things he could make Marty watch. He felt the sudden and unnatural urge to hurt him.

There was no reason for that. Lee liked to think of himself as a good person. Still, this urge grew inside his heart.

“What are you guys doing out here?” he asked them. He pointed at a soda bottle one of them had drunk. “Playing spin the bottle? That puts Marty at a disadvantage.” It was just a little joke but he watched the twins’ pale faces blush and Rome’s posture change. He knew he had made them uncomfortable. “Kidding, kidding, sorry. Really, what are you talking about out here all by yourselves?”

“You should go away,” said Marty. His wavy black hair seemed to puff up as he grew angrier. 

Eddie was the first to grow comfortable again. He leaned his chair back on two legs and held onto the table to balance himself. “We’re just talking about homework,” he said. He and his sister looked semi inhuman in the way that all genetically modified people looked to Lee. Artificials. The elite shelled out hundreds of thousands of dollars to ensure that their children would be beautiful, that unlike Lee, they would never have to worry about bad eyesight or crooked teeth. The Bellamy children all had clear, almost translucent skin and tall graceful bodies. Looking at them stirred up those old feelings of resentment at the knowledge that some people had a leg up on life from day one. He would always be treated differently than them. “We have papers due on social studies. I’m writing about the Prison District and stuff, you know. Jail. I’m going to ask Ms. Nguyen about it so I can get an A.”

The thought of the Prison District caused Lee to feel a chill down his neck and the short hairs there stand on end. Unbidden, he remembered the face of his mother; her sly smile and strong jaw resembled his own in his memories. But what memories did he really have of her? Few and far between. She had hung herself in her own cell when he was 12 years old, not long after being arrested, the reality of a life in a cage had been too much for her to bear and she had made the choice to evade that fate. 

At 17, he had contemplated that choice as well. He took a drag on his vape to clear his head.

“Just ask Kip,” said Evangeline, so curt and unpleasant for a girl her age. “Don’t you remember Kip getting arrested in July when he spray painted that building?”

“That doesn’t count, Vega bailed him out before anyone even knew that happened.”

“It does too count, if you got arrested even for five minutes you would be crying like a baby. Kip’s good at talking about that kind of stuff.”

Silent, Rome sat there and picked at one of his fingernails. On the little screen, Marty rolled his big black eyes.

Lee considered ways of endearing himself to these children. He wanted to know that he was not a threat, that they could trust him so that they would not betray him to any adult figures in their lives. At this point, he could not risk it. He had to stay close to Kip, after all the work he had put in with the kid, he couldn’t just throw that away. He needed-- Yancey needed-- him so that Eden could become a better place. At the end of the school year, Mayor Malena would make a speech in the School District, and Kip’s cooperation would allow the United People’s  Liberation Front to eradicate him and open Eden up for actual representation, not representation from a tyrant. For that to happen, he had to keep Kip on his side, and for //that// to happen, he had to keep Kip’s friends on his side.

Eddie Bellamy was still leaning his chair back and Lee felt the urge to stick out his foot and knock the chair leg so that he fell over. Instead, he smiled in a way that was open and disarming and tried to remember what he had learned in his Investigative Journalism course about building trust and credibility.

“I’ve been to prison,” he said, casual as anything. “I was in prison for 6 months.”

They all looked at him. Was this too much too fast? Or did teenagers think stuff like that was cool? He certainly had, at that age.

“Why were you in prison?” asked Marty, almost immediately.

Lee shrugged. “Because the system is unfair and oppressive. It discriminates against people who are poor.”

“Qu’est ce que ca-- What does that mean? That doesn’t mean anything, what did you--”

“Cool,” said Eddie. He took a handheld tablet out of his pocket. “OK so I don’t even need to talk to Ms. Nguyen, I can like, just talk to you and get this paper done before the weekend. Was it terrible? How was the food? Kip said they have to shower with everyone else in prison, did you have to do that? I would hate that.”

“Why are you even talking to this guy?” snapped Marty. “He just told you he was in prison, they don’t just send guys there on vacation! Can you listen to me for once, I wish that someone would just listen to me for once. Quit talking to him, he’s like 40 years old, you can just make things up and write them down, whatever he says is probably just as made up!”

“Can you calm down for once?” asked Evangeline. “Why are you always shouting?”

“Why would anyone even lie about something like that?” Eddie said blandly, typing on his tablet. “Let me think of some questions for you, Lee.”

Marty ground his teeth. “Rome,” he said pointedly. “Do you want to say something about this? Maybe about what you’ve been messaging me about this guy in private? Huh?”

It was clear that the heir to Prosperity Inc. did not like being around Lee, but was too anxious to say anything. He started to breathe in a fast, funny way. Lee raised his eyebrows at him and then looked at Marty. He smiled. It was a crooked smile because he could never afford to get braces. Marty’s face turned red.

“Do you really think I’m 40?” he asked him. “Really? You think I look like I’m 40? That hurts.”

The only response was a string of what was probably curses in the kid’s own language, and then the screen went white as he turned it off in a fit of temper.

Making him angry was pretty funny.

##

The next step was easy. Lee and Kip were in a computer lab, designing posters for an upcoming UPLF meeting. Due to the nature of what they talked about, Lee sometimes felt anxious about advertising the organization, but Yancey assured him it was fine. After all, they needed more people. More bodies.

Kip got frustrated by little things. He could not figure out how to rotate text the right way and was jiggling his leg. The small repetitive movements put Lee even more on edge. He put down his coffee and leaned over Kip’s workspace so that their shoulders touched, then took the mouse from him and fixed the poster easily. 

“Thanks,” said Kip, who didn’t move away when Lee touched him. “I just don’t really understand art.”

“That’s OK. There’s nothing to get.”

“Yeah.” Kip kept jiggling his leg. He smelled like body odor. Lately he had been neglecting personal hygiene. Lee couldn’t imagine such a thing. He spent upwards of an hour getting ready every morning.

He couldn’t stop thinking about Marty and his round little musical language. What did those words mean? In Eden they were taught that the land outside of the 10 Colonies was uninhabitable, but that was clearly just another lie. Clearly there were people there, people with civilization. Civilization both unlike and like the one in Eden. Marty had mentioned a revolution, a civil war, while arguing with Kip, and Lee had felt his blood run hot.

He wanted to know that it was possible.

He wanted to know that the world could change.

And then, there was that part of him that was fascinated by Marty. Like the differences and similarities between Eden and the strange land that Marty came from, the two of them had their own similarities and differences. Such vivid similarities. Such stark differences. It wasn’t normal for a man in his twenties to feel curiosity towards a teenager, but Lee knew that his intentions were not inappropriate. He was, after all, a good person. He just wanted to know more. He wanted to prod, just a little bit, to get a reaction.

Kip was typing a short informative blurb for the poster but had misspelled the word commodification. Lee moved his hands away again so that he could correct him. “You don’t have that kid Marty’s contact info, do you?” he asked.

“Yeah.”

“Would you send it to me?”

The long pause that followed reminded Lee that this was a weird request. It hinged upon his assumption that Kip would do anything he asked him to, no matter how absurd, how obscene. Infatuation was a powerful motivator but the desire to protect others was a key part of how Kip Nguyen positioned himself in the world.

Another long second. Kip pulled out his communicator and typed into it. Lee’s own device pinged with a long string of numbers that did not match any in Eden.

He realized how much power he had over this young man. It was something he was unused to, but something that he wanted more of.

“Why--” Kip furrowed his brows, then looked back at his screen. “Why do you want to talk to Marty? I thought he didn’t like you.”

It was that obvious.

The truth was the best option in this situation. “I want to talk to him about the place he lives. I think they’ve accomplished the same thing we’re trying to do. They killed their oppressors, they made things fair for everyone who lives there. Can you imagine that? I want to know how they were able to do it so that I know we can do it. I just want to hear about a place that did it first.”

Kip was no longer jiggling his leg. He was spaced out, unfocused out of nowhere. Whenever he got this way, his expression turned flat and his eyes went glassy. Over the last few months, Lee had realized that Kip spaced out all the time, mostly when he felt stressed. He almost felt bad. 

Was he putting too much pressure on Kip? Despite knowing that he was using him, he liked him a lot. He liked how outrageously passionate and articulate Kip was and wished that he could have been the same way at 18. At 18, Lee had been dweeby and ineloquent, still held back by the grief of losing his mother and the horror of what he had endured during his incarceration. He did not want to ever take away Kip’s ‘spark’.

“You good?” he asked carefully. 

Kip shook himself. He clicked aimlessly on the keyboard. “Yeah. It’s just-- I don’t think Marty is very happy. You’d think that in a society where everything is fair, everyone would be happy.”

“It’s more important that everything is fair than for everyone to be happy.”

“Right. Yeah, I know. I mean, I know that. It’s stupid, I don’t know why I was thinking about that.” Kip deleted the strings of gibberish he had just typed, then turned so that he could face Lee. He was smiling but everything else was off, like he was forcing himself to look normal. “Marty’s weird. If you bother him or something, Ayda’s probably going to come after me, so can you-- can you be cool when you talk to him? I really don’t want Ayda getting mad at me, Case will get mad if Ayda’s mad. You know? Please just be cool.”

Lee put a hand on Kip’s shoulder to reassure him and projected his will in his direction. You think everything is OK, he thought. You think everything is just fine. You don’t think that anything is wrong. Then he gave Kip a few pats. “When have I ever not been cool?” he asked.

######

He waited a few days before calling Marty. It was the week before he had a long paper due, and he had his deadline on an editorial in the student paper. Life had to come first. His life was busy, between classwork, his job, and his position in the UPLF. So many responsibilities. Lee just didn’t have the time to call anyone, he barely even had time to sleep at night. The loans he had taken out to cover his school bills, combined with the measly wages he earned from writing were hardly enough for survival. Every day was a struggle, and in that struggle he had little time to think about a foreign teenager who hated him.

On Sunday afternoon, he had a little time. Lee’s editor at the student paper had messaged him with the revisions they wanted and he just didn’t have it in him to open his word document and read over everything he had screwed up. They liked him there, they just didn’t like his work. He could make people like him, that was easy. Making people like his ideas, making people like his vision of a better future in Eden, that was harder. He thought about Marty and the place he lived. He thought about Marty’s better future.

That was real. He could talk to someone who had lived through a revolution, who had entered a socialist society, and figure out what worked. He could write about what worked.

Certainly it would be easier than coming up with ideas on his own.

Lee reclined on his couch. It was the only real furniture in his studio apartment, apart from his bed. He often slept there. It was one of those rare occasions that he had not gotten dressed for the day, since he had not gone out anywhere he only wore a pair of thin sweatpants and a meat-packer’s union T shirt. He had not groomed his hair nor his beard and was wearing his old glasses. It did not make him feel good about himself. When he did not dress up and take care of himself, it reminded him that he was mediocre-- average frame, crooked teeth, mousy brown hair, brown eyes. Nothing special. 

When there was nobody around to see him or talk to him, when he was alone, he was reminded of his mediocrity. The emptiness of it.

He pulled out his communication device and opened up the message where Kip had sent him Marty’s strange number. Again, he wondered how someone from the outside was in contact with Eden. Who else knew about this? What kind of trouble would West Agapama be in if the government caught wind of his daughters collaborating with outsiders? It was likely that Marty was only in contact with them due to Agapama’s alleged smuggling activities. While he shipped items from Eden to the Colonies of Serenity and Green River, it had always been rumored that his trucks ended up elsewhere.

Lee lingered on that number. He pressed it.

His screen flashed white a few times as his device connected to one that was hundreds of miles away. 

Marty answered after only a few rings. Wherever he was, he was outside, because Lee could see blue sky and the blackness of the Rift. He could see trees, real trees, growing in the wild. Marty’s fluffy black  hair was covered by a knit hat and he had a scarf pulled up to his nose. His cheeks were pink, perhaps affected by the cold air. When he saw who had called him, his black eyes went so wide that Lee could see the reflection of the kid’s communication device in them. “Ah, merde!” exclaimed Marty in a high pitch of surprise. “Comment as-tu--”

“Est-ce que ca-va, Mari?” A harsh female voice from off camera. Marty spluttered something in response and retreated a few steps, looking over his shoulder as he went. He got his back up against a tree and then glared daggers into his camera.

“Hi,” Lee said mildly, distracted by the landscape and Marty’s strange clothes. He had never been cold before, not really. He tried to imagine it. The temperature in Eden was regulated carefully to keep everyone comfortable.

Marty pulled the scarf away from his lower face with a quick, aggressive motion. “How the fuck did you get this number?” he demanded. “What made you think it’s a good idea to call me? Oh my god, you are a freak. I’m telling Ayda that you called me, you fucking psychopath, what is wrong with you?”

It was amazing that someone could switch between languages like that. Marty’s voice even changed when he spoke his own language, he lowered it when he spoke English. Lee smiled at him and tried to project his will, although he knew it would be hopeless on the other side of a screen. You want to talk to me, you want to talk to me, he thought.

Marty’s expression turned to disgust. “You’re staring at me,” he said. “I’m hanging up and then I’m going to figure out what I’m gonna do to you.”

“Wait, wait wait wait,” Lee laughed. “I just want to talk.”

“I don’t want to talk to you.”

“Just talk to me. Five minutes. What’s five minutes?”

“I don’t want to talk to you. Who gave you my number?”

“Kip.”

For a second, Marty’s face fell, his eyes darted to the side and he sniffed. Then he looked back at Lee and sneered. All of it was posturing, him trying to act big when he was just a little kid. Lee was familiar with the need to make oneself something that you are not. “Kip, huh?” said Marty. He exhaled through his mouth and his breath fogged. “Kip. Right, Kip is in love with you, of course he would do something shitty to me if he thought it would get him on your dick. Fuck you, and fuck him too.”

“Wow. Sort of inappropriate, don’t you think?”

Marty pulled his scarf back up over the lower half of his face, probably to mask his expression more than because of the cold. Small white specks were falling around him, landing on his hat and getting stuck on his eyelashes. “Inappropriate? Like you care. Inappropriate is you calling me when there’s nobody else around. Why is that, huh? You’re scared I’m going to tell Ayda’s dad you’ve been giving her alcohol? You know what he’s gonna do to you? He’ll peel off all your skin and break your teeth with a hammer and castrate you before killing you. You’re trying to manipulate me. You can’t trick me, you think you’re so smart but you can’t fool me.”

Teenagers were so stupid. They all thought that they had the world figured out but their brains weren’t even finished developing. Lee kept his face pleasant. “I feel like we got off on the wrong foot. I just want to talk to you about your life. I promise I’m not manipulating anyone, all your friends like me, I don’t know why you don’t. Can I just ask you a few questions?” He noted that they had already been speaking far longer than five minutes. 

“‘On the wrong foot’, I don’t even know what that means,” replied Marty. He paused, thinking, and blinked away some of the white flakes that were falling on him. Snow? “I know for a fact that not everyone likes you. I’m not talking to you, I’m not telling you anything about my life because that’s weird. You’re weird, this is over, don’t call me again because I am blocking you, you creep.”

“Aw, come on, I just--”

The screen went black.

He had to laugh. 

###

He had promised to buy Kip and his friends liquor and came through. Lee did not enjoy drinking much. At this point in his life, the novelty had worn off, and he found that drinking excessively dulled his senses too much for his taste. But teenagers were in to that kind of thing, and he knew that it would further endear himself to Kip, so he had complied.

About two hours into the night, Lee started to wonder if he had made a really terrible mistake. 

They were all drunk. Well, except for Kip’s little sister, who didn’t touch the stuff. They were all drunk and the dawning realization of exactly how much trouble he was going to be in if anyone found out was starting to make Lee scared.

He watched as Ayda, Esther, and Rosaline sat sprawled in front of the television, clumsily playing a video game. They giggled as they repeatedly drove a virtual cart off the side of a brightly colored bridge, not seeming to care or realize that they were doing the same thing over and over again. Casey and Kassidy were sharing the same chair, Casey with her long legs twisted over Kassidy’s as she braided her hair. Casey’s eyes were half closed. Kip sat next to Lee on the couch, jabbering idiotically about something that Lee was not really paying attention to. The younger kids were off by themselves, he really wasn’t sure.

And Marty.

Marty’s little blue hologram face was visible on Ayda’s communication device. Every now and then, he would glance over at Lee and give him a poisonous glare.

It could be worse, Lee thought to himself, as he held on to his own barely touched drink for dear life. It could be worse. Nothing bad had happened, and most of them were well behaved, Still, he couldn’t help but think about how West Agapama would skin him alive and smash his face in with a hammer if he found out that his girls were getting drunk in the presence of a grown man, He wasn’t going to find out though. There was no way he could find out.

Well. There was one way. Lee looked over at Marty and their eyes met. Marty widened his eyes threateningly.

“That’s why it’s not fair,” he heard Kip say loudly. “It’s not fair. I don’t want to take all these stupid elective courses, just to graduate. Why are-- why are they making me do that? Just to graduate? When, when am I ever gonna have to know about bio-electrical engineering, huh? Did you have to do that, Lee? These stupid classes, did you have to take them?” He was slurring badly and his face was sweaty, his buggy eyes were completely unfocused. Alcohol interacted badly with his medication. Kip sat very close to Lee, pressing his knee against the side of his leg. “Did you?”

Lee quickly moved his leg away from Kip. “I don’t know,” he said.

Kip looked like he was about to lean his head against his shoulder. Under other circumstances, he might have let him, but with all of Kip’s friends around, the risk of one of them thinking poorly of him due to Kip’s intoxication was too great. Lee got off the couch and stood up, thinking about how sweaty and uncharacteristically nervous he was. This was different from a couple beers. If one of them got sick or hurt, he was going to be in serious trouble.

The apartment was trashed, with soda bottles and food all over the floor. At some point, Casey had shriekingly spilled her drink on the carpet, leaving a stain. It was only 8pm. Kip had said that his mother would be at work until late the next day, but Lee kept imagining Dana Nguyen walking in to all this. He paced around.

On the floor, Ayda put down her controller, then pulled herself up. Beside her, Esther and Rosaline had started to kiss, but Lee didn’t let his eyes linger on them for too long. God knew that he did not want to see a couple of horny teenagers drunkenly make out, he didn’t want to be responsible for that. Ayda wobbled on her feet for a second like she was going to fall.

“Can you make me another drink?” she asked. Her long dark hair was in tangles and her eyes were unfocused as Kip’s.

Lee tried to make his face appear calm and not anxious, thinking about how badly he had fucked up. What was he doing with his life? This wasn’t worth it. “How about some water?”

“I want another drink,” Ayda whined.

Marty’s big black eyes were fixated on Lee. “What do you think would happen if I called Ayda’s dad right now?” he asked, in his round little accent. 

“Ha ha,” said Lee, humourlessly, imagining his own death.

“It feels like you’re about to try and molest someone. I just want you to know that I know Ayda’s dad’s number. So you don’t, you know, try to molest someone.”

“That’s a really dark thing for someone your age to be thinking about.”

“Ugh, Marty, gross,” said Ayda.

Over on the chair, Kassidy yelped as Casey sleepily pulled her hair a little too hard to tie off one braid. It made Lee flinch. He saw Esther and Rosaline get up and head towards Kassidy’s bedroom, giggling and still tangled up with one another. Best not to think about it. Lee became determined to regain control of the situation.

He looked at Ayda and put a hand on her shoulder in what he thought was an authoritative way. The action made Marty’s fluffy hair stick up. “I’ll tell you what, I’ll make you another drink if you go hang out with Kip. And give me your communicator so I can talk to Marty.”

“No. No, no, no!” said Marty, as Ayda complied and handed her device over. “Ayda, you stupid bitch!” But it was too late, she was not listening to him and had already flopped on the couch next to Kip, who seemed happy enough to have a new victim to talk at.

Lee took off his glasses and wiped the smudges on his shirt. He wanted Marty to be able to see his whole face and tell that he was being sincere. The kid seemed bad at reading expressions. Some people just couldn’t do it. He held up the device that connected Marty from his part of the world, so far away. Marty glared at him, but didn’t switch off his camera. Of course he didn’t-- he did not want to risk being separated from his friends. It was a profoundly lonely existence and Lee knew that he could exploit that.

“So,” he said, walking across the living room and to the Nguyens’ small kitchen. He lowered his voice even though he didn’t need to; nobody was paying attention to him. “I’m the first to admit that I made an accidental mistake.”

“That’s funny,” said Marty. “Because I feel like buying liquor and bringing it to Kip’s apartment is hard to do by accident.”

“It’s actually very normal for teenagers to party like this,” Lee kept his tone formal and educational so that Marty could not tell that he was scared. “It’s actually good that I’m here so that if something bad happens, I can do something about it.”

“You’re stupid on top of being a pervert. Give Ayda’s comm back to her.”

Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Casey slump over on Kassidy, falling asleep. For all her big talk, it seemed as though she was a lightweight. Kassidy, whose hair was only half braided, appeared uncomfortable and awkward, but she didn’t try to move away. Lee made sure that the camera was facing away so that Marty could not see Casey passing out.

He looked at Marty. “I just want to make sure you’re not going to do something you regret later.”

“I could say the same thing to you.”

Lee gritted his teeth.

“Normal people don’t try to get teenagers drunk.”

On the couch, Kip said something that made Ayda laugh loudly, and her high state of emotion filled the apartment. An ease, or a lightness passed through Lee’s body. Even at his best, his psychic abilities would never match Ayda’s, he would never be able to affect people the way that she could. He shook off the warm, euphoric feeling that attached to him, wanting to stay clear headed.

He wanted to vape to calm his nerves, but knew that would enrage Marty further. “I’m actually only 22 so--”

“Ew.”

“Look, I’m just trying to reassure you that I have no bad intentions. I’m Kip’s friend, that’s it, it’s nothing more than that. I want to support him, he’s been through a lot.”

“Uh-huh, sure.”

“What do you want, you want me to promise that I would never do anything to hurt Kip? I’ll promise you, if you promise that you aren’t going to tell anyone’s parents. Do you know how mad they’ll all be at you if you did that? Everyone would stop talking to you.”

Judging from the expression of anger blooming on Marty’s face, he had struck a nerve. Hurt. Reality. But before Marty could make his undoubtedly biting retort, their conversation was interrupted. Eddie Bellamy approached from behind Lee and touched his elbow, startling him.

“Oh! What--” Lee spun around to face him, almost dropping the communication device in the process. He fumbled to keep his grip on it. Embarrassed to have been surprised so easily, Lee struggled to keep smiling, and pulled his glasses back on. “What? What do you want?” In his slightly tipsy, frightened state, he found it more difficult to stay pleasant around Artificials, and his discomfort around them was harder to hide.

“Uh…” Eddie’s pale face was flushed and he was wobbly on his feet. Lee’s heart rate skyrocketed as his body sensed an imminent disaster before his mind did. “I think Rome needs help. He’s throwing up.”

Lee’s fingers tightened around the communication device as terror flooded him. Forget taking a hammer to the face. Richard Prospas would string him up on a meat hook if anything happened to his kid. Terrible stories about the violence that company had perpetrated came swirling back to him. This was it. This was the bad thing that he knew was going to happen. It was his fault for assuming that if the younger kids sequestered themselves off out of sight, they wouldn’t be able to get in trouble.

“Oh, fuck you, Harlan.” Marty sounded scared and angry, presumably worried about his little crush. “Fuck you.”

Eddie’s lizard eyes shifted down towards the floor and he wobbled again. Lee reached out to hold onto his shoulder, suddenly worried that he would fall. “Yeah. He’s kinda freaking out, I think he had too much to drink.”

“I don’t think I gave you guys anything to drink,” Lee said through his gritted teeth. “You wanna tell me about that?”

“Uh…” Eddie blinked stupidly and Lee had to resist the urge to shake him. Usually Esther and her siblings acted like they were so superior than he was, so now, seeing one of them act so weak and stupid, Lee had to bite down his instinct to lash out. “Yeah. Rome brought some stuff from home, we didn’t want to be left out. I mean, we didn’t drink a lot, I think, we just-- can you go check on him? We don’t know what to do.”

The last thing that Lee wanted to do was go deal with a vomiting 14 year old, but there was no other option. This was what he had been scared of. He had told Marty that he was a responsible adult, and now he had to act like one. How hard could it be to make sure that some kid didn’t have alcohol poisoning and then bully him into not snitching?

This was his own fault. He had put himself in this situation where he had to act as a responsible adult, so he had to follow it through.

His voice seemed to come from outside of himself. “OK,” he said, very calmly. “I’m glad you came and got me. Why don’t you go hang out with your sister in Commissioner Nguyen’s room for now?”

“Eddie,” Marty said angrily. “Don’t leave Rome alone with this freak. I mean it, I don’t understand why you don’t believe me when I tell you that he hates you guys. He hates you. He hates Artificials. Don’t leave Rome alone with this guy.”

Eddie looked from Marty to Lee. Lee smiled at him tightly and patted him on the shoulder. You trust me, he thought. You trust me, you trust me. “Uh…” Eddie said, wavering.

“Oh my god,” exclaimed Marty. “You’re all so fucking stupid. Eddie, do not--”

It was too easy for Lee to turn off Ayda’s communicator and banish Marty from the apartment, leaving him in his isolated far-away land. Easy as anything. If the kid wasn’t so irritating, it would almost be sad. At any rate, Esther’s little brother was not about to cause any problem, a combination of childish pliability and Lee’s psychic suggestions saw to that. He watched him wobble off to Commissioner Nguyen’s bedroom to be with his sister, just as had been suggested. Easy. Easy as anything.

The communicator went down on the kitchen table. No doubt Marty would be frantically calling Kip, and if that did not work, Kassidy. He would not have any luck with either though. Lee sighed, pushed his hair out of his face, then went to the bathroom to see exactly what was going on.

#####

The next call came a week or so later. Lee had been expecting to talk to Marty again, he just hadn’t expected that Marty would be the one to call him. That was the kind of thing you couldn’t plan for. He looked at the light flashing on his slim metal communication device for a moment, then answered it, unable to hide the surprise on his face.

“What’s up?” he asked, like he was talking to a friend, instead of to a little kid who hated his guts.

Marty’s face was pink and angry. His eyebrows were so furrowed that his eyes had become black slits. Wherever he was, he was inside, perhaps in his bedroom. It was difficult to make note of his surroundings, since he had his face so close to his camera that his blackheads were visible. “You’re gonna leave Rome alone from now on,” he said, in what was probably the meanest voice he could muster, but his pubescent voice kept cracking humorously. “And I know you’re not gonna listen to me, but if you freak him out one more time, I’m going to call Ayda’s dad.”

Again with the empty threats. Marty was never going to call Ayda’s dad. He kept saying that he would, but had still not ante’d up. If he did that, if he followed through, he would lose all his friends. Loneliness was a stronger motivator than anger. Loneliness was even stronger than fear.

It was still early evening. Comfortable on his shitty couch, Lee was back in his sweatpants and a t- shirt. “What are you talking about?” he asked, laughing, but he knew what Marty was talking about. 

“Don’t play stupid. Rome told me that you were bothering him when he was sick the other night, and that you called social services on his family. Why would you do that? You know that social worker pulled him out of class, asked him a ton of questions, then called his dad? Why would you do that? Are you stupid? What’s even wrong with you that would make you do that?”

The amount of care that Marty had for his friends, for people that he would never meet in person, was almost touching. Lee pushed his own hair back so that he would not appear so scruffy. He hated to think that someone would see him not looking his best, but there wasn’t anything for it now. “Right. I’m sure that in whatever backwards place you’re from, they never taught you about mandated reporting--”

“--I I know what that is--”

“-- but since I’m an adult, it’s actually my responsibility to report it to the proper authorities if I believe that a child is in danger. You understand that, right? You understand that I’m just trying to help.”

“Oh, tu essaies d'aider.” Marty’s face grew more pink as he got so angry he forgot how to speak in English. “Don’t mess with my head. You know what you did.”

“I don’t know what to tell you, then.” He pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose, a habitual gesture he hated because it made him appear dweeby, but was unable to break.

“Tell me that you’re going to leave everybody alone, even if you won’t leave Kip alone. You don’t understand what you did.”

Oh, Lee understood, and that’s why he had contacted social services in the first place. He took a hit off his vape pen, because he knew that irritated Marty, and felt the nicotine simultaneously calm and invigorate his body. “I think it’s interesting that you were calling me names for just being in the same room as your little friends, and now when I’ve been a responsible adult who has reached out to other adults because I’m worried about, oh, I don’t know, about how it looks like a kid is getting beaten at home, you’re still not happy. How am I the bad guy? What’s your problem with me? All I ever do is try to help people.”

“I understand what Rome’s going through. You don’t.” He said it so defensively that it took Lee by surprise. All this time, he had assumed that Marty had a crush on his quiet friend. He had not imagined that instead, Marty might relate to him. He had not imagined that someone as hostile and outspoken as Marty might see a piece of himself in passive, nervous Rome Prospas.

That was a piece of information that Marty should not have revealed. So much of his strange life in a far away Colony in the North was obscured by his hostility, but Lee’s curiosity about it could not be sated. It seemed that even under a socialist revolution, the lives of normal people could still be painful. Children there still had lives where they were not safe at home. It was something that could not be fixed by grand ideas. He exhaled a cloud of vapor. “Do you have parents?”

It looked like Marty regretted revealing so much of himself, even if it had been meant as a hateful jab. Much of the pink drained from his face. “I’m not telling you that.”

“You’re right. I don’t know anything about having a family that doesn’t treat me right,” Lee continued. Maybe if he opened up about his own life, he could gain a little trust. Even at this point, it was possible to do that. “I never had a dad. My mom killed herself when she got sent to prison. I was 12. She wasn’t the best mom, but I was still sad when she died. She loved me a lot.  I miss her a lot. What about you?”

A flash of connection. For a second, Marty stopped scowling and his eyes were once again large and black. 

In that moment, Lee could see that they were the same.

He continued, as carefully as he could, looking for cues. “She got pregnant with me when she was really young. Sometimes she didn’t know how to take care of me. I’d go to school in dirty clothes and stuff, that’s when social services got involved. They helped Mom learn how to take care of me better.”

Marty was still staring at him and it looked like the wheels of memory were turning in his head. Lee had him, he had found a weak spot, the soft underbelly.

“I remember the day they took me away from her, though, right before they took her to jail. I think about that every day.” He had not expected himself to be replaying the most traumatic moment of his life for the sake of connecting with this surly preteen, but there he was. His mother had refused to let go of him, he had been so scared. That one moment of fear and unfairness had propelled Lee Harlan through the next decade, and he had held on to that memory through every terrible thing that had happened to him since.

“I--” Marty opened his mouth like he wanted to respond, then seemed to remember exactly who he was talking to.

Gently, prying, Lee tried again. “You look like you want to talk about your mom.”

The small, fleeting moment of connection ended. Blood rose to the high points in Marty’s face again. “No. Don’t try to distract me. I don’t care about you, I don’t care about your life.  I called you to tell you that if you even breathe in Rome’s direction one more time, I’m not even kidding, I’m contacting Ayda’s dad. You know, like a mandated reporter, or whatever you called it. He will kill you. You can keep perving on Kip all you want, I don’t really care, but if you mess with anyone else, I’m gonna get you. You’re gonna get what you deserve.”

“Not if I get you first,” Lee said blandly. “What do you deserve?”

The screen of his communication device went white. Marty was gone, disconnected. All his bravado, his childish little threats, for nothing. Lee was not scared of him. If he was truly going to do something, if he truly had it in him to call West Agapama, he would have done it already. Deep down, Marty did not want to do it.

Whatever it was, fear or some sense of connection, or perhaps obsession, would not allow him to do anything.

And Lee knew that he could use that to his advantage.

[jckelly]

how easy it is to pretend / para

goes with this playlist

& this one (for jack’s relationship w his brother

Piece things back up for me, it’s hysterical to think that it’s almost a year to the day.

Maybe the lyrics aren’t meant in the way Jack is hearing them at all. They could be a love song, an ode to a long-lasting relationship. Or a friendship, because does everything really have to be about sex? Or perhaps he’s not hearing them right anyway, it’s often the case when his mind is elsewhere, the words blur into something else entirely. Maybe they’re just about drugs and shit. Fuck knows he’s never been good at analysis. But right now, the words he thinks he heard are hitting a little too close to home. 

Home, which is six thousand miles away, and yet today he can’t quite feel the distance because there’s a bungee chord screwed right into his heart, yanking his feelings until they crash right back into a rainy morning in a church, the last time Jack set foot in a place of worship, probably the only time. He’s never been one for spirituality. Even that morning, the one he tries so hard to keep from reentering his mind, the presence of God is noticeably absent. The only comfort he recalls is the feeling of his brother’s hand in his, a gesture of solidarity in the face of death. I’m here. 

Finn’s not here now, though, and maybe it’s harsh of Jack to see his silent statement back at the funeral as an abject lie now that he sits alone, devoid of the presence of his brother, but it’s not like he can quite help his emotions, or the thoughts that split in his head into fragments, pieces of each other. If a vase breaks, which shard is the original piece? Which thought came first, the thought that Finn had been there for him or the thought that Finn is a liar? (It’s not usually in Jack’s nature to be so philosophical. Maybe he should be cursing the fifth can of cider his palm curves around instead of his brother, who’s nine hours behind and therefore probably unaware even of the anniversary. His brother is rarely to blame, as much as he blames him all the same. In most cases it’s Jack’s fault. Most things are.)

Inhale, exhale, smoke travels through his lungs, swells his airways, the beginnings of a tar clogged artery, perhaps a touch of lung cancer. Self destruction is often so aesthetic. He thinks back to the girls back home, in a line outside the club puffing on ciggies, like a line to the slaughterhouse waiting to be picked up by a guy like Jack, a guy as destructive as the nicotine they’re inhaling. He’d been happy to play along back then, take his pick for the night and take her home, bodies push together into socially expected sex, more out of habit than desire. He didn’t have much desire for anyone back home. He’d never really desired a connection. 

Back then, it had been a mark of pride amongst the boys he knew to fuck girls and never call back. Walk them back to the bus stop in the morning, like an empty gesture of nonexistent chivalry, mouths sour with the aftertaste of the night before’s vodka. He’d mastered the system at sixteen, understood the unspoken rules of fucking and leaving and hurting. Attachments had never been his forte at any rate, the questionable morals of secondary school played only to his strengths. He only fucks up once the fucking ends and the feelings begin, once the words he says begin to be taken seriously and suddenly he has to think about them, question the contents of his mouth before it spews out into a mushroom cloud, an atomic bomb of emotional destruction. As much as he pretends otherwise, Jack doesn’t always intent it that way. The hurt is more accidental than he lets on. 

The rooftop is cold, and the skyline is unfamiliar. They’ve been in Japan for barely a month at most, he still gets lost every other time he ventures off campus. He’d just gotten past the feeling of unfamiliarity in America when they announced the travel program, and now he gets to be a stranger in a city every month, once again covering the anxious feeling in his stomach with shards of dry wit. Jack’s never been a big fan of change. He’s had too much of that.

Teenagers in Sheffield change quicker, he’s noticed. Or maybe it’s true that when your privilege is lessened, you’re given less time to be a child. They can’t afford to fuck around for their whole lives, or maybe they simply mature quicker in the context of living in a city which never quite seems to wake up on the surface, eternal slumber leading to them finding different occupations for their beds. He’s reminded every time he goes home of his relative immaturity. How dare he exist without responsibility at 19? What has he done to deserve to be different? It’s something Jack has yet to figure out. Possibly, he never will. He’s not sure he actually does deserve to be different. He’s not shown it through his actions yet. 

And yet it seems to him as if Finn has always risen above whatever the others had been doing. Known before they had come to the realisation years later that their methods of amusement would never pay off in the real world, known to prepare for things other than just fucking with other people. Maturity. It’s a trait Jack has never managed to acquire, no matter the fact that he’s nineteen now, an adult. A man, people like to remind him on occasion, people like Claire and George and whatever other adult influence he’s managed to come across, despite his best efforts. No, while Finn seems to be aware of social rules and all the things Jack can’t quite crack, Jack stays internally delayed. Maybe it’s a genetic thing. The influence of his mother never moving on, staying in the same place from the moment he was born to the moment he lost her. Passed out on the couch, needle marks staining her arms. A state of arrested development she never quite overcame. Maybe Jack will never overcome either. 

It’s hysterical to think that it’s almost a year to the day. The lyrics are churning around his brain, still. It is hysterical. Although he’s not quite sure what’s more hysterical, the fact that he lost her or the fact that it still comes as a surprise to this day when he catches himself reminiscing and is struck again and again, nearly a year later, by the realisation that she’s gone. Shouldn’t he have expected this? Known that she would leave? (Everyone in Jack’s life leaves eventually. It’s a truth, rather than a comment founded in melodrama. Perhaps it’s for the best that his mother doing what everyone before her had chosen to do was not out of her own decision. And then the fact that he’s just felt it was a good thing that his own mother died makes him feel sick to his stomach, the cider tipping back and forth through his intestines. Suddenly, he’s not a nice level of drunk anymore. He’s just sad and tipsy and tired. Tired more than anything else.)

As much as he doesn’t want to admit it, there’s a trap door in Jackson Kelly Fielding’s mind. Whenever it opens - and it’s rarely because he opened it, more often because it forces its way up - he falls back into a pit of memory, hitting each stair of trauma on the way down until he’s lying at the bottom and the world around him is barely a tiny dot of light a hundred and fifty feet above. Then the stupid fucking cinema opens and the curtains draw back, and he’s stuck for hours, reliving every minute, every opportunity he had to save her. Was there a moment? A minute when if he had said one less word, or one more, it would have changed things? Was there a turning point that Jack was too oblivious to see? (He hasn’t found it yet. But he remains certain that he will.)

Tokyo, Japan is eight hours ahead of Sheffield, United Kingdom. Jack’s googled it. It’s one in the morning here, on April 1. In Sheffield, it will be April 1 in seven hours. In seven hours it will be the one year anniversary of his mother shooting up in her flat, alone. Of a sad, solitary death. And it feels so unfair to Jack that in seven hours, as with the year before, the rest of the world will continue living their lives without a thought to someone who lies cold in the ground. It feels so fucking unfair that the sun will rise and rain will fall in some countries and snow in others and people will be laughing and getting engaged and having children, that people will be playing practical fucking jokes on each other and that the event which has torn Jack in two will have had no impact on anyone. It feels damn unfair to Jack that everyone else is allowed a life. That some people are even allowed a mother. He’s allowed neither. His life revolves around his mother, and his mother doesn’t exist. 

(And the thought of his mother lying alone in her flat waiting to be found really feels like a punch to the gut. Was she cold? Did it hurt? He could spend endless hours googling if heroin overdoses are painful. If there was any chance she could feel as she slowly ceased to breathe. How long it would have taken before the arms which held him went cold and stiff. And the worst thought of all, the thought of her screaming and screaming inside her coffin underneath the piles upon piles of dirt and Jack being too far away to hear as she suffocated and swallowed the worms. He’s had nightmares of her coming back, her lips curled into an eternal scream as a beetle crawls out and drips onto his bed.) (Maybe this is why they never let Jack see the body. He’s always had an overactive imagination.)

Jack knows Finn doesn’t struggle in this way. Or at least, he assumes so from the brief conversations he has with his brother, held across oceans over the phone or on video call, the blurry impression he gets of his face. Then again, Finn’s maturity just makes it clearer to Jack that there is little of their mother in him. Jack admires the ability to be someone different, in part because it’s something he lacks. He himself is barely more than the sum of his parts: an absent father and a mother who perhaps should have been absent. He often thinks that if their places were swapped and it was Jack laying cold in the ground, the impact on the world would be similar. Or more likely even less. Maybe it would be a day of celebration, since all he ever creates is damage. Damage on those around him, damage to those who dare to show him the slightest bit of affection. Damage to Balo, who has never deserved anything but love. Yes, he thinks the world would be better off without Hurricane Jack. He is an explosion of a person, and the only lasting impact he can hope to leave is the debris of those unfortunate enough to know him. 

Inhale, exhale. The smoke is clearer now that the sky is becoming lighter, and he wonders how long he’s been on the roof. Or if it even matters anymore. It’s not like waking up early for lectures and going to class and doing his exams will make much of a difference, because he is still Jack and he’s long since lost hope that he can reinvent himself beyond a name change. He casts his mind back to the teenagers in Sheffield that had held his attention before - and he almost laughs at the idea that he had thought about them with such disdain. How could he? Their bad decisions seem to just create a life which goes a different way, and in Jack’s head nothing they do with that life could ever be as bad as what he has done to the people around him. And what he has done to his own mother. Psychic matricide. Or maybe he just sucked all of her traits from her until there was nothing left to sustain life. It would explain why he has taken on her entire personality. Naturally, he’s too empty to come up with his own, with his own taste in music, with his own appearance, with anything. Originality would require some sort of positive trait. 

The sun is starting to rise above the unfamiliar skyline. Another day, and yet it can’t just be another day because it’s still some sick anniversary. One year of his mother being gone. One year of sunrises she hasn’t seen, one year of days she has not checked off of her calendar. One year of mornings in which she hasn’t been able to wake up. For once, when he looks across the view, Jack doesn’t feel the pang of homesickness which usually hits him. Why would he? There is nothing to go back to in Sheffield but memories he’d rather suppress and people he’d mess up even further. 

He realises with a jolt that he’s had the same song on loop, without even realising. The last lyrics float into the air: nearly every other word that comes from your mouth keeps me hanging on.

Apt. Even in death, every word that his mother ever said to him rings in his ears as if she’s just saying it now. And every single one is accompanied by a fresh stab of guilt. He’s not familiar with the song, but he makes a mental note to remove it from his playlist regardless. It’s hitting far too close to home. 

[impostertamsong]

Who Knew: Nicotine

This is a songfic. The song is Nicotine by Panic! At the Disco. It’s also chock full of angst.

Tam's PoV

Cross my heart and hope to die

I feel like I'm in an abyss. It's dark here, but not in a calming way. My thoughts are being jabbed at me like white hot daggers.

Burn my lungs and curse my eyes

I don't want to come up for air, fearing that people will see what this has done to me.

I've lost control and I don't want it back

This is all your fault. My mind feels like it will never be its own again. My thoughts are broadcast over my face.

"Tam, are you alright?" Linh breaks me from the whirlpool. How ironic.

I nod, not being able to do much else, but I can tell that's it's not enough for her. "I'm fine, Linh. Don't worry." I've gotten good at lying.

Ever since Neverseen.

I'm going numb, I've been hijacked

You understand that. Being in Neverseen. The horrors. My body goes cold in remembrance, and I can't feel anything.

Memories flood my head.

"Just kill it, Song, it's not that hard. It's only a small rabbit." And I do.

I get up and go to my room, leaving a confused twin sister in my wake.

It's a fucking drag

I absolutely hate how you make me feel, Keefe Sencen. Love is supposed to be a happy feeling right?

Then how can I be in love with you if all it brings me is pain?

I taste you on my lips and I can't get rid of you

Right. Because you're absolutely stunning. We both have really messed up lives. Our parents that hate us. The whole deal.

So I say damn your kiss and the awful things you do

I wish I could just forget it. Your kiss. But I can't. I want the memory of the way you hug me when you know I'm getting anxious or sad wiped from my head. But it's so engraved in my brain, I'm sure if even the best Washer could get it out.

You're worse than nicotine

I think it's possible that I'm addicted. I'm supposed to be fine with that. I don't think I can though, not yet. Not ever, possibly.

You're worse than nicotine

I want you to come over here, to make me feel better. But I know that when you leave, I'll only feel worse.

It's better to burn than to fade away

Screw it.

I pick up my Imparter and call you.

And, of course, you pick up right away.

"Are you okay?"

And, of course I only stutter. And, predictably, you hang up with a quick, "I'll be there in a sec."

It's better to leave than to be replaced

And you are. In three seconds. I somehow simultaneously do and don't regret my choice. I know it would be better to just leave this, but I can't bring myself to.

Ten seconds later, you're in my room, hugging me. I really wish I wouldn't cry, but I do.

And then, you kiss my forehead and ask what's wrong. If I tell the truth, you'll be hurt. Leave me for Sophie or some other worthy candidate.

If I lie, you'll know because Empaths are like that.

So I just shake my head.

I'm losing to you, baby, I'm no match

You hug me tighter whispering that it's all going to be okay. I know you're not lying, because how could you know? It's not going to be okay though. I know this.

I'm going numb, I've been hijacked

I push out of the hug, and slump onto my bed, still crying.

It's a fucking drag

You walk over to me, and kneel right in front of me. I look up. Your eyes are filled with worry. You lean closer. I hiccup.

I taste you on my lips and I can't get rid of you

In seconds, our lips meet, and for a split second, I forget everything around me. I try not to remember again, and lean further into the kiss, almost toppling off the bed.

So I say damn your kiss and the awful things you do

And then it's over, because I hear footsteps and don't want to be found out. You look slightly disappointed, but worry is still clouding your eyes.

You're worse than nicotine

I hate this, which isn't logical. You might actually care. Which makes me love you even more. People don't tend to love me. Just Linh. And now maybe you.

You're worse than nicotine

And then you say it.

"I love you." I don't want to answer, because I don't believe you, and I don't want it to be true about myself.

But I do. "I, I love you too."

Just one more hit and then we're through

You kiss me again.

'Cause you could never love me back

I don't believe any of this. Even though you let me do a shadow reading on you. Even though you've said it. I can't.

Because you're you. I know you, because I've seen it all happen. Life has thrown us some bad stuff. Acclimation makes it easier to leave people behind.

Here's the problem: Something's telling me not to let go of this.

Cut every tie I have to you

But I want to.

I need to.

But I can't.

'Cause your love's a fucking drag

I'm not sure if staying or going would make me feel worse. Or better for that matter.

You back out of the kiss, bringing me back.

But I need it so bad

I want you to keep kissing me. But you've decided to start talking.

I don't pay attention.

Your love's a fucking drag

"Hey, Tam, are you listening to me?" Your hand is on my knee, and I almost flinch away.

"Uh, not entirely," I admit. "Sorry."

You shake your head. "No need to apologize. What I was saying was that you're definitely not happy here." You point between us. "What can I do to make it better? Do you want to tell our friends, so that it doesn't have to be secret?"

A vigorous shake of the head from me. They would all reject us. You would pretend it was all a joke and leave me too. Linh might not care, but I can't risk it.

"Do you," you pause, sighing, "want to," another pause, "end it?"

But I need it so bad

The words I've expected. But not for the right reason.

You're doing this for me? Why? What have I got that anyone else doesn't? I repeat this. You hug me, albeit awkwardly--you kneeling, me sitting.

"Because you understand me. You're the absolute best thing that's happened to me in a long time." You look at me, suddenly smirking, but your eyes are still sad. "You're pretty hot too."

I sigh. You laugh.

You're worse than nicotine

Your laugh is really great, did you know that?

You sit on the bed next to me, and lean over so that your head rests on my lap. When you sigh contentedly, I can't help but smile. Sometimes you can be okay I guess.

You're worse than nicotine

I want to believe that this will be fine.

I think it will now.

Taglist (if anyone else wants to be on here just reblog it saying so!):

@linhammon-roll-bromance101

[lonelyheartsclubhaze]

We Sold Our Souls to Instagram

September 2020 // Chapter 2

“No, I’m not going to pick you up.” I shook my head, visibly and audibly annoyed. “You know damn well that I’m not getting behind the wheel. I’m hanging up, sorry.”

Converting potential energy into kinetic, the iPhone X left my hand, skimming across the wave-front of my bed. My hands ruffled through my hair as I inhaled then sighed, absentmindedly channelling the virtues of cellular respiration.

Tired of this perpetual bullshit, my fingers slithered across the Ikea desk before me, eventually detecting the apple of my bedroom’s Eden: a lychee ice Puff Bar. My fingers honed in on the device, ensnaring it, raising it to my lips. A deep breath saved me from the agony of sobriety, the nicotine buzz lasting a moment. Then, it was lost.

Six soft, knuckled knocks rapped at the bedroom door. “It’s unlocked,” I shouted.

A creak later, the door swung open, revealing Adam. There was nobody else in the house anyway. With a global pandemic at large and wildfires blazing on deep into September, neither Ajay nor Cam had seen Dwight House since March. Just Adam and me.

“Yo, we out,” he said, pulling a reusable, black cloth mask under his chin. “Can’t see shit outside but we still drinking, dawg.” Ah, the charming vernacular of a Korean-American friend from the elite suburbs of the East Bay.

“It’s good. What’re we feeling today?” I had actually enjoyed the past six months with Adam—it had been a good bonding experience. Despite his rough tone around me and the rest of the guys, Adam was quite versatile in social settings, weaving between upper-class gentility at investment banking info sessions and middle-aged rednecks at gun ranges. With classical Berkeley-liberal ideologies and Wall Street Journal-reading, center-right-leaning, finance friends, Adam defied social realities.

Adam shrugged. “Could go for some Chimay. I’m feeling classy.”

“Not a bad idea at all, my friend,” I said. It had been awhile since I’d had a good beer like Chimay, and I was getting sick of Coors Banquets. “On the other hand, your timing just might be—a bad idea, I mean. Air looks cancerous outside.” Marmalade light cast by the wildfires of a fuming Earth engulfed Northern California, held in suspense by cool, Pacific layers of atmosphere. It was like we were on planet Arrakis, from Dune, or trapped in the world of David Bowie’s Ziggy Stardust.

“The air low-key is cancerous. AQI is pushing 180’s right now,” said Adam, raising his eyebrows.

“Looks like an N95-kinda day. I’ve got a spare, you know,” I said, gesturing to a pile of three or so N95 masks by the lamp on my desk.

Adam waved it off. “Eh, I’m good. That’s some puss shit. Let’s just run over to Crafts and Grapes or some shit, shouldn’t take long.”

I shrugged. “So be it.”

Tossing on a pair of five-and-a-half inch inseam Lululemon shorts, I joined Adam as he hopped downstairs.

“Got keys?” he asked once we reached the door.

“Yer, we out,” I said, shaking my keys out from my shorts’ pocket to lock the front door.

“Fuck,” griped Adam. “It’s actually hot as shit out here.” Smoky, red air obscured him from sight as he craned his neck to see me.

“Hence the shorts.”

Adam squinted his eyes, pursed his lips, and jutted his head back and forth, mocking me. “For sure. Forgot your MCAT-lovin’-ass could predict the future. But really though—it’s the middle of September, dude. This shit is wrong. It’s hot as balls and California is on fire and the sky is red and fools are straight-up dying off this COVID shit.”

“And you’re still an idiot,” I said, flashing a cheeky smile.

“Are you qualified to diagnose me as an idiot?”

“Maddie would say so.”

“Hence the pet names.”

“Precisely.”

“We gotta do something about this, bruh. This shit pains me to see,” declared Adam.

“Let’s start by drinking these brews. We’ll recycle the bottles after.”

We walked east on Dwight toward Telegraph, dodging cars as we skipped across the one way street. Adam was quieter than usual, for the most part, looking up from his iPhone 11 Pro Max periodically to comment on something he’d read in the news, or the glum weather. He wore a khaki short sleeve button-up, Kapital raw denim jeans with smiley face patchwork on the back left pocket, and a pair of slip-on Nike Janoski sneakers. The jeans were nice—quite expensive, from the looks of it—but looked baggy on him. He didn’t seem to mind. In fact, all of his clothes  wore a bit loose on him, akin to a fiery adolescent who’d picked out hand-me-downs from an older sibling. Who that older sibling might’ve been, I’d never know—with his unwavering demeanor, Adam always seemed like the eldest in the room.

Banking right onto Telegraph, we bore the full brunt of the veiled sun, which, though hidden behind dense clouds of smoke, now revealed its penetrating UV rays. We ducked under corrugated foam polycarbonate sheets, which lined the rooftops of mom-and-pop Telegraph shops, fending off the sun’s cancerous radiation. The insanity of the world mingled with the smoky, copper air, making me delirious. I imagined I was Mel Gibson or Tom Hardy in Mad Max, feigning off flashbacks in the Wasteland. At the corner of Telegraph and Blake street, Adam pushed and held open the door to Crafts and Grapes. Nodding my head at him in small thanks, I entered, squinting my eyes as the light shifted from hazy red to bright white inside. It was a tiny store, with two aisles directly ahead lined with candy, nuts, and other inconsequential (unless you ate too many) snacks, followed by two refrigerators: one in the back, the other on the far right. Cool, wispy air emanated from the cold storage, contrasting with the late summer atmosphere only meters behind us. A bell rang as the door squeaked to a halt, prompting the middle-eastern cashier, directly to our right, to rise from his stool and greet us. We nodded back silently, all three of us clad in masks.

Per usual, Adam took the lead, striding toward the fridge directly back. He popped open one of the see-through doors with his left hand, mapping his way through its items with his right pointer finger. Finding my eyes, Adam shook his head, indicating a lack of Chimay.

“Blue moons?” I suggested. “Mango wheats?”

Adam screwed up his face. “Fuck that. Let’s go with Lags.”

“Sure, why not.”

Adam kneeled and looped his hand through the cardboard handle of a Lagunitas StereoHopic IPA six-pack. We walked over to the register where Adam made small talk with the cashier. Eventually, he tapped his iPhone 11 to an Ingenico payment terminal, finalizing our transaction. Drinks acquired.

The bell jingled as the door shut behind us once more. We hurried home, eager to crack open our drinks, intent on droning out the blistered yonder. Adam tried to explain his enthusiasm for hoppy beers while I pretended to listen. He was distracting me, though; we both knew I couldn’t care less.

Arriving home, my keys found their way to the door, and we found our ways to the couch. A tenor beep resounded through our living room as Adam’s iPhone connected to an old speaker via bluetooth. “Street Lights” by Kanye West filled the air, followed by carbon dioxide bubbles freed by an unlikely liberator—the bottle opener.

Let me know

Do I still got time to grow?

Things ain’t always set in stone

That be known let me know

I found myself back in the hand-me-down BMW 330i, with her, the white wire packed into the lightning port of my iPhone, transmitting cosine waves that replicated the robotic voice I was listening to in my living room.

“Stop!” she cried, thrusting herself back against beige, leather seats. She wanted me to press the brakes. I had to stop the car, right, stop the car. Where were the brakes?

She was beautiful, of course.

Dark, brown hair fell over eyes of the same color, guarded by double-lids that I wish she hadn’t paid for.

Hardly anyone would notice the difference, but I did, and it hurt to know that she didn’t love them.

I loved them, unconditionally, but she loved the brakes.

Needed to find them.

We’d shared a large bowl of Marafuku’s acclaimed Hakata Tonkotsu DX ramen. I’d let her eat most of it, sneaking my chopsticks in for bites at intervals.

“Pennsylvania?” I shook my head.

“What, you’ve never been?” She tilted hers. “You’ll love it. Come with me.”

“You’re crazy,” I said, smiling. “My MCAT summer is coming up.”

She rolled her eyes. “Then I’ll help you study for it. Duh.”

“I’m sure Brandon would love that.”

“Will he? All the way from San Francisco?”

“He’ll make the trip.”

“Not if you do,” she said, melting my mind.

I was dizzy, sleepy, lost, a newborn. Vulnerable. And I couldn’t seem to find them.

I’m just not there in the streets

I’m just not there

Life’s just not fair

Life’s just not fair

Sonorant chimes reverberated in my ears as Adam clinked his glass bottle to mine. “Cheers,” he said with a nod.

“Cheers,” I echoed. Leaning my head back, I swallowed, allowing the cool liquid down my esophagus and into my gut.

“You good?” he prodded.

“Yeah,” I replied, my voice cracking a little. I cleared my throat.

“Pretty hoppy, huh?”

I took another sip, licking my lips after. “Quite. I suppose we knew what we were getting ourselves into. You know, given the ‘StereoHopic’.”

“You right.”

“Yeah.”

“Yo,” said Adam. “On another note—might be going in on an addy deal with Grace if you’re tryna hop in.”

I scratched my head. While I wouldn’t have any major exams in the near future (although midterms for my biochem course [MCB 102, for my fellow pre-med students at Cal] were slated for October sixteenth), I certainly had errands that might be eased by a twenty milligram dose of extended-release Adderall. There’s nothing like a thorough room-cleaning session when you’re high on stimulant drugs.

The first time I ever tried Adderall must’ve been during my freshman year, back in 2017. Midterm season was approaching—come to think of it, that was around this time that year—and our generous friend, Grace, was kind enough to grant me a ten milligram pill of instant-release Adderall. Grace and I, along with Adam and perhaps Ajay, too, were partaking in a midnight study session at Moffitt Library, which was open twenty-four-seven—prior to the pandemic. I popped the pill, chased it down with a Javiva drink from Peet’s, and got to work.

Twenty minutes later I began to feel its effects as the amphetamine altered monoamines in my brain, releasing surplus dopamine into my many synaptic clefts. Optimism filled me to the brim and my vision bent inward. I saw nothing but the iPad in front of me, my mind enamored by golgi apparatuses and various protein structures. The stimulant saturated me with a profound appreciation for all thoughts that meandered into my head; a giddiness originated in my heart, spreading down my arms, my legs, and outward across my skull, contracting then expanding once more. It was artificial love.

Eventually, I was distracted. Grace’s dilated pupils stared into mine as she chattered away  about Lin-Manuel Mir-something and a hurricane in Puerto Rico. After a second or two, my attention snapped away from cell membranes, landing instead on her words. The words of a girl from Colorado with a soft spot for the snow. I’d met Grace via Adam during Orientation Week and she’d quickly become one of my favorite people.

Gingerbread specks stippled her face like a George Seurat painting, fractal constellations arising as my eyes outlined her cheekbones. Gaps between long, chocolate locks revealed sepia collarbones, lined with descendants of the freckles on her face. A white Nike Alex Morgan soccer jersey overlaid the loose sweatpants that hung from her hips, held up by drawstrings I almost hoped would fail, concealing proportions that emulated golden ratios. Stained, white, laceless Vans hugged unpainted toes that tapped together when she spoke. Lips that scorned the artificially enlarged mouths of Instagram influencers communicated messages I was only barely beginning to listen to. She was the love interest of a nineties’ coming-of-age motion picture. But she wasn’t mine.

You know, I thought Adam might’ve loved her, but it was hard to tell when he was cycling through hookups with three different girls at a time. Come to think of it, I didn’t know if Adam loved anyone. A talker, yes; a charmer, certainly; but a romantic, I really didn’t think so.

He spent a lot of his time with her, no doubt. And she cared for him—anyone could see it. But she knew as well as I did that his head wasn’t in it. He wasn’t looking for love. He wanted to graduate, make money—to be someone. Sex seemed like nothing more than a physical need to him. I don’t think anyone would’ve described Adam as an emotionally vulnerable guy, and I don’t think anyone thought that emotion was what he kept those girls around for.

But at the same time, anyone could’ve seen what I saw in the way he bounced when she was around. Anyone could’ve heard the way he spoke about her. She meant something to him. But when you asked him about it, he’d brush it off; she wasn’t his type, or he had commitment issues (jokingly—but hey, grain of truth in everything).

Maybe she was his distraction from ambition—his distraction from latex-wrapped, emotionally removed nights and Wall Street Journal mornings, just as she was my distraction from cell structures.

For a good hour-and-a-half, Grace entertained me with conversation regarding natural disasters across the West; Broadway musical comparisons between Hamilton and Sunday in the Park with George; and the latest updates on Cal’s women’s soccer team, of which she was a huge fan. The Adderall certainly kept me focused, although not necessarily on my coursework.

“Let me know,” said Adam, tipping the bottle into the corner of his mouth. “I’m boutta text her back.”

I looked up from my lap at Adam. Right, I thought. “Sure, I could be down. Why not. Think you can pick me up two? I have some errands to run.”

“Twenty milligram XR work?” he asked as he tapped along the screen of his iPhone.

“That’ll do.”

The room went quiet for twenty to twenty five seconds as I was confirmed as an accomplice in the drug deal.

“What’s she been up to?” I asked.

“Hm?” he noised, raising his eyebrows without looking up.

“Grace,” I said. “Haven’t seen her much.”

He shrugged. “Not much, I guess. Drinking a solid amount though, from what I’ve seen.”

“Makes three of us.”

“Yeah,” he said, feigning a smile. “What about yours?”

“Maddie?”

“Yeah.”

I took a deep breath—inhaling, holding to the count of four, exhaling. “Not much of a difference, to be honest.”

“It’s not her fault, you know.”

“I know,” I breathed.

“Then talk to her.”

“It’s not like that,” I mumbled.

Adam paused.

I stared at my feet. “I’m sorry, Adam.”

He squinted. “The fuck you sorry for?”

“You know.”

He waved his hand aside, brushing it off. “I’m not tripping. Talk to her. Before I do it myself.”

I forced a smile. “Maybe it’s better off that way.”

“Here,” he said, handing me a two-foot-tall bong and lighter from under the coffee table. “Take it.”

Couldn’t stay away. My fingers gripped the paraphernalia as he withdrew. My heart quickened as the impending drug interaction approached. When it reached my lips, I lit, then inhaled, holding to the count of four, and then some. Blurry feelings rushed my mind as states of sufferance gave way to sedated nebulas, teaching me forgetfulness.

[h-e-l-l-b-r-o-k-e]

Holding Back The Fool Again [B. Hargrove x you]

Series: part 2 of Galapogos

Summary: This is Billy’s definition of extending an olive branch. Screwed and without shrewdness, kind of like him.

Inspiration: Mellon Collie & The Infinite Sadness by The Smashing Pumpkins (1995) in its entirety.

Word Count: 3073  Warnings: profanity, angst, and mentions of abuse.

Written Date: 07/24-31/2019  Posted Date: 8/1/2019

[PART 1]< >[PART 2]

“Hey.”

He’s not sure if the breathy sigh actually left his lips or if the rustling leaves toyed with his ears. What he does know for sure is that there’s a cool moisture on his upper lip, the impressive one-fifty he lifts is still no challenge to the old tree outside your window, and that even with sleep-mussed hair you’ve never looked better.

The rays of the sun kiss his skin, warming him up to the bone as if home is trying to plunge some needed coaxing through his thick skull. The sun knows he ran once; any discouragement will send him running again. It’s the way God carved Billy’s mechanics—inside the tough exterior is just a lost boy, a coward who’s on the verge of finally having enough of what’s been granted to him before he could even form a coherent sentence.

A reflection bounces off his Virgin Mary pendant, flashing threateningly close to your pupils. It’s the universe giving him a clue that if there’s ever the right time to make eye contact with the one you love, it’s now. Now, in what could be the final moment he has to prove to himself that he isn’t the man his father said he is and prove to you that he’s not just another copy-cat of David.

Is Billy another David? When he first came to your little town, you would have said yes. When you started riding in his Camaro and showing up to social events with his arm around your waist, David hardly crossed your mind. Now? You aren’t so sure, about anything. You don’t even know why you haven’t slammed the window on his gorgeous face. Your best friend Judilyn would have, so what’s stopping you?

Billy Hargrove has never been a perfect suitor. For heavens sake, the heroism he displayed when he saved your camera was soon followed by insulting you on your first date. And, Billy Hargrove’s relationship skills sometimes make you wonder why he’s even with you, or you with him. He has terrible mood swings, sometimes pushing you away so that he can have some time to himself to lift weights and not have a “woman nag at him all the time.” As if he’s not the one who clings onto you about seventy-percent out of a hundred.

He smokes so much that it has created a force-field around him, made up of cancerous fumes. You swear you’ve never inhaled as much second-hand smoke before getting to know him. The smell penetrates into your hair, your wardrobe, and soon your parents water bills were raising through the roof. After your parents started lecturing you and the scent of nicotine made a surprise appearance in your sheets, you had to lay down some strict rules: Billy can no longer smoke with the windows rolled up, Billy can no longer smoke half-an-hour before entering your house, and Billy had to promise to cut back. Not just for your sake, but his as well.

You’re not an unrealistic idiot though. You’ve seen this addiction before with your own grandfather. You’ve seen the continuous cycle of grandpa crushing the cigarette box in his hands and throwing it out only for you to find fresh cigarettes littered in your grandma’s rose bushes the next week. So, it’s not hard to imagine Billy sparking up an extra cancer stick before he’s supposed to meet with you. Especially when he comes over with an extra spritz of cologne and Binaca spearmint masking his breath.

But, as the breeze tickles your nose and wraps loosely around his dirty-blond curls in gentle tugs, you cannot detect the toxic bubble that embraces him. Nor the hours old musk of his favorite Pour Homme, but just the basic nature of the body detoxifying.

He’s here, without the calming of his disgusting addiction nor the courage of a strong drink on his breath.

And his voice. 

You’ve never heard it so…without its punch of beef-packed testosterone, without the fresh singe of tobacco on his vocal cords. So helpless. So vulnerable. So unlike Billy. But, it’s been inside him all along, waiting to be pulled apart by willing hands. Hands willing to tear apart his skeleton, push past the muck of sticky blood and pulsing intestines, and cradle the most important organ of all.  

And he thinks he’s felt—still feels—that pleasant pain of guts being twisted and torn apart whenever you’re around to mindlessly play with his fingers while you two watch a rented movie. To call out on his bullshit when anger either makes him too quiet or too loud. To wrap your arms around him when his father’s had swung the hour before just because Billy had forgotten to pick up one fucking gallon of milk.

Earlier that day when everyone was beginning to gather around in the school’s parking lot to see who’d win the fight between Billy and David, love’s affliction was still harshly pulling at his heart strings. And only when you’d hit the ground was it slowly being replaced by something else—a cold numbing from a lidocaine needle.

He wants to shake off this empty, suffocating, cushionless envelop made by the devil, and repent under your plum-like palms. Repent until you stop looking at him like he’s a wolf in sheep’s clothing.

He’s Billy, and he’ll always be your Billy. But, maybe that only makes it scarier.

The telephone downstairs begins to ring again—you’ve since disconnected yours after just minutes of continuous phone call after the other. You turn to face your bedroom door in temptation, looking past polaroids and the photographs that Jonathan had taught you to develop in the dark room. Memories of you with Judilyn and your group of friends. Moments in time of you and Billy’s blossoming relationship, featuring his douchy friends. All taped along the smooth surface.

Your fingertips get ready to push off the lower sash of the window.

“Please.”

You turn your head back to Billy.

He licks his pink lips and parts them again. “Don’t leave.”

“Why?” You immediately flinch at the croak in your voice. This isn’t how you imagined the confrontation with Billy to go. Actually, you somehow just thought you’d live in your bed forever with your teddy bear and Billy would fall off the face of the earth.

Instead, he’s just outside your window with bits of bark under his fingernails and the setting sun casting a halo around his crown. The whole view is a magnificent renaissance painting; every detail crafted with expertise and purpose, such as the way pink creeps up on the clouds and how you can count every freckle on Billy’s face.

Yet, you cannot find any of this to mean something. Not when classmates you barely talk to are keeping your line busy just to check up on you while he can’t even form the words that are caught in his throat.

His eyes study the inflamed skin of your palms then cut to the smudges that trail along the side of your right thigh. Through clenched teeth, he sucks in a breath of air. “Can I come in?”

You pause for a moment, even though you hadn’t expected anything else after he decided to claw his way up your window with far less grace than Judilyn’s ladder method (or your ex-boyfriend’s favorite: pounding his fists on your front door at two in the morning and waking up the entire house). Your finger tips weigh the odds by tapping on the painted wood, and only when you take a couple steps away from the window does Billy’s glistening pecks gently deflate.

The poodle designs on your sock-clad feet are more interesting than Billy as he extends a long leg through the opening, or so you convince yourself. But you don’t have to watch him to know that Billy’s glancing around your neat bedroom, checking for ripped up photographs or thrown mixed tapes—any sign that tells him that you’ve terminated things on your end of the hemisphere.

The only thing out of place, as he’s come to conclude, are the messed up sheets. The flannel is crinkled in a way that he’s familiar with; he’d never tell anyone that he’s had his fair share of finding comfort between blankets without a girl writhing in pleasure beneath him. Billy can almost picture you on your side with your knees tucked into your chest and your chin to your neck—he’d rather not focus on that.

You’re still standing by your mirror with eyelashes hiding the prettiest pair of irises he’d come across in Hawkins.

Billy’s never understood your damn patience. There was this time when Billy had walked the couple extra yards from your locker to yearbook class to pick you up for lunch, and he’d walked in on Pam Dubinsky giving you backhanded compliments on your poster designs for the new yearbook while you had stood there without saying a word. He knew about the countless hours you’d spent on your bedroom floor sketching up clever concepts while he would drift off and on on your plush mattress, and he knew all that hard work wasn’t just for some jealous bitch to tell you that her’s was better.

He had taken some loud steps forward and his tongue had been ready to snap away at her when you calmly raised your hand at him, prompting him from getting any closer and intervening, and kindly told the girl who had slept with your ex-boyfriend that no one would appreciate an amateur design on their yearbooks, especially not after such a long school year and that Pam should think about David—mediocre head and a mediocre yearbook? Talk about heartbreak.

It took so much of Billy to keep from laughing and humiliating that bitch any further, but above that he was proud of you for sticking up for yourself without sinking to her level. Malice disguised as a sugar cane had become his new favorite flavor.

Except, he quickly learned that your patience combined with his drastic mood swings brought him an unfamiliar peace that frustrates him just as much. He knows how to spurt out insults and give and receive bruises—that’s easy; that’s second-nature. But, keeping his ears from turning red and his breath under control is a whole other field. How does anyone do that?

But then you sniffle, and he realizes your shoulders are trembling as your hands struggle to clasp together. You’re not just waiting for him to make the first move, but you’re cowering. Over the fact that Billy’s so fucking reckless. Over the fact that Judilyn and your other friends were right, that Billy isn’t capable of anything but serving you pain as dessert on a silver platter. Over the fact that Billy’s anger can blind him of your presence, and has caused him to put his hands on you. Over the fact that just his puppy eyes alone can throw out your free will, and allow him into your bedroom. Over the fact that you’re still willing to hear him out.

“Prove to her that everyone in this shithole is wrong about you.”

Max’s voice still rings clearly in his head, and he doesn’t think he’ll ever forget it. At least not while you shrink into yourself in front of your mirror, but he’s trying to look on the bright side for once: you’re blocking his crumbling tower.

His mouth is so parched that swallowing proves worthless, but he knows he has to keep pushing. The photographs on your door call back to him, and his head rolls on his shoulders towards them.

“Do you remember when your dad almost caught me hiding in your closet?”

Your gaze on the carpet shifts a little closer to him.

A smile almost touches his lips. “You would’ve gotten in trouble if you didn’t have that Mount Everest of stuffed animals piled in there to hide me.”

The stuffed animals from your childhood had been the last thing you wanted Billy to discover about you. You had decided to donate most of them at the local Goodwill on your thirteen birthday, but your sentimental attachment to them kept you from tossing them every time. So you kept them hidden in your closet like a dirty secret, and had meant to never let the tough Billy find them. You were mortified that he’d think you were just some innocent little girl and that he wouldn’t want to be with you anymore, but he didn’t care. Sure it was a little funny, but he revealed he still had a little brown bear of his own that his mother gave him when he was six in his underwear drawer.

“Or that time when my boxers somehow got inside your hamper and your mom washed them, thinking they were your brother’s?” Billy holds in a chuckle. “And your brother was too dumb to realize they weren’t his and wore them for like a week straight.”

A sound leaves your throat. Half-giggle. Half-sob. It’s hard to differentiate whether that’s good or bad. The back of your wrist meets your nose, rubbing softly.

“There was also that one time when no one but Max and Judy knew we had skipped town for a couple days to go see Quiet Riot in Indianapolis,” he scans a particular Polaroid snap shot that was taken at the motel pool, “All we could afford was one night in some sleazy motel room, eating greasy fast food.” He looks at you again, “It was worth it. Never thought you could make a shitty mattress comfortable.”

The corner of your chapped lips tugs up. “Your chest does makes a great pillow, Hargrove.”

The shy smile is gone sooner than it appeared.

His torso appears in front of you as his warm palms find their way to your hair. Thumbs wipe away the sticky streaks on your rosy cheeks, and then gently caresses them.

He wants you to really look at him, but he finds it a small victory when you don’t duck beneath his arms as he envelops you in a desperate hold. When you don’t pull away after he buries his face in your neck. And when you don’t push him away after you hear him suck back the gunk that’s formed in his stuffed nose nor when something wet drips onto your bare collar bones.

“I’m sorry.” His voice is muffled into your shoulder.

Billy knows that your parents have been away, and he guesses by the missing Mustang in your driveway that your older brother must be down at the run-down waterhole with a couple of pig-headed buddies, so he’d been expecting your house to be devoid of its usual mumbling and lively noises that is such an integral part of it. He’d been relieved at first because that meant he wouldn’t have to deal with your angry parents or a careless-yet-overprotective brother, but now that you are keeping quiet Billy has nothing to grasp onto except this energy that’s barely hanging onto life support between you two.

Billy squeezes you a little tighter, praying that you somehow absorb his thoughts, his guilt, his regret, his love, and his fear. “Okay? I’m sorry for…being a piece of shit. I never meant for that to happen—never dreamt of it.”

The saltiness settles on his taste buds. “I promise I’m not David—I’m not my fucking father.”

Your finger nails run up his spine until they’re digging into the curls on the back of his neck. “I know.”

After just moments of softly scratching his scalp, you pull away and bring your arms into your ribs. The apology is left in the stale air around the two of you, but Billy doesn’t blame you. Lord knows that he’d never forgive his father even if he crawled through hell and back and begged him.

Billy untangles your arms from beneath your chest and leads you into the bathroom down the hall with every intention on washing away every negative emotion down the drain, “Come on, I’m gonna take care of you.”

This reluctance that stops you from letting go of the events that transpired in the parking lot is a million time better than being left to choke on the dust of drifting tires. If anything, Billy accepts this as a start in restoring what once was. Your patience taught him that much.

As the cascading water heats up and clothes hit the tiles one by one, Billy swears to himself that the fool inside him will not be in charge of steering the outcome that involves you. And as he takes a washcloth and some Dove soap to your palms, he promises to you he’ll never give you another reason to silence the ugly snort he fell in love with.

Fin.

To everyone who requested a part 2: @whatthefuckkrichard @basic-fragment @toobsessedsstuff @nightshade7117 @banannie25

A/N: This series has quickly turned into a sort of love note to the album Mellon Collie & The Infinite Sadness by The Smashing Pumpkins (1995). Give it a listen; it’s so rich and poetic and fit for everyone’s tastes. And, it’s only 28 songs! Anywho, feedback is strongly appreciated. I tried to keep a similar style of narrative as the previous one but struggled to come up with something both realistic and satisfying. Hope I did it justice.

[badwolf-in-the-impala]

~When Love & Hate Collide -- Ch.1~

Moodboard made by myself @badwolf-in-the-impala. I do not own or take credit for any photos used. 

Edit to add: So I’m a ditz and forgot to change the ‘82 to ‘81, after doing the research and realizing that Crüe was touring in Canada in ‘82...and I had wanted this to start this off before they got actively into touring and became a huge deal...So keeping it in ’81 when they were just getting popular and shit...So yeah, thanks for coming to my TED talk on why I’m an idiot lol enjoy!  

A/N: So this is by no means going to be perfect, I’m sure...I’ve already re-written it twice, cause I’m a nitpick **insert nervous laughter here** But this is based off the movie ((The Dirt)) version of the band. Iwan!Mick needs more love/appreciation! Anywho, I hope you guys like it. 

Pairings: Iwan Rheon!Mick Mars x OC ((Faceclaim - Alison Mosshart))

Rating: Mature/18+

Chapter Warnings: Language, smoking, mentions of drug use, implied abuse...

Word Count: 5,267

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

Summer - 1981

Roxanna Hale traveled South, down I-5 to West Hollywood, CA, from Seattle WA. The old 1969 -- Black with White racing stripes -- Chevelle SS that she drove, rumbled along loudly, headlights illuminating the dark stretch of blacktop as Dawn slowly began to break and light the sky. The muscle car blowing around another line of cars with ease, the windows down and rock music blaring from the speakers as she fought to keep herself awake, lighting what felt like her hundredth cigarette.

She exhaled a cloud of smoke from the long drag she took, letting it trail from her red lips slowly as her thumb flicked against the filter, ashing it out the open window. The nicotine did little to quell the anger that still surged through every fiber of her body, as she sped towards her destination.

The last thing she had expected to happen when she woke up yesterday morning, was to walk in on her ex screwing some other chicks brains out...The fact that chick had turned out to be her best friend, and fellow band mate, only added insult to injury. Leading Roxxy to pack all of her shit -- music material and demo included -- before taking off for good; the incident occurring at a less than convenient time.

They had been scheduled, for today as a matter of fact, to audition for a spot as ‘Opening Act’ for another, more well known, band that was getting ready to kick off a tour. Nothing huge, but it was a long awaited opportunity that Roxxy had been waiting on for a very long time. She had headed over to the apartment where her -- now -- ex finance lived to start packing up their gear in preparation for the 18 hr drive to California, they had ahead of them when she walked in on the situation in question.

“C’mon, Baby!” Her ex begged as she continued shoving what she could fit into her backpack. “It- It was just an accident. I swear!” He added, still clinging to the sheet wrapped around his waist as he took a step back; Roxxy rounding on him.

“So what? You just like slipped and accidentally landed with your dick in her vagina?! Is that what you’re trying to tell me?” She nearly screamed, getting in his face. Roxxy’s anger only worsening as she watched him stutter over his words, trying to come up with some bullshit way to justify what he had done, but it was far too late for that as Roxxy cut him off before he could even finish. “I’m not a fucking moron, Kyle!

“Please, Baby, don’t do this! Not now, not with the audition tomorrow!”

“Yeah? Well maybe you should’ve thought that over better before you stuck your cock in my best fucking friend, the lead goddamn singer of MY band!” Roxxy seethed as she slung the backpack over her shoulder and picked up her guitar case as she turned for the door; stopping abruptly as Kyle grabbed her roughly by the upper arm and tried to drag her back. “Let go of me!” She rounded on him as she yanked her arm free, more than a little caught off guard by the sting of his hand as it connected with the right side of her face.

“You don’t get to fuckin’ talk too me like that, bitch--” Kyle had started but was cut off by the cold laugh that fell from Roxxy’s lips as she sneered up at him, wiping at the small trickle of blood from her lower lip with the back of her hand.

“Why, because you think you’re somebody fucking important now? Newsflash, you better think again, Baby.” Roxxy replied, making sure to emphasise the sarcasm in her voice as she called him ‘Baby’. “Because I built this, all of it!” She gestured around his living room at all the band equipment and gear laying around. “You, and this fucking shithole of a band, are nothing without me. So, you know, have fun playing dive bars and garage gigs for the rest of your life. ‘Cause I’m out!”

~

Her blood boiled as the memory of the argument replayed over and over in her mind. She had spent the last three and half years busting her ass for that band; HER band -- working two jobs and pinching pennies just to be able to play shitty dive bars and even shittier backyard parties, on the weekends.

Roxxy had been through hell and back, bending herself over backwards nearly her whole entire miserable, fucking life to try and achieve her dreams; and just when they were about to finally get their break...The whole fucking world comes crashing down on her. Just like it always does.

Now here she was, right back at square one with no money, no band, and the fucking audition of a lifetime that was now hanging in the balance...And as if her life couldn’t get any worse, what ever higher power that had been shitting on her life, apparently decided that now was the perfect moment for her car to blow a head gasket; still some 20-30 miles outside of her destination.   

“You have got to be fucking kidding me.” Roxxy whined as she hit her hazard lights and coasted the car off onto the shoulder of the road before cutting the engine and popping the hood as she bailed out to take a look. Waving her hand in front of her face with a cough as she lifted the hood and a cloud of white smoke from the overheated engine rolled up into her face, causing her to she take a step back. 

“Son of a bitch!” She slammed the hood shut, too dark still to see much of anything, but already knowing the engine was fucked as she rested her hands against the car, attempting several deep breaths so she didn’t lose her shit, completely; not that it helped. Roxxy picking up the nearest rock and chucking it into oncoming traffic as she screamed out angrily, fisting both hands into her dark hair before tossing them up entirely.

“Seriously! What the fuck have I done in my life to deserve this fucking shit?!” Roxxy yelled up at the sky. “Because I sure as shit don’t fucking remember!” She added, standing there for a few seconds longer, as if she would actually receive some kind of answer. But only the sounds of passing traffic surrounded her. Leaving her to heavily sigh as she grabbed her bag and guitar case from the backseat before locking up her beloved car, and began walking.

Praying that this day didn’t get any worse...Someone clearly taking that as a challenge as the next 8 hrs of walking only brought more hell down on her life. From being pelted by rocks kicked up by passing cars, too nearly being run over by an 18-wheeler that had veered off the road at one point -- causing her to bail off into the bar ditch in order to avoid being turned into roadkill; the gravel biting into her skin, scraping up her arms and hands.

But the icing on the cake had been the sudden surprise of a thunderstorm that now had her drenched. Leaving her exhausted and more than a little irritable as she finally made it to the Bar she and her band has been signed up to audition at...Four hours earlier. Roxxy made her way into the nearest restroom as she pushed her way inside and through the groups of people that crowded the place -- for what appeared to be some kind of open mic deal. Doing her best once making into the bathroom to clean herself up before finding an empty booth in a dark corner to hide herself in for a while; after putting in a phone call to towing service.

“Can I get’cha something, Sweetheart?” A pretty blonde woman -- that Roxxy assumed to be a bartender -- asked as she made her rounds on the floor; breaking Roxxy’s attention away from the man up on stage she had been watching, as she dug around in the back pocket of her jeans for her wallet, a frown tugging down the corners her mouth as she opened it to reveal her last five dollars.

“Um...Just a coffee, please?” Roxxy forced a soft smile as she pulled a couple dollars out and tried to hand them over, but the woman simply shook her head and held up her hand with a polite smile as she gave Roxxy a wink and said, “Keep it, Doll. Coffee’s on the house.” Roxxy heaved a sigh as the woman disappeared, returning only a few minutes later with a hot cup of coffee and a clean, dry, bar towel.

“Thank you.” Roxxy gave a genuine smile this time around as she accepted the towel and brought it up to her dark hair, the woman giving her a polite nod before turning to head back to her post behind the bar; Stopping when Roxxy spoke up again, catching her attention. “Hey, what does one need to do to go up on stage?”

“Nothin’ special.” The woman shrugged, glancing over to notice the guitar case that sat propped up against the booth. “Open mic. First come, first serve. Just give that man up there by the stage your name and he’ll put you in the line up.” She smiled before returning behind the bar, leaving Roxxy to contemplate if she was up for it or not. But at this point, what more did she have to lose? Aside from her dignity, maybe.

~

The first thing that caught Mick’s attention was the sound of the guitar and the heavy riff that fell effortlessly from it as her fingers changed over the strings with ease. The smoky, alluring sound of her voice filling the bar speakers as the words from Pat Benatar’s, ‘Heartbreaker’, fell from her lips, capturing the attention of the small audience that had gathered -- as well as his own band, who had been enjoying drinks. The room falling silent for a brief moment before people got into the rhythm of the song and actually started enjoying themselves; unlike with most of the prior participants whose performances had gone ignored. Save for a few of the die hard local fans that cheered them on.

They had seen their fair share of dive bar performers before, but never someone as confident as the dark haired woman up on stage now, who was venturing into territory few women had dared to dive into, yet, in this industry. Her rough, road worn appearance only adding to the edge she already had over most of tonight's participants; which drew the crowd further in as their curiosity peaked. It being easy enough to tell that she wasn’t a local by her ballsy taste in music.

“Hooooly shit!” Tommy was the first to speak up -- over the music -- among their group as he glanced excitedly between his friends and fellow bandmates, and the woman up on stage. “Are you dudes seeing this?!”

Mick simply rolled his eyes behind the pair of dark aviators he worse, shaking his head at the obviously stupid question...wondering for a moment why he ever agreed to put up with these dumb asses he called friends. The rest of the guys smirking and giving their drummer shit before ordering another round of drinks and returning to their conversation. But not Mick; no. He never took his eyes off the woman up on stage.

There were a few things he found intriguing about her and not all of it had to do with her looks; not that he was complaining. She was very easy on the eyes, as far as he could tell from his seat at the end of the bar. Her dark, layered, mess of feathered hair hung down in her face as she sung. Hiding behind it the striking features of her face. Full lips, high cheekbones, sharp jawline...it was like staring at God’s greatest creation. She was clad in a pair of ripped slim fit denims, a cropped muscle tank, that showed plenty of midriff, and a pair of combat boots. Rings and leather cuffs adorned her fingers and wrists.

What truly caught his attention though, was the guitar she played, or rather, the fact that she played it left handed...and upside down. But with her level of skill and confidence, you would never have been able to tell the difference, unless you knew exactly what you were looking at; as Mick did, obviously having played for enough years himself to know. She was good, to good in fact. Which left him to ponder how a woman with that kind of natural talent was still playing the bar/nightclub scene.

“Bitch has some pipes.” Vince mused with an impressed smirk as he passed Mick a shot, forcing him out of his thoughts as he finally tore his gaze away from the stage, give a curt nod to Vince in reply before he said, “She’s got some experience, that’s for sure.” before knocking back the contents of his shot glass. “She plays with a confidence not many possess...especially chicks.” Mick added.

“Yeah, dude, she may even be better than you are.” Tommy joked drunkenly, flinching as Nikki’s hand connected with the back of his head, and Mick rolled his eyes again in return.

“Maybe in your fuckin’ dreams...fuckin’ drummer.” Mick scoffed with a mildly irritated sneer. “She’s good, but not that good.” Mick added with half a lie. Because she really did have talent and with the right person to teach her, she could definitely go places.

“Don’t listening to him, Mick.” Nikki chuckled. “We’re jus’ givin’ you shit.” He added, earning a mumbled, “Whatever...fuckin’ teenagers.” From Mick as he turned his attention back to the woman on stage. Watching with great intent as she closed out the song with the it’s Solo; playing right over the top of other guitarist. The bar erupted into applause once she finished, giving a brief, yet humble bow, before unplugging the Fender Starcaster she played, that she carefully placed it back into its case before jumping off the stage and retreating back to the far corner booth she had been hiding in earlier. Mick and his group watching her for a bit out of curiosity and talking among themselves about her performance.

“Dude’s, we should like totally invite her the party later!” Tommy stated before taking another shot, the rest of the guys giving a mutual nod of agreement; even Mick. Though his aviator covered blue eyes never left the mysterious woman who sat alone, just across the bar.

~

An hour or so had passed since Roxxy returned to hiding in her booth; going through two more cups of coffee, intending on staying until they closed and had to kick her out. Not looking forward to having to potentially spend a night outside, especially if the weather didn’t straighten up before then. A small jolt of anxiety surging through her as the bartender approached her booth, again; fearful that was about to become a possibility.

Roxxy was just about to speak up -- shit, she’d beg if she had too -- in order to stay as long as possible, when the woman set a whiskey in front of her on the table. Earning a  very confused look from Roxxy as she looked up.

“From the gentleman, at the end of the bar.” The blonde yelled over the music, vaguely gesturing to a group of men who had their backs turned, up at the bar. “He said you looked like you could use something a little stronger than the coffee.” Roxxy’s lips curved down in a slight frown as she looked down at herself, giving a sigh.

“Well, um...tell him I said thanks.” Roxxy cleared her throat awkwardly, giving the bartender a soft smile before the woman walked away. Roxxy watching as she went back behind the bar and leaned over to the man at the very end, relaying what she assumed to be her thanks...Roxxy’s stomach nearly falling out of her ass as she recognized him, immediately, as he turned around to face her while holding up his own glass with a nod of ‘cheers’. Roxxy nearly knocking over her own drink as she blindly grabbed for it in order to return the gesture. Almost certain she looked like a deer in the headlights as he gave a smirk before returning to his drink.

“Mick Mars, of thee fucking Mötley Crüe, just bought me a drink.” Roxxy muttered to herself, still half shocked. “And I look like a mother fucking trashcan....could this day get any worse?!” She whined as she placed her forehead against the table, banging it softly against the wood a few times before sitting up and knocking back the entire contents of the rocks glass in front of her. Relishing in the burn that the amber liquid left in its wake, as it traveled down her throat. Wincing softly at the sensation before turning her attention to digging around in the pocket of her leather coat for her smokes, pulling out the last one and lighting it.

“I don’t fucking mean that seriously, either.” She threatened with a pointed finger, speaking to whatever unknown deity happened to be listening as she glanced up at the ceiling and exhaled the puff of smoke from the drag she just took. “I’ve had enough of your shit for one day!” A rush of embarrassment snapping her back to reality as the sound of someone clearing their throat caught her attention, turning to find the bartender back; bottle of Jack in hand as she smiled, jerking her chin over her shoulder at the bar. Roxxy giving a nod of understanding as she pushed the rocks glass over to be filled.

“Rough day?” The woman asked with a soft laugh as she filled the glass.

“You have no idea.” Roxxy groaned as she rubbed her temples with her fingers. “Thanks. Again.” She lifted her glass and gestured towards the bar before taking a sip.

“You know...you could always go tell him yourself.” The woman implied with a grin, giving a laugh as Roxxy starred up at her with a dumbfounded expression. Opening and closing her mouth several times before giving up entirely. This woman couldn’t possibly be serious, suggesting that she -- a complete and total nobody-- go up and talk to a band member of Mötley fucking Crüe; more importantly, the guitarist she had spent the last year idolizing.

“Just a suggestion.” The woman shrugged with a polite smile before leaving again.

Roxxy sat there for a while, weighing her options and sipping on her drink as she considered actually going up to the bar. I mean at this point, what was the worst that could really happen...she had already had a shit day, and besides, she was out of smokes and desperately craving another one, the nicotine somewhat staving off the withdrawals from lack of cocaine use. Having left her entire stash behind at her ex’s.

With a sigh, Roxxy scooted herself out of the booth and grabbed her jacket; draping it over her shoulder as she grabbed her guitar case, and bag before picking up the whiskey glass, knocking back the rest of the Jack Daniels it held before maneuvering her way through the crowd and up to the bar. Propping her stuff in the corner and placing her jacket on the last, empty bar stool, as she took a seat and set her glass on the bar. Mick glancing at her out of the corner of his eye with a raised brow, flagging down the bartender as Roxxy cleared her throat awkwardly.

“You really don’t have too–” Roxxy started, immediately cutting herself off with a mortified look, afraid she was going to offend him as Mick turned to look at her; raising his sunglasses. “I mean, t-thank you– I’m flattered, b-but, really, you don’t–”

“It’s cool.” Mick held up a hand, putting a cease to her ramblings with a half grin. “Wouldn’t be doin’ it if I didn’t want to.” He added as he pushed the now full glass towards her with a middle finger.

“Of course– I mean, I didn’t mean– You know what, I’m gonna shut up.” Roxxy rambled as she took a sip of her whiskey and tossed the empty carton of cigarettes onto the bar top as she fished out her wallet, opening it as she yanked out her last five dollars and tossed it beside the empty carton as she muttered, more so too herself, “I’m usually much more a bitch.” Mick nearly snorting his own drink out his nose as her overheard the comment.

“At least you’re honest.” He replied, motioning for bartender to leave her money and add it to whatever tab he had running. “Besides, looks like you’ve had a shit day.”

“That’s an understatement and a half.” Roxxy snorted with a laugh as she packed her fresh carton of Marlboro’s before opening it and pulling one out and lighting it; taking a drag as she offered the pack to Mick, who accepted and held it to the flame of the zippo lighter in her hand. Nodding his thanks as she snapped it shut and shoved it back into the pocket of her jeans. “I’m Roxanna, by the way.” She added while exhaling a trail of smoke as she offered him her hand. Mick chuckling softly as he glanced down at her hand before he shook it; catching sight of the ‘Mötley Crüe’ logo that was plastered to the front of her cropped tank top.

“Mick. But I’m going to assume you already know that?” He replied. Fighting to stave off the grin that tugged at the corners of his lips as he watched her cheeks tint red with a blush as she nodded, flashing him a coy smile.

“Guilty.” Roxxy replied with a soft chuckle before taking another drag from her cigarette. She exhaled slowly as she pushed a hand through her mess of dark hair, shoving it back and away from her face as she stared up at him with Emerald eyes from beneath her dark lashes. Mick looked as though he were about to say something else, when suddenly, Vince appeared between the two of them and wrapped an arm around Roxxy’s shoulders. A cocky grin plastered to his face as he leaned in close.

“Tell me somethin’?” He started in a confident tone as Mick rolled his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose as he inhaled deeply while muttering, “Jesus...here we fuckin’ go.”

“Did it hurt?” Vince continued, his smirk growing wider as Roxxy looked up at him with feigned interest; cocking her head to one side as she batted her eyes and smiled. Having heard this line one too many times for her liking.

“When I fell from heaven?” She finished for him, momentarily catching Vince off guard, but he was quick to recover, his tongue darting out over his lower lip as his grin widened into that signature sexy smile of his. Mick heaving an audible sigh of annoyance as he finished off his Vodka and ordered another.

“Exactly, Baby--” But before Vince could finish whatever he was about to add as a recovery to the botched pickup line, Roxxy cut him off.

“No...but I did scrape the shit out of my knees during my climbing out of hell.” She finished with a mildly suggestive smirk as she removed his arm from around her shoulders and finished off her cigarette before stamping the last bit out in the ashtray that sat between her and Mick. Vince standing there, slack jawed and bewildered by her response as a soft scoff left his lips. Making it obvious that he wasn’t used to being rejected in such a manner and the fact that Nikki and Tommy were now howling hysterically from a table behind them, didn’t help matters much.

“Did that really just--?”

“Happen?” Mick said, cutting Vince off; his own expression almost as surprised as the lead singers. “Yeah. It happened.” He added, Vince giving a curt nod before skulking back to the table he and the other two band mates had taken up residence at. Leaving Mick to stare at Roxxy with a look of astonishment on his face.

“Holy shit…” Roxxy said with a nervous laugh. “Did I really just offend, Vince Neil?!”

“Yes, and it was fucking fabulous.” Mick smirked as he held up his glass, Roxxy taking the hint and picking up her own as she clinked it against his and took a sip before turning around to the table behind them.

“Is you’re ego gonna alright?” Roxxy asked honestly, though it came out a little more sarcastic than she intended which earned another round of laughter. “No, I mean like really?!” She added.

“Dude!” Tommy howled with laughter, nearly doubling over as he tried to catch his breath. “She’s like the chick version of Mick!” He added, Roxxy fixing him with a glare as she pointed her finger and said, “Watching yourself, drummer boy.” The comment eliciting more laughter, this time including Vince as he turned to look between herself and Mick; who were both glaring at the group in front of them.

“That’s fucking disturbing.” Vince laughed.

“What’s your name, Sweetheart?” Nikki chuckled as he took a sip of his beer, trying to change the subject before Mick started knocking their heads together for his own satisfaction.

“Roxanna.” She replied. “Most everyone calls me Roxxy, though.”

“Oh dear Jesus, not another one.” Nikki gave a short laugh as he turned to look at Tommy, who’s complexion had paled considerably, which caused Roxxy to raise an eyebrow. “Long story.” He added. “Nikki, by the way.”

“She’s aware.” Mick stated as he leaned back against the bar, vaguely gesturing to her shirt. The rest of the guys giving a collective, “Ooh” in response as Roxxy gave a nervous chuckle. Not even sure how any of this was happening right now.

“Come. Sit.” Nikki nodded at their table as Tommy pulled two more stools over for her and Mick. Roxxy briefly giving them a skeptical look, somehow waiting from them to laugh and say they were just kidding...but when that didn’t happen, she moved her things and took a seat at the table between Tommy, and Mick, who took the other seat beside her. “So, what’s your story?” Nikki added curiously after Roxxy was settled at the table.

“Like, the short version?” Roxxy snorted as she took a sip of her whiskey, cocking an eyebrow as she looked up at the band’s bassist. “Woke up yesterday morning to help my band pack for a gig ‘slash’ audition, showed up, walked in on my ex screwing my best friend; the bands lead singer. Packed my shit. Left. Drove 12 fucking hours from Seattle till my car broke down, had to walk, nearly died, missed my fucking audition, got rained on...and now, here I am.” There was a few minutes of collective silence as the guys sat there, staring at her as they tried to process that output of information.

“Jesus.” Mick mumbled into his glass.

“Yeah...And that’s only the last 24 hrs.” Roxxy replied. “A fuckin’ cake walk compared to the rest of my life.”

“Well, fuck that guy.” Nikki finally spoke as he offered her shot glass. “And fuck this day! I mean, at least it’ll end on a note of awesomeness; sitting around having a drink with this group of fucking degenerates!” He added, reaching a hand over and bouncing Tommy’s forehead off the table, which earned a round of laughter from the group.

“Not gonna argue with that.” Roxxy chuckled with a shake of her head before knocking back the contents of the shot glass and placing it upside down on the table. Taking a drag from her cigarette before adding, “I mean honestly, if someone had told me a year ago that I would be sitting in a bar sharing drinks with Mötley Crüe...I probably would’ve punched ‘em in the face.”

“You should most definitely come to our party!” Tommy stated excitedly after pounding two more shots. Roxxy raising a questioning brow as she waited for him to continue, but before he could they were interrupted by the bartender who brought over a telephone and held it out for Roxxy to take; giving a very confused, “Hello?”

“Are you a Miss,” He paused, the sound of papers being rifled through filling the silence on the other end of the line before he continued. “Roxanna Hale?”

“Yeah, that’s me?” Roxxy stated as she waited for the man to continue.

“This is Dan, I’m with Auto Doc’s 24 hr towing service. You called earlier this evening about your car? A Black ‘69 Chevelle?”

“That would be mine.” Roxxy sighed as she pinched the bridge of her nose, waiting for what she assumed would surely be bad news.

“Well, we picked it up and got it back to the shop. Someone should be able to take a look at first thing in the morning...but um, we’re gonna need the keys. I also have some papers I need you to sign off on before we’d be able to look at it? I understand it’s late, so if you can’t--”

“No, no, it’s cool.” Roxxy replied as she grabbed a napkin off the table and gestured for a pen, three suddenly appearing in front of her face as she grabbed one. “What’s the address?” The man gave it her, along with the shop number before she hung up and downed what was left of her whiskey.

“Wait, you’re not leaving already, are you?” Tommy asked with a mildly dejected puppy dog expression as they watched Roxxy stand and slip on her leather jacket; flipping her hair out of the collar as she smiled softly at him.

“Yep, unfortunately...gotta go sell my soul to the devil so I can get my car fixed.” Roxxy replied jokingly as she threw her bag over her shoulder and picked up her guitar case. “It’s been a pleasure, boys, truly.” She added, turning to address Mick separately as she said, “And thank you for the drinks.”

“No problem.” Mick gave a slight nod as he slipped his sunglasses back on. Disappointed she was leaving already, but not about to show it as he turned back to his drink as Roxxy turned to head for the door, the rest of guys turning to stare at him in disbelief. “What?” Mick stated as he glared at his band mates from behind his glasses.

“You’re seriously gonna let that just walk outta here?!” Vince arched a brow skeptically as he spoke up.

“So?” Mick retorted in a gruff tone as he took another sip of his Vodka.

“So?! You could at least give her the address to the apartment?!” Vince exclaimed as Mick simply shook his head, ignoring him entirely. “You know what, fine. I’ll do it.” He added, reaching for one of the pens on the table. Tommy beating him too it as he snatched one and bounded off towards the door to catch Roxxy. Returning a short while later, grinning triumphantly as he returned the pen.

“Fifty bucks says she shows up.” Vince smirked as he glanced over to Mick who had finished off his drink and was making to leave, himself. Pausing for moment as he turned back to the lead singer with his usual, disgruntled, expression as he replied, “Hundred bucks says she won’t.”  

And without another word, Mick disappeared into the crowd.  

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

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[autofoebia]

works in progress

1) (something like) an operation - memoir

2) bitterness and black mold - fiction

1

A dentist I’ve known my entire life leaned over me with a pair of pliers in hand and said, “Tell me if it hurts,” before shoving his hands into my mouth. I was too numb to even register the brush of latex against my teeth. I lay there, tiny mouth forced open by a cheek retractor, my fingers in a death grip on my mother’s wrist, and I remember wondering how I would tell him it hurt. How would I even be able to buck up against him with the nurse’s arm across my chest? A mouth full of fingers really knows how to keep one from screaming out in agony. Perhaps the dentist was aware of that and was merely required to calm my nerves. Maybe he was playing a cruel joke on me. I considered there, on the pale blue chair with my chin tipped up and my eyes screwed shut, if pain ceased to exist under the blanket of novocaine.

The tapping of metal against bone rattled my skull. I closed my eyes tight enough to see streaks of illusionary light behind my eyelids and squeezed my mother hard enough to earn a pinch on the back of my hand. This was entirely her decision. In the summer of 2016, they found two impacted wisdom teeth on my bottom jaw. Me, a freshly graduated teenager with my head buried in Pokemon Go, expected and secretly wished for an easy operation. I had never gone under, never really understood all the pretty prose about surgeries I’d read, and somewhere, deep down, I was curious to experience going down into darkness, or waking into light. Things I had never truly considered before, I wished to experience and understand it all.

Suffice to say, when the dentist recommended I simply come in on my off day and get the two teeth out via novocaine-numbed-just-barely-a-surgery-surgery.

He pulled on my gums, my head snapping after his strength. The nurse pulled me back down again and I squeezed my mother’s wrist again, leaving crescent marks in the thin skin. The dentist twisted his wrist. I could feel the coldness of the forceps against my cheek but I couldn’t feel what it was grabbing, and then I heard a crack in the back of my throat. The taste, dulled by my useless tongue, of my own shattered tooth permeated the chill of the numbing agent. I am shaken and, oddly, intrigued. The clinical air, just as clean as the counters to my right and the sink to my left, was shot through with the coppery reek of blood. My mother made a sickened noise behind my head,

“You got it?” She asked. I could tell she wanted to go wait in the other room. Something heavy dripped down my chin and I kept my eyes shut tight as if I were afraid of whatever it was. I couldn’t help but think it was my tongue, cut free from the back of my throat. 

“Got it. I’ll do the next one too.” The dentist said. He pulled his hands back and shook out his wrists, and I opened my eyes in time to see the smearing of gore on his gloves, on his tools. He looked like Dr. Frankenstein himself, hidden behind a surgical mask and a hair net and a pair of thick-framed glasses, all smudged by the faintest mist of red. He loomed over me, the monster, ready to finish the job.

---

2

Mara came a week before the fall season started in a tiny lime-colored car. She pulled into the driveway, still overgrown with roots and brown needles and caked-down mud, stepped out of that little car, and stared up at the wilting walls of 356 Upper Mountain Road. That house, a two-floor Victorian which had laid dormant for the past thirty years, stared back with all the interest of a decayed corpse. Three weeks ago, Mara had seen it while driving to her classes at the local university. Then, a “For Rent” sign leaned against one of the pine trees on the front lawn. A week after that initial discovery, she contacted the owner. Another week and she was there, on the front lawn, surrounded by grass grown high enough to swallow her feet and trees so heavy with age they hung down to caress the top of her head with their needles. If she were a more optimistic person, she may have thought those small touches were enthusiastic hellos from that old house. Greetings, like that of a new roommate. ‘It’s so nice to meet you. I hope we can get along.’

One should consider the house when thinking of haunted houses. Ghosts are different always, with backstories of pain and rage and sadness and murder and love. Houses, though. The houses are usually concrete in their construction, in their own backstories. They are built on graveyards or cursed lands, constructed with awful angles and horrendous hidden rooms that welcome creeping darkness akin to a living, breathing beast. 356 was nothing like those haunted houses. 356 was built in the 70s, lived in by fairly happy families, and then left alone to rot until the landowner accepted the first call she received about a renter. No ghosts haunted 356. Not a soul had been in its gaping halls longer than an hour until Mara showed up with her tiny suitcase and her tiny colorful furniture. When she entered through the front door she felt no chill, no eyes on her back, heard no scratches from the basement or attic. When she investigated the old dusty rooms she found no footprints, no shadows in the covered mirrors as she uncovered them. There were no strange smells, no odd angles, nothing but empty, stagnant air and sunlight streaming through the windows. What haunts a house if nothing has died there, nothing has come and gone there for years? What haunts a house if not a ghost? Well, one should consider the house.

“You sure know how to pick ‘em, Mars,” Lydia, Mara’s younger sister, said as she helped her settle her mattress against the wall of the master bedroom. Her weary gaze took in the square, sturdy walls, covered in a blue wallpaper that may have depicted bundles of flowers once but was now too faded to even have a texture. She scrutinized the dust-gray shag carpet, which Mara had probably deep cleaned only a night or two ago, and the ceiling, which held a weepy fan and enough wrinkles in the white paint to warrant a plastic surgeon. The grand window to the left of them, which was in need of polishing, was perhaps the most beautiful thing about the room, with its curling ornamentation and balcony access. Mara, despite her sister’s obvious worries, still grinned as she stepped into the center of the wide, sunny floor, arms spread wide. She said,

“Don’t I? This place is great, Lydia, trust me, and mom said she’d cover rent until I graduate too.” 

“Lucky break,” Lydia leaned against the wall, pulling two cigarettes from her back pocket. She offered the extra to Mara, who reached over and took it between two fingers.

“Didn’t you quit?” She asked as she lit up and threw her lighter back over to Lydia.

“Thought about it. Didn’t have the guts,” Lydia sighed out a cloud of spicy smoke, “I’ve decided I’m fine with my teeth falling out by the time I’m thirty. Besides, it makes me look sexy.”

“So you think, you baby,” Mara said, “When’re you and mom driving down?”

“Next Friday,” Lydia stared down at her fingernails and found infallible interest in her cuticles, “I’ll miss you, you know.”

“Well, you’re the one who wanted an out of state school,” Mara said, “But I’ll miss you too, I guess.” She smirked and wandered over to the window, dragged her fingers through her hair, and watched as the sun began to sink behind the Jersey suburbs and trees far beyond her and her sister and her empty rented house. Lydia stared at her back. Anything the sisters wished to share, anything left unsaid, remained unsaid. The house felt it too and bided its time. A seed, it thought, has been planted.

Mara was a senior at Montclair University, just up the road from 356. Her commute, which had been a near half house drive from Lyndhurst, was now a mere five-minute scoot from her driveway to the overstuffed parking lot outside the business building. She spent most of her week cooped up in front of a computer, or in the back of her fashion and business courses, popping nicotine gum against the roof of her mouth and texting the ever populated group chat. Her conversations at school usually consisted of monotonous recollections of previous discussions, retellings of stories everyone had already heard before, and, currently, a room-by-room explanation of her new rented home. The audience of other fashion business majors, a gaggle of messy buns and Greek noses and perfectly manicured hands, listened with varying degrees of interest. At the mention of an overgrown but roomy backyard, one of the messy buns who Mara thought was named Cindy let out a happy gasp and said,

“You should throw a party.” 

“What?” Mara responded, unable to fight off a smile of interest.

“A party, dude. Housewarming, you know,” Cindy said, “Drinks and gifts and shit. And if you’ve got as much room as you say you do you can probably host like, half the school.”

“Oh, I’m not sure,” Mara said.

[honeycombandtea]

made for the @itfandomprompts ​ ‘first time’ prompt!

warnings: none

pairings: reddie, stanlon (if you squint)

summary: The Losers enjoy a hot day by the water, but Eddie has some internal conflict about one of his best friends.

              “Jesus, Eds! It’s hotter than your mother in a bikini out here,” Richie groaned as he slumped down underneath the shade of the tree. Eddie rolled his eyes and handed him a bottle of sunscreen.

              “Put this on before you look like a lobster, dumbass,” Eddie said with a sigh. Richie held a huge grin on his face as he unceremoniously slapped sunscreen onto his freckle-kissed shoulders. Bev splashed in the water just a couple of feet in front of them, close enough to even sprinkle water on Eddie’s legs as he attempted to dodge a rather big spray. Ben held her securely on his shoulders as they charged around the quarry, Mike and Stan tailed after them. Albeit Stan looked reluctant as all hell—his knuckles white around Mike’s broad shoulders. Ben swooped down and planted a huge kiss on Beverly’s cherry red lips. Richie gagged.

              “Save room for Jesus!” Richie called from his spot in the grass. Beverly had spared a moment to flip him off before she crawled back on Ben’s shoulders. He bumped his shoulder against Eddie’s in a sloppy movement. “Don’t you think all this romance stuff is gross?” He asked with a snort as he wriggled his toes in the grass. Eddie shrugged his shoulders and took a long drink from his water.

              “You were just dating someone a month ago, Richie,” Eddie reminded with a chuckle as he bumped his shoulder back. Richie made finger guns in response and reached down to the small bag he brought with him. He pulled out a frosted looking coke and a cosmic brownie, and without having looked, he tossed it back to Eddie. “Thanks, Rich!” Eddie said as he tore the plastic open. “These are my favorites.”

              “Yeah, I know,” Richie stated easily as he took a drink. Eddie watched the way his Adam’s apple bobbed. “You can pay me back by letting me have some alone time with Mrs. K.” Eddie snorted and lightly kicked Richie’s shin.

              “She wouldn’t go for you— and she’s been blind dating for years,” Eddie said with his eyebrows raised. Richie feigned a look of betrayal as he flopped down onto the dark grass. Derry was known for having mild summers, but this one was a scorcher. Nearly every day in June the Losers found themselves in the cool, almost comforting, water of the quarry. Eddie wasn’t allowed to go most days, but Richie had helped him come up with an elaborate lie about summer homework and studying. Truthfully, this summer Eddie had found himself studying the way Richie’s eyes crinkled up when he laughed; or how his cheeks were furiously dusted in freckles from the sun. At best, these feelings made him feel weird—even kept him up at night sometimes—at worst, they made him sob hot tears into his pillow. He shook his head as he leaned back against the bark of the tree. This was something he didn’t need right now.

              “Earth to Spaghetti Head!” Richie called from beside him. Eddie’s head snapped in his direction almost immediately. “Whatcha thinking about, Eds?” He asked as he lazily shoved his glasses back up on his nose. From the quarry in front of them, they could hear the noises of Bill being shoved in the water. “Get him, Ben! Put him in a world of hurtin’!” Richie called as he stretched to look over his shoulder. Eddie rolled his eyes and he pulled his knees to his chest.

              “Don’t call me that,” he said half-heartedly as he curled his toes into the blanket. “I’m just…thinking about college.” Richie sighed as he scooted closer, the warmth from his body almost radiated onto Eddie’s skin.

              “We’re not even staring senior year yet,” Richie said as he spared a glance towards Eddie. The sun made his brown eyes shine like raw amber—Eddie had to look away to spare himself the guilt. “There’s time to just be dumb,” he tried again as he put a hand on Eddie’s shoulder. He flinched from the sparks that crackled as their skin brushed together and scooted away. Richie’s hand dangled in the air for a few awkward seconds before he placed it in his lap.

              “You’re always dumb, Richie,” Eddie said with a smile as he stared at those bright eyes. Richie stared back at him for a few moments, as if he wanted to say something, but he screwed his eyes shut and laughed.

              “Yeah, yeah. I’m dumb until I’m helping you pass calculus, Eds,” Richie said as he jabbed his fingers into Eddie’s side. He squealed with laughter as he flopped back on the blanket with a soft thud. Arms flew out and tangled together as they both wrestled around under the shade of a massive Birch tree. “Cute, cute, cute!” Richie laughed as he pinned Eddie’s arms above his head. Eddie shook his head rapidly in response and tried to fight back a smile.

“Get off!” He gasped with laughter. The silence from above filled him with a sudden shot of panic. Eddie opened his eyes hastily to see Richie as he stared down at him, his lips parted slightly. The dark curls that made up Richie’s hair hung loosely around his jaw like a frame for a painting. His chest moved with every breath, every exhale and inhale. “Rich?” He asked softly as he watched Richie’s glasses slip further down his nose. “Richie, your glasses—”

Richie moved off him swiftly and shoved his glasses back up onto the bridge of his nose. The silence between them was thicker than the dense summer air. “You had somethin’ on your nose,” he said with a small grin as he flopped back on the grass. He looked like he was conflicted with something, but Eddie didn’t want to push it.

              “Right,” Eddie said back. Bill wrapped a towel securely around his waist as he sat down next to Eddie. “Hey, Bill,” Eddie greeted with a little wave.

              “Big Bill!” Richie called as he propped himself up on his elbows. “Looking absolutely delish today. Is that a new chest hair?” He asked as he rose his eyebrows up and down. Bill moved his towel rapidly through his hair to semi-dry it.    

“B-Beep beep, R-Richie,” he said with an eye roll. “H-hey, what happened t-to you and S-S-S—”

              “Stacy,” Eddie supplied for him. Bill gave him a grateful smile.

              “I dunno, she didn’t wanna deal with my huge wang,” Richie supplied with a cackle as he fell back on the blanket. Bill sighed as he leaned his face into his hand.

              “I h-heard y-you didn’t even k-k-kiss her,” he accused with a slow smirk. Richie’s face looked shocked—then horrified. He quickly sat up and strangely enough looked at Eddie.

              “We kissed!” He squeaked as he crossed his arms over his chest. “I couldn’t get her off me, that dog.” Bill gave him a knowing look as he flicked his eyes to Eddie.

              “H-have you k-kissed anyone, Eddie?”

Eddie choked on his drink of water and spat it out on the grass. His tanned face was a light pink as he flushed to his ears. “I mean…not really,” he admitted with a glare in Bill’s direction. Bill looked over his shoulder and called to Stan.

              “S-S-Stan! W-we leaving s-soon?”

Stan walked over, bird book clutched under one arm, and tossed a wet curl from his eyes. “Everyone’s packing up, so I’m leaving you to connect the dots, Bill,” he quipped. Richie blew kisses at him and made loud smacking noises with his lips. Stan made gagging noises in response.

“I know you love me, Stan the Man!” Richie said with a cartoonish wink. Bill got up and wiped the loose grass from his legs.

              “We’re h-heading back t-to mine f-for movies and p-p-popcorn. You in?” He asked with a child-like smile. Eddie frowned as he scratched his cheek.

              “I would, Bill, but my mom said I had to be back before dark,” Eddie whined as he stuck his lips out in a pout. Bill gave him a small reassuring smile as he turned his attention to Richie.

“I’ll stay with Eds a little while longer.” Bill shrugged and took off with the rest of the group up the hill and towards his place.

“See you guys later!” Mike and Bev called as they followed behind the others. Richie blew them all a huge kiss, and Bev eagerly caught it in her fingers. The summer breeze wrapped itself around them like a friendly embrace. Eddie began to pick at the grass as he struggled with something to say.

“Is it true?” He asked as he lifted his gaze to Richie. He peered up at the clouds with an almost a sad glint in his eyes. “About you not kissing her?”

“What would you do with the answer, Eds?” Richie asked as he looked back at him. The breeze wrapped around his curls and tugged them any direction it pleased. Eddie watched as the chocolate color turned almost honey-like in the sunlight.

“I don’t know,” Eddie said softly as he stared helplessly at the boy in front of him. The sun was beginning to dip in the sky; the world around them descended into orange thanks to the light of the evening. It was like a moment caught in pictures or detailed in a canvas.

“I’m saving it for someone,” Richie said. His face wasn’t crinkled up in the way it does when he’s joking or playing around. This was a rare moment that Richie Tozier expressed exactly how he felt. Eddie found it hard to breathe, almost as if he needed his inhaler again. Why did he feel that way? He hadn’t in years.

“Maybe…” Eddie started as he bit down on his lip. “Maybe I am, too.”

Richie wiped his hand on his swim trunks and leaned closer to Eddie. He smelled like coke and nicotine, like all the things Eddie’s mother hated, and Eddie loved it. He drunk it in like it was a drug—he needed more. The space between them became smaller and smaller until their noises bumped clumsily together. Richie let out a tight-sounding chuckle.

              “Watch where you’re going, mister,” he chided. Eddie rolled his eyes and quickly licked his bottom lip. He didn’t miss how Richie followed the motion. The two boys stared at each other for seconds on end.

              “You just going to stare at me?” Eddie said with a roll of his eyes. Richie gaped back at him with a flush high on his cheeks, so Eddie decided it was now or never. He grabbed onto Richie’s shoulders and collided their mouths together in a messy kiss. Richie tasted like chocolate and the warmth of holding hands in the dead of winter. His hair beneath Eddie’s fingers felt like ropes that held him onto this moment. Held him steady and calmed the fear that he knew he’d deal with after. They pulled away, breathless and red in the face, and laughed. Richie wiped a tear from under his glasses and giggled away.

              “That was good, Eds. Your mom was better, though.”

              “I hate you, Richie. You know that?” Eddie asked as he curled his fingers around Richie’s with a squeeze.

              “Oh, trust me, I know,” Richie said as he squeezed back.

None of the Losers were surprised when they started dating the very next day, but especially not Bill Denbrough.

[artificialqueens]

fly out to alaska (shalaska) -lem0n_b0y

an: this is gonna be a big sappy shit show so buckle up.

Homesickness is often bittersweet. The overall thoughts of those nostalgic streets signs that always hung a little crooked and faces that seemed to always seem unpleased by your most recent style choice could pinch your heart strings at just the thought of your new life. The new life that you had chosen over those busy roads, loud neighbors, and seemingly loving family. While that may all seem not so great, you always remember the good more than the bad. Those good night’s you spent running around town, high off of pure euphoria. Those nights spent with the friends you had decided to leave behind. But for what good reason?

Sometimes in your dreams the reasons why you left in the first place surface back up like the acne you thought you left in the 10th grade. It’s those sticks and stones of words that somehow subconsciously turn into these giant monsters who claw at the back of your head. The insults, the fights, the bruises, the tears- they come back in those dreams. Those bittersweet feelings get just a bit more bitter in the lucid fights for reality; to wake up. All you need is a wake up call.

The rumble of the appending rainstorm was the daily wake up call for Sharon. Not the life changing one that she had been searching for. The search seemed like looking for a needle in a hay stack; an almost impossible task.

Those daily wake up calls normally came in the form of mother nature. The greyscale sky grumbled as a warning for the citizens of the small town that Sharon had come accustomed to. The groggy mornings were common, but something that she had also come to love. There was something in the smell of the wet earth in the mornings paired with her Marlboros that brought her one inch closer to feeling at home.

Each roll of thunder slowly brought the young woman back into the reality. Her hazey eyes slowly open to be faced with the familur interior of her remodeled but still trusty and dusty truck. On her 18th birthday she had gotten the best present any teenager could ever ask for; a car. Little did she know that the car she would receive was an old 1963 Dodge D. Sure it had some work done but as long as it was running she was content. Every morning since switching scenery, she was graced with the view of the inside of her old reliable.

Stretching her arms out in the little space she could, the silver haired woman let’s out a loud yawn. The rubbing off her eyes to slowly awaken fully, she stares at the metal ceiling. A small hole that was covered with electrical tape had slowly began to peel off. “Well shit.” Her voice raspy, she pinches the bridge of her nose in annoyance. The hole came undone so often that changing the tape was a weekly chore. Scrambling her hand onto the glove box that was full of miscellaneous items, her slim fingers seach for cursed black tape. Empty boxes of cigarettes fall onto the floorboard before she can even get her hands onto the tape.

The recovering of the hole was just the start to her Mondays. Leaning up her faux leather seat that was torn from its seams in some spots, Sharon starts up the elderly truck with the most fitting pair of keys you can find this side of the toolbox- a screw driver. The engine begins to purr like a cat with a hairball stuck in its throat. Tapping her bitten, horribly chipped, and black painted nails over the steering wheel, Sharon looks to the field in front of her.

This is what she called home. An abandoned field that was adjacent to a family ran farm. These acres of unclaimed land was her home. Across her yard the storm inches closer. The rain can been seen miles away, pouring onto the edge of her homestead. Leaning forward into the wheel, she sits there just staring at the rainfall. The rain was comforting. It used to rain a ton where she was from, so much rain that she had loved so much. Parts of her homesick mind had convinced herself that the storms were sent from her old stomping grounds as a present. A small sting that came with the present makes her sit back against her seat as she pulls out of the field to the nearby road.

The roads were gravel, but since the rain has slicked the small grey rocks, she had no worry about driving through a cloud of dust as she goes into town. While there was no dust, there was no light. The green pines tower over each side of the narrow road, making the ability of any light to peak into the road almost impossible. No twinkle of a star could been seen in the small strip of dark skies that stood above the road. Sharon’s half lidded eyes focused on the flickering of her headlights as the long stretch of road flows seemingly endless.

She was aching for nicotine. Her temples were throbbing with withdrawal from the cursed substance. She had just gotten paid the night before but her exhausted body somehow managed to get her to the field safely for her to finally rest. Finally having the energy to drag her body into town was just enough for her body remind her that nicotine was badly needed. Each bump in the road that sent her small truck jumping gently in the air just sent pulses of pain into her head.

As the trees appear in less dense clusters, Sharon gets the indicator that town was just around that one last curve in the road. Upon turning, the town was in sight.

Even with the rainy weather trailing behind the red truck, the citizens of the cozy town were awake and starting the day. The bus passed by Sharons dented old reliable on the way to pick up kids, the gas stations were full of trucks that had needed has during their long journeys, and open signs lit up in windows. The town was awake for sure, and Sharon was glad. Pulling into the parking lot of the small smoke shop, she quickly flings her door open to plant her torn up boots onto the ground. Scurrying into the woodrot covered exterior, Sharon quickly opens the door. It was like a kid on Christmas who couldn’t wait to get their hands on presents. Her boots tap against the tile floor, hitting every back breaking crack. “Gooood morningggg Mister Simon!” The silver haired regular cheers out, laying a twenty onto the counter. Without missing a beat, the older man presents the young woman with 3 boxes of her typical brand. Along with a black lighter, the man smiles. “Mornin Shar. You’re up early.”

“Early bird catches the worm I guess?” Biting her tounge, Sharon smiles back brighter, backing away from the counter with her small boxes in arm.

“Heavy smokers catch cancer you know. You’re too young to be such a heavy smoker.” Simon grumbles out as his back is turned, unpacking a box of cigars. Sharon sure was a regular in the store, too regular for Simons taste. She presses her back against the door as is about to exit that cozy warm store. “Live fast, die in you fortys! Why do think I have so many tattoos? Can’t regret them when you know what age you plan to clock out at.”

As she presses her back against the door, she is quickly in full shock as her whole body hits the gravel outside. The quick moment having thrown Sharon into the loop, she lays confused looking up at the grey clouds above with Simons laughter being heard from only yards away. Looking for an answer as she props her body up, Sharon is greeted with a blonde woman with a hand extended. Seemingly in her 20s, her hand was visibly shaking. In the moment, Sharon had assumed it was out of nervousness. “I’m so so sorry, I wasnt looking when I opened the door! Are-are you okay??”

The first thing that the older woman who is still sat in stones notices is her dark eyes. Somehow they are a deep brown that slowly fades to a medium blue as it greets the outskirts of the pupils. The next thing Sharon pin points is her blonde hair. It clearly wasn’t natural, it seemed as if she had bleached it with the old sunlight and peroxide trick. Hues of light orange were the give aways. Nodding and getting herself up, Sharon smiles at the nervous fake blonde. “It’s no problem, I’ll be okay. Watch where you’re going next time though.” Picking up her loose cartons of cancer, she slowly heads to her car to avoid Simon running out to make fun of her royal fuck up. It was mostly her fault but she had to give thanks to the young woman who didn’t notice her back in the doors window.

She throws her boxes into the passenger seat except for one. Prying off the plastic that was the only thing away from her and getting rid of the monstrous headache, Sharon quickly pops a white filtered cigarette in between her lips. Lighting it took almost too long for her standards, but luckily the lighter she was gifted wasn’t a dud as she feared. The sweet inhale of nicotine riddled smoke was music to Sharon’s unhappy temples. Her headache quickly disappearing, she leans into her seat.

As smoke fills the cockpit, she focuses on the blonde leaving the store. She walked in a riddged way, much like a widow that has the life sucked out of her. “What is her deal?” Sharon whispers to herself as her icy blue eyes follow the girl as she walks down the road. The smoke starts accumulating so much that it becomes difficult for her to see the woman. Sadly before Sharon could air out the car, the woman had disappeared from sight.