#skies above the cops are useless

[skygodtraumabond]

List of things Alolans are unusually hostile over:

Mega evolution

Island trial dropouts

Software piracy I guess

[thiswasinevitableid]

If you are still taking meet ugly prompts, sternclay 22 nsfw???

Here you go!

22: you’re on a date with this awful, awful person who keeps getting under my skin because my friend and I have been eavesdropping all night and your date says something that makes me snap … I thought it was a first date, not a three year relationship.

Note: I interpreted "first date" loosely. Slight content warning for mentions of blackmail, including blackmailing someone into a relationship.

It’s hard to tell where the sting of gin on his tongue ends and the sharpness of the pines through the window begins. The combination would invigorate him were it not for the conversation playing out at the other end of the short bar.

“...Last time, I’m not leaving.” The bartender, a mountain of a man who Joseph would love to climb, has been dealing with a persistent suitor for the better part of an hour. They’re the only people in the place; ski season is far behind them and summer isn’t here yet.

“C’mon, you’ve got no reason to hang around.”

“Yeah, actually, I do.” The bartender finishes cleaning glasses, turns to put them up.

“Don’t you fucking turn your back on me! I’m not through with you, oughta drag you outta here by your hair you cheap, dull-”

The next word is an unkind name for men who, like Joseph, prefer men in their beds. The bartender doesn’t respond, though his hands tighten around the glasses. Damn it, the world did not go for a second war just for him to let everyday evil slide by.

“That’s enough.” Joseph stands, moving to where the other patron wobbles on his stool, “him being uninterested doesn’t give you the right to abuse him.”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about, pretty boy.”

“I know that if you don’t leave, I’ll escort you out.”

The man throws up his hands, spits at Joseph’s feet before stumbling and stomping for the door, “Three years, Barclay, you’re throwing away three years in one night, and you’re gonna regret it. I’ll make sure you do!”

“Don’t think you will.” Barclay mumbles as the door slams. He’s twisting his dishrag to the point it’s ripping.

“Three years? Good lord, I thought he was just a run-of-the-mill drunk.”

“Nope. If you can call him tracking me down every few months a relationship.”

“I’m sorry.” Joseph pulls out his handkerchief, kneeling to clean up the spit, “still, I apologize for getting in the middle of a, um, lovers quarrel.”

“Please don’t, I’m glad you stepped in. Don’t know what I woulda done if you hadn’t.” His brown eyes study Joseph more closely, “have I seen you here before?”

“Through there.” He indicates the pass-through to the kitchen, “I come here as often as I can since the food can’t be beat.”

“Thanks.” Barclay smiles, starts wiping the counter, “yeah, Dani usually tends bar after the kitchen closes but her wife is down with the flu. Only seemed fair to let her take time to look after her.”

A big heart to go with a big frame? Joseph’s in big trouble.

“You, uh, you up here for the lakes or…” He’s now directly across from Joseph, sliding a fresh gin and tonic in front of him.

“I’m a private detective, a one man operation as of 1949; Kepler’s the optimal spot for me, since it’s between the mountain towns and the eastern edge of the city. That’s a lot of people who might need help. Not to mention lots of the residents closer to the lakes are wealthy, the kind where they’re always looking for someone to trail a straying spouse or track down the pearls their no-good layabout son sold for dope.” He lets a little bit of scorn enter his voice in hopes of letting Barclay know he doesn’t always agree with his clients, but that a man has to make a living.

Barclay rolls his shoulders, then leans forward, “any fun cases so far?”

Joseph pulls off his jacket as he thinks; if Barclay’s really interested, they might be here awhile.

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

He’s an early riser, so the banging on the door to his house (and office) interrupts his breakfast and not his rest. Joseph opens it and then fights to keep it that way.

“Detective Hayes. This is a surprise.” He smiles.

“I’m not here to catch up, Stern. I’m here so you can answer one, simple question: where were you between eleven-thirty and midnight last night?”

“In the dining room at Amnesty Lodge, talking with the bartender. If you need to verify that, just go to the Lodge and ask for Barclay.”

Hayes glowers in a way he recognizes as, “this won’t be an easy case like I assumed” and turns without a word. Two officers follow him. The third, Dewey, hesitates. He’d always been a pal. Joseph shoots him a confused look.

“Guy got shot in the woods near the Lodge last night. His only known contact in town was the bartender, and everyone else we questioned said the two had been arguing for a few days. Hayes thought the cook was a shoo-in to book but, well, his alibi aligns with what you said. Plus, some ranger Owens talked to said he saw Barclay talking to someone in the dining room at the time of the murder. Guess he was walking by the window on his way to-”

“Dewey! Get the hell over here!”

As his informant scurries up the hill to join the others, Joseph steps back inside to finish his toast. He only gets through one piece before the phone rings, summoning him to the managers office at Amnesty Lodge.

Madeline “Mama” Cobb sits behind her desk, whittling with the kind of force that suggests she’s doing this in place of putting her knife to another use.

“Barclay tells me you’re a detective.”

“That’s right, Miss. Cobb.”

“Great. I’m hirin’ you to find out who the hell killed his useless ex and is tryin to frame him for it.”

He sits down, intrigued, “I thought the police were handling the investigation.”

“I ain’t inclined to trust ‘em. Barclay can’t think of someone who’d set him up, and the police don’t think he was. Yet. But I happen to know there were scraps of a shirt Barclay owns on the trees nearby and that the fella who died had this on him.”

She holds a crumpled paper out. He unfolds it, reads, “Come to the old mill at a quarter until midnight. B.” He looks up, “meant to stand for Barclay, one would assume?”

“Yep. Whoever wrote that did a decent job forgin it.”

“How can you be sure it’s fake?”

“Because I got plenty of documents where Barclay describes a time. He just uses numbers, not words like ‘quarter until.”

“Did you suspect a set-up before you lifted this from the body so the cops wouldn’t find it?” Joseph tucks the note into his inside pocket.

“Course I did. You’re new in town, but there ain’t a person here who’d say Barclay is anythin but gentle. He ain’t about to shoot someone in cold blood, even that fucker.” She sighs, takes off her hat and runs a hand through greying hair, “that boy is as good as a brother to me. I know he’s been through some rough shit. He don’t deserve to get caught up in some goddamn murder scheme. So name your price, Mr. Stern; so long as it keeps him outta trouble, I’ll pay it.”

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

He’s elbow-deep in Barclay’s dresser when the cook returns from his shift; he gave Joseph permission to search his room for signs of whoever took his shirt, but still, the other man doesn’t seem pleased with his presence.

“I’m sorry, but I have to be thorough. I’ll be out of here as soon as I can.”

“S’fine.” Barclay slumps down on the bed. After a moment he murmurs, “I know Mama hired you, but is there anyway I can convince you to quit? She, the Lodge doesn’t have much cash to spare this time of year. I don’t want anyone going without on my account and, and maybe this will all blow over if I just lie low, y’know?”

“It might. But until I think that’s the outcome, I’m inclined to agree with Miss. Cobb that we should work to keep you clear of this. And” he watches Barclay stand, moving to the window so he won’t have to see Joseph rifling through his life, “I promise that if it comes down to getting paid or bankrupting the Lodge, I’ll stop taking my fee. This is a good place and, um, it clearly means a lot to you. That makes it worth some belt-tightening on my end.”

“Thanks.” Barclay stares into the woods, then looks over his shoulder, “Joseph, I-”

It’s only because the mirror is above the dresser that he sees the black barrel peek from the trees. With no time to yell, he dives forward, pulling Barclay to the floor as the first bullet makes shards of the window.

“What the fuck?!” Barclay covers his head as another shot flies over them

“I think we just confirmed Miss. Cobb’s theory!” He pops up, fires once, and drops back down. Whoever’s in the trees isn’t expecting someone armed, so in place of another bullet they get breaking branches.

Joseph gives chase, leaping out the window and sprinting into the trees. Were they in downtown L.A, hell, even if he was still in Chicago, he’d have a better chance of staying on his target. But there’s no paths, no short-cuts, and every tree looks the same at this speed, cloaking the shape in the distance. Worst of all, he discovers that instead of dead-ending at a brick wall, he dead ends at a rockface.

Oh, and his hand is bleeding. He must have cut himself jumping out the window.

It looks like his investigation just took on a bodyguard element, and his wish to spend more time with Barclay could end with them both looking like swiss cheese.

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

“You could talk to Duck.” Barclay finishes bandaging the slash on the back of Joseph’s left hand, “he works in the state park near here and knows a ton about the layout of the woods. There, not too tight?” He sits back on his heels as Joseph tests the tightness of the bandage.

“It’s great, big guy. Um, I’m sorry, I don’t know where that came from.”

“I don’t mind it” he winks, “pretty boy.”

His visit with Duck the next day, while informative, doesn’t give him much insight into how their assailant disappeared, especially when Duck points out that the rock face he ran across is over a mile long and hard to climb without equipment or a death wish. At least the ranger outfits him with a map with written-in details; most are about trails that are likely to be muddy (and thus hold prints) or spots where a person might be able to hide. And some hike recommendations, just because.

He tries not to think about taking Barclay on the one to a secluded lake and fucking him under the stars.

His schedule alternates between sitting in his office taking and making calls, shadowing Barclay when he’s out on errands or otherwise vulnerable (he’s spent more than a few nights on the floor of his room, that velvety baritone talking to him until they both fall asleep), and scouring the woods for clues.

A jay heckles a squirrel, which surrenders it’s pinecone and scrambles along the rocks. He’s wishing he could be so nimble when it climbs up and then...disappears. Following it, he discovers what he dismissed as endless rock is an optical illusion; the rocks above and behind align with the ones in front and below to make it seem as if it’s a flat face. But when he climbs over the bottom rock, he finds a narrow slot canyon. One big enough for a human.

Fifteen minutes of granite scratching his back later, he’s at the other side of the rocks. Smoke curls up his nose, and he trails the scent to a cabin which, according to Duck, is on a strange pocket of private property, just up a frontage road. Stranger still is the sign out front.

I.C All

Tarot, Palm Reading, and Other Psychic Services.

He knocks as wind chimes sing lazily around him.

“Come in!”

The first room is divided by a curtain, the half he’s in a rather eclectic waiting room. The dining room and kitchen are probably on the other side of the pink and yellow cloth.

Waiting for him in the next room is a man with a distinctly beatnik air about him, from his red glasses down to his brightly colored shawl and shoulder length hair. Laid out before him is a tarot deck, crystal ball, and several black candles. But that’s not what concerns Joseph.

“Before I sit down, can you ask your friend hiding in the bureau to come out?”

“Fuck” the beaura hisses, “uh, I mean, uh, there ain’t, uh, fuck-”

“It’s alright dearest, I suspect we may all benefit from this.” He gestures for Joseph to sit, “Apologies, but my hope was you were either a client I could turn away or one in search of a brief reading that I could perform before returning to more...pleasurable activities.” He grins as none other than Duck Newton steps from the creaky wooden bureau, looking like he’s been wrestling a very amorous tiger.

“Afternoon, Joe.” Duck sits on the nearby couch, “didn’t take you for the fortune tellin’ type.”

“I’m more interested in whether Mr…”

“Cold, but my friends call me Indrid.”

“Whether Indrid has noticed anyone coming and going on his property without permission?”

“I can’t say that I have, though it’s hard to do so; the walkway is guarded by Beacon, our dog, and everything but the walk up to the cabin is fenced off or, well, a massive wall of rock.”

“...Come with me.”

Soon, Duck is studying the slot canyon while Indrid worries his lower lip.

“I had no idea this was here.”

“No one did. It ain’t on any of the maps, and I never heard of anyone findin it on accident.” Duck pulls back, popping his hat on as he turns to Joseph, “this got somethin to do with Barclay?”

“I think whoever shot at us used this to get away. For all we know, the person who killed Mr. Douglas did the same.”

“To think, I encouraged Barclay to come here even more often once he told me his predicament; I thought no one could approach us without me seeing them coming. No, no this will not do at all” he shakes his head, “he needs to go see her.”

“You know he won’t, sugar.”

“He must. It’s the safest place for him. And the last anyone will look.”

Joseph looks between them, but before he can ask Indrid simply says, “You should ask Barclay about the Greenbank House. That story isn’t ours to tell.”

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

“Home sweet home.” Barclay grumbles as he and Joseph step out of the car and into the shadow of a mansion in the most exclusive neighborhood in Lakeshore. It took all of his friends telling him he should go--and Joseph assuring him it’s location meant it wouldn’t look like he was trying to run away from the scene of the murder--for the cook to agree to a stay at his family home.

“What are you afraid of?” Joseph keeps his tone gentle as they climb the front steps. His friend had simply said he had unhappy memories of the house and would rather live in a mausoleum then stay there.

“It’s more dread. You’ll see when we get inside.” He knocks on the front door. It’s opened by the least congruous face imaginable; a man with greying hair and a groundskeepers clothes. When he sees Barclay, a smile bursts across his face.

“Barclay! How are you kiddo?”

“I’m...I’m okay. It’s good to see you Thacker.” He offers a genuine smile as he opens his arms and gathers the older man into a hug. When they separate, Joseph offers his hand and introduces himself. Having an extra guest delights Thacker, and he ushers them in with a promise that he’ll have rooms ready to go in a jiff.

“How’s Maddie doin’?”

“She’s good, and she’ll still slug your arm for that nickname.”

“Good old Maddie.” Thackers cheer falters, “do you wanna go see your ma? If I didn’t know you were comin, gonna guess she didn’t neither.”

“Yeah. Yeah I should go see her. Joseph, you don’t, uh, you don’t need to come with me if you don’t want to.”

“It’s only polite to meet my hostess.”

Barclay leads him up a flight of stairs, then down a hallway where dust substitutes for walllpaper. Waiting for them in a red and orange toned bedroom is a woman with greying, black hair and a face not unlike Barclay’s.

“Dear heart” she rises from her armchair, drawing her son to her, “you came back.”

“Just to visit, Ma. Uh, this, this is Joseph. He’s a friend of mine. He’ll be staying here too.”

She studies him with a critical eye; Joseph thought Hayes had a judgemental gaze, but she could beat him any day.

“Hmm. The more the merrier, as she always said. How long will you stay?”

“A few weeks.”

She nods, regards the photo of another woman above the mantelpiece as if seeking council, “You’re not here for pleasure.”

“No.” Barclay rubs his arm, “I...I got into some trouble. Andrew Douglas was shot the night I broke things off with him. The cops are leaving me alone for now but someone else wants me dead.”

The woman’s face suggests she both recognizes and despises that name, “We will keep you safe.”

With that, she sits once more and picks up her book. Barclay hesitates, then bends to kiss her forehead before pulling Joseph from the room.

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

“How long ago did your mother die?” Joseph kicks his legs up onto the ottoman. Barclay alluded to her passing previously, but never gave details.

“When I was eighteen. Car accident. She went off the Kepler bridge. They, uh, they never found her, and just found part of the wreck.”

He intends to leave it there; they’re on the back porch overlooking the garden (“Thackers pride and joy”), early summer dusk on their skin and their arms occasionally brushing from the edges of their chairs. No need to kill the mood further. He just wanted some kind of context for the house and the widow within it.

“Ma never recovered. She loved mom so much that losing her was like losing a lung; she can get through her days, even enjoy them, but it will always be hard. She tried to keep mom around however she could; the whole goddamn house is the same as it was the day she died, even my room. She wanted me to stay too, but Mama offered me the job and I just...I couldn’t live in a haunted house anymore.”

Joseph tips his hand to the right, extending his fingers into the space between them. Barclay takes it and holds tight.

“I’m so sorry, Barclay. You had every right to leave, to make your own life.”

“I know.” He runs his thumb across Joseph’s knuckles, “okay, pretty boy, my turn for a tough question; why’d you really leave the police force.”

It’s not that tough a question, not when he knows the man he’s confiding in won’t go running to Hayes, “I joined the force because I wanted to solve mysteries and help people. But it turned out there was a lot less seeking justice and a lot more chasing off drunks who just needed a place to sleep off benches and harassing certain neighborhoods. Then I worked out that the chief was taking bribes from all kinds of places and was naive enough to think someone might listen to me and help me when I told them. Instead they threw me off the force. In hindsight, it could have been worse; they could have killed me and covered it up.”

“Jesus.” Barclay polishes off his drink, contemplates the ice, “glad they didn’t. Both because, y’know, world is better with you alive, but, uh, also because if they had we’d never have met.”

Joseph meets his eyes, smiling in a way that makes the other man blush, “that would’ve been a damn shame.”

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

This is turning into one of the stranger cases he’s worked, in good ways and bad. The good is that his work days, when he’s not on the phone or digging through his notes, are spent with Barclay. His friend insists on cooking, has even brought him lunch at his desk, and usually the two of them have dinner with Thacker in the garden. They read or play chess in the study, take walks through the labyrinthine grounds, and even swim in the open air pool. Barclay in his swim trunks is a fine sight indeed. Joseph wonders if he ever brought boyfriends here, ever kissed them in the blue water or let them have their way with him in some hidden patch of lawn.

But it’s not all roses and revelry. The more he roots around in Andrew Douglas’s past, and in Barclay’s, the more questions he has. Why did Andrew come and go? What happened to large portions of Raquel and Sylvia (Barclay’s parents) fortune? And who wants to kill someone with no criminal record, no known enemies, and no heirs? If it’s the same person who murdered Andrew, killing Barclay would remove their fall-guy, so that makes no sense as a move.

His best lead comes when he learns Barclay’s family and Andrew Douglas lived in San Francisco at the same time. A friend in the city agrees to do some sniffing around there for any information that might point towards their killer. Two days later, he calls back and says he’s sending Joseph a “fucking brick” of evidence in the mail.

It’s been several days and he’s still waiting. He dozed off in his room after dinner, intending to cat nap, but it seems he’s overshot; it’s after ten. At least the mail must have come by now.

“Barclay? Did anything come--you have five goddamn seconds to explain yourself.”

His friend stammers from his seat on the bed, surrounded by papers, photo’s, newsprint, and a manila envelope with Joseph’s name on it.

“I, uh, I, it isn’t-”

“This is all evidence collected for the purpose of protecting you, so if you have something you’re afraid of me finding you’d better start talking now.” He snaps, looming over the other man from the edge of the bed.

Wordlessly, Barclay hands him a piece of newspaper. It details a kidnapping, one that ends--happily--with the victim being returned to their family. Four names are mentioned, but none of the perpetrators are the man in front of him.

“I was sixteen. A stupid kid. I had this perfect life and I got a little stir crazy, a little bored, and fell in with some other rich kids who felt the same. It started out harmless. Then James, the guy in charge, decided we should dream bigger. I was so, so fucking in love with him, I didn’t try to stop him. Not right away, anyway. I...I was their look-out for that kidnapping. But I couldn’t let them keep it up.”

“You struck a deal.”

Barclay nods, “Best part is, I managed to do it without either of my parents getting wise. We moved here soon after. I thought I could put it behind me.”

Joseph takes a closer look at the paper. The byline for the article is one A. Douglas.

“He blackmailed you.”

“Not at first. He, he” Barclay takes a shaky breath, “he went to mom first. Asked her how much she’d pay to keep my name out of the papers. James had told him about me and he was going to spread the story. That’s why she was on that fucking bridge in the middle of a fucking storm; she was meeting him.”

“Oh, Barclay.” Evidence crumples under his knees as he sits to comfort his friend.

“Then he came to me; now not only was I paying to keep the story quiet, I was paying to keep him from telling Ma why Mom died.”

“She died because of a blackmailer, wet cement, and a weak guard rail. Not because of you.”

Barclay looks at him, eyes coffee cups of sorrow, and simply shakes his head. Then he crumples forward and Joseph catches him, holds him tight while he finishes his story through his tears.

He paid off Andrew for three years. Ned Chicane, owner of the Kepler Museum of Curiosities, helped him with the family accounts so Raquel wouldn’t notice anything suspicious. Whenever Andrew came around, he demanded Barclay act as his “boyfriend” for the duration of the visit.

“Everyone must think I have terrible taste in men.”

Once they establish that, as far as Barclay is aware, only Ned knows about the blackmail, Joseph cups his face and says, as firmly as gentleness allows, “From now on, I need you to be truthful with me. You said you didn’t want me putting the pieces together because you were ashamed, but all I want is to help you. I can’t do that if there are big things you’re hiding from me. Understand?”

Barclay nods, and apologizes the entire time they’re gathering the strewn pieces back into the envelope.

“Barclay?” Joseph cuts him off and eases him down until he’s on his back, “I forgive you. Now please go to sleep before you pass out from stress.”

The cook smiles at him, eyes already fluttering closed, “You’re the boss, Joseph.”

He ignores all the urges that kickstarts in him and leaves his friend to sleep in peace.

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

“Y’know, kind of wish we’d known each other back then.” Barclay looks up from where he’s helping Joseph sort the new evidence on the floor, “when I was in San Francisco, I mean.”

“It would have taken more than just a change of scene for me; my family does alright, but I’d have been way outside your circles.”

“So? Maybe then I coulda had a boyfriend who was ‘disreputable’ for bullshit reasons instead of real ones.”

“I’ve never once been disreputable.” He looks up from the photos in his hand, “and is that your way of telling me something, big guy.”

“Yes. I, uh, you can tell me to knock it off, but I, uh, I think you’re swell. It’s okay if you don’t feel that way but you said I should be…” he trails off as Joseph leans into his space,”honest.”

He kisses him once, so brief it barely counts but the larger man whimpers and tries to grab him before he pulls away.

“If we’re going to do this, I need you to promise me that you’ll tell me to hit the brakes if you need to; it won’t change my dedication to the case.”

“I promise.” There’s no dishonesty in his face, just boundless hope and affection.

“In that case, big guy” he lunges forward, pinning him to the rug, “you’re all mine.”

An unexpectedly high whine leaves his lover.

“You like when I’m rough?”

“Uh, uh huh, so much, people always want me to be and I don’t want to, wanna be, wanna beAHHHhhnnn” he arches his back as Joseph bites the patch of skin just below his beard.

“You’re so gentle, big guy, I thought you’d go straight to making love but” another bite, another gasp, “I think I’d better fuck you instead.”

“Please.” Barclays hands glide up to cup Joseph’s face and guide him down into another kiss.

Joseph rolls his hips forward and his sleeves up as speaks, “Now that you mention it, I can see how things would’ve gone if we met earlier. I was an obedient son but not beyond sneaking someone into my room when my parents were away” he undoes Barclay’s shirt, keeps grinding against him and licking his lips as he feels him getting hard, “or maybe we met down here, and you’d sneak me into the backyard.”

“Fuck, yes.” Barclays chest heaves as Joseph cards his fingers up through the dark hair to tease his nipples, “god, if how I, fuck, feel now is a clue, I’d have been so fucking mad for you.” He makes a charming groan as Joseph tongues his nippls and then nibbles his way up to his ear.

“It’s funny” Joseph kisses his cheek, “I knew so many guys like you on the force. Not you now, used to hard work and worry, but you then; spoiled and softer than a boiled egg.” He allows himself a moment of savoring their cocks teasing each other through their pants before continuing, “always wanted to discipline them, because it was clear no one ever did.”

“Please show me how.”

“Why?” He grins down at him, toying with his left nipple until it’s bright red.

“Because I wanna be good for you, Joseph. Wanna be every fantasy you ever had.”

“...Lord god almighty how am I supposed to say no to that?” Joseph undoes his suspenders, laughing at Barclay’s triumphant smile, “you’re a dream, big guy.”

He crawls so he’s straddling Barclays face, cock dripping pre-cum onto his lips. Barclays tongue keeps peeking out from between them, but doesn’t go further without permission.

“Since this is disciplinary, you don’t get a say in how it goes. You’ll take my cock as long and as deep as I want it, because I’m superior to you and you’re here to do what I say”

“Fuckyeah” Barclay paws Joseph’s thighs, opens his mouth so he can guide the head in.

“That, ohyes, that being said, if it’s really too much, tap my thigh twice.”

Barclay nods to show he understands, but is already pre-occupied sucking his cock like he’s starving for it.

“A good start, big guy, but if I just wanted my cock wet I’d have gone swimming.” He cups the back of Barclays head in both hands, “I want something to fuck, and your face is it.”

The man beneath him moans, fucks the air uselessly as Joseph pushes further in. He finds the resistance of his throat with a half-inch to go, and decides that’s good enough. He pulls halfway out, pushes back in, repeats the process a few times before finding his rhythm. Weeks of wanting mean it’s hurried and greedy, but the resulting moans suggest Barclay approves.

“You look so good like this, Barclay. God, if you’d been some fresh-faced officer, one look of those doe-eyes is all it, shit, would’ve taken for me to make this the only discipline you ever got. Any time I needed to put you in your place or just, fuck, just needed to let off some steam, I’d do this, get my, my cock in your mouth so often you’d run out of spit and be thankful for my cum in, in it’s place.”

Barclay is groping him again, eyes bright and lips managing some upward curve as his cock forces them apart.

“Then again” he tenderly massages Barclay’s scalp, “there’s no reason I can’t do that in this universe. Oh, ohshit, Barclay-” his words desert him as he cums, the other man swallowing eagerly and sucking him clean before he pulls out.

Joseph glances over his shoulder, “Can I take care of that for you?”

“Fuck, please?”

He rolls off of the cook, stays on his side and slips one arm under his shoulders. Then he sets his palm on the monstrous bulge in Barclay’s jeans and sets to work.

“I, I should unzip-”

“No” he kisses him, “we’re surrounded by evidence that I can’t have you cumming on. Don’t worry, I’ll clean up the mess you make cumming in your pants like a teenager.”

“Promise?” It’s an odd thing to say, but Joseph thinks he understands.

“I promise.” He quickens his pace, Barclay’s grunts growing louder when he does, “I’ll take care of you, big guy. I’ll look after you. You don’t have to lift a finger when I’m around.”

“Joseph.” Is all the reply he gets, Barclay already turning as cum spreads across his fly and clinging to the detective. His breath is hot, stays shaky even as his cock stops pulsing.

“Barclay? Baby, are you alright?”

“So fucking good, babe. I, I uh” he holds him tighter, “this is the first thing to make sense to me in years. Loving you, having you in my life, I get how we fit together so easily. Everything else, the murder, Ma, this person lurking around the last place that feels like home waiting to hurt me or hurt Mama or someone there, all of it, it’s so goddamn tangled I’m worried it’ll never get straight.”

Joseph rests their cheeks together, “We’ll figure it out, big guy. I promise.”

[justapoet]

Infinity times infinity

For years, it lost its magic. Looking up was just useless and he was happy to avoid more questions without answers because those related to the Earth itself were already exhausting enough to keep him awake at night. And, then, TK happened.

or

Carlos loves stars, and he, somehow, found them inside of the most beautiful irises he's ever seen.

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There's something about the nights that makes Carlos's mind feel light and peaceful. Since he was a child, even more as a teenager, he'd sit on his parent's house's balcony and stare at the sky for hours until his father called him back in, so he wouldn't mess up his sleep schedule too much.

Yet, he'd spend most nights looking out his window thinking; about the stars and the most random things. He'd spend sleepless nights naming constellations and trying to remember the myth behind each one, explaining to his own shadow under the silver glow of the moon. His cellphone used to always have notes and pictures of planets and galaxies, his calendar always marking the nights and days when some astronomic event would happen so he could convince his mother to let him stay awake the whole night.

When he joined the police academy, though, he stopped thinking about it. Carlos didn't even notice when he stopped looking up, but somehow, when he did, it started to make his neck ache enough for him to give up soon. He didn't search for constellations or planets anymore and no longer knew when it would happen a meteor shower or a red moon, and his cellphone's gallery also didn't have pictures of anything related to space.

For years, it lost its magic. Looking up was just useless and he was happy to avoid more questions without answers because those related to the Earth itself were already exhausting enough to keep him awake at night.

And, then, TK happened. After years without looking up, there was TK Strand, who would drive him crazy and make him come up with more questions without a single answer and sometimes without even a question mark, making him doubt all of his steps and sentences. Then, all of a sudden, there was this beautiful firefighter with terrible luck, a gorgeous smile, and the most beautiful eyes Carlos has ever seen in his twenty-seven years of life.

TK happened and, somehow, looking up and forward didn't seem to ache anymore.

Oh, well; if being honest, TK happened, and looking down was way more painful when they were riding an ambulance with a bleeding wound on TK's abdomen and sirens blaring on the streets. Seeing the pain clouding those pretty eyes hurt way too much and, yet, he needed to ― someone needed to keep him awake.

"C'mon, babe; you have to keep your eyes open. You know the drill" Carlos said again, probably for the fifth time in five minutes. "Keep your beautiful eyes open for me, uh?"

"'ou like m'eyes?" TK grumbled. Carlos hummed in agreement. "Why?" his voice was low and full of pain, and he winced as Tommy touched close to the wound. Carlos squeezed the paramedic's hand in his, smiling quite embarrassed.

"There's this, uh... Planetary nebula, a young one. It's called Butterfly Nebula because of its wing-like appearance, a few more than three thousand light-years from us ― from Earth ―, on the Scorpio constellation" he started, shyly. His words caught TK's attention immediately, those big green eyes, even filled with pain, focused on Carlos' worried and beautiful face. Tommy, beside them, seemed to be curious, too, about where the conversation was going.

"It's one of the most complex planetary nebulas ever found, you know?" he asked, smiling little. "And the colors seem to change, too. Some pictures of it show us a dark nebula with points of light, some red, blue, and a lot of shades of orange" TK frowned, and Carlos could tell that this time, it wasn't because of the pain, but because he couldn't understand how it was related to his eyes. "My favorite thing about it is that it always, in every single picture, has shades of green light close to the center of it and on its edges"

Carlos chuckled a little when both Tommy and TK let out an "oh" with a sigh. He looked at their entangled hands before starting to speak again.

"I used to think that, if I looked through a telescope, as a kid, I'd be able to see it," he said, smiling nostalgically. "My father would tell me it was impossible and it would only give me an aching neck, and my mother would say that some things are just out of reach" he shrugged before looking up again, meeting those unfairly green eyes. "Turns out they were both wrong"

TK pressed his lips together, and Carlos could tell that there were new tears in his boyfriend's eyes in a second. The beeping sound around them went a little faster, and Tommy turned her head and smiled towards them both, focusing on Carlos for a second. He blushed, knowing that it was TK's heart racing for what he'd just said.

They got to the hospital minutes later, and Carlos was left in the same waiting room he always ended up in as they carried TK away to another surgery. He let a few tears fall before trying to breathe steadily again, his leg bouncing with anxiety brought by the uncertainty. No matter how many times he ended up there with the same questions and situations, he could never calm his heart and mind down until he had a concrete answer, and Carlos knew well enough that he wouldn't have it for a few hours.

When, hours later, they were all allowed to check up on TK ― the team had arrived after their shift ended ―, Carlos stood close to the window as his boyfriend drifted back to sleep. He looked up at the sky that night and counted constellations until a nurse came in to check the man's vitals. Then, he sat back at the bedside and took TK's hand in his, spending another sleepless night counting the dots on TK's arm.

From that day on, he'd find himself constantly looking up when the sunset on the horizon gave the sky away to the moon. He could tell TK was curious, slightly worried about Carlos' silence most nights, so the cop would just hold tight to him and kiss him slowly. TK didn't complain about that ― he could never ―, and he didn't ask either. Carlos mentally thanked him for that, otherwise, he wouldn't know what to tell his boyfriend.

It was nostalgic, now, to sit on his balcony and look up at the dark skies above him. It was a Friday night, both TK and him out of a twenty-four-hour shift, and it was silent and peaceful. Carlos sat on the ground, and his knees were brought close to his chest, his chin resting over his folded arms. 

He wasn't searching for anything specific, although his eyes could easily name one or two constellations immediately. It was late, already past midnight, and he couldn't tell how much time he spent in that position on the balcony.

At some moment, though, he felt a warm hand on his shoulder, and then a cup filled with a smokey liquid was put in front of his face. A second after his hands were around the cup, a warm body was next to his and big, bright eyes were staring at his profile. He smiled while looking at the sweet tea, the smell filling his lungs, and then looked back at the sky.

"Trying to find a nebula?" TK asked, his voice low and sweet. Carlos chuckled, shaking his head politely.

"Remembering my favorite stars," he said, and TK looked at him with curiosity, waiting for more explanation. "I used to love looking up at the sky and naming all the stars and constellations I could remember"

"Used to?" TK asked.

"I stopped looking up at some point in my life" Carlos shrugged. "Imagining any other worlds started to be painful".

TK didn't answer Carlos' words, processing them in a painful moment. He analyzed the man's face carefully, each edge and spot filling his heart with a fast, welcoming, and safe feeling, and each one of his words filling his chest with heaviness and some kind of gray cloud.

Slowly, he bent his head to the side so it was carefully placed on Carlos' shoulder. The cop took a sip of his tea, his head lightly leaning against TK's, his eyes still focused up at the stars as if he would miss something truly important if he ever stopped looking. TK found it adorable, one of his hands touching Carlos' arm and his fingers wrapping on his long-sleeve t-shirt.

"The butterfly nebula?" his voice was barely a whisper, and a tiny shy smile took over the latino's lips. "Do my eyes really remind you of it?"

Carlos nodded.

"That's probably the best compliment I've ever received in my entire life," TK said, the joke being said with a quite bitter truth behind it. "And what you've been searching for in the sky, now?" he asked once Carlos tangled their fingers together, kissing the back of the new yorker's hand.

"I'm not searching for anything," he said, slowly shaking his head. "Just wondering" concluded, and TK turned his head to place his chin on the cop's shoulder.

"What about?" questioned.

"About how... You know, we have more than we can count, on the Universe. More stars than we can put in numbers, more planets than we can put in names, and more mystery than we can put in theory" Carlos said, sighing. "There are more possibilities than we will ever imagine, and more life than we will ever be able to put among births and deaths. And, yet, here we are" he seemed lost in a trail of thoughts. "Putting time in clocks, names in stars and lives inside boxes. It's insane that, with everything we could discover, this tiny little space, this minimal planet... This tiny piece of nothing drifting in the edge of the Universe is everything we have"

He stopped, and TK absorbed the words calmly. It was something to think about, indeed, all of the things we praise so much being just a little thing, a grain of sand ― or maybe that's too much ― in the middle of something way bigger than we could ever imagine.

"And yet?" TK asked, knowing his boyfriend way too much to supposed he was finished with his thoughts. Carlos smiled gently, and TK felt the heart-melting feeling inside of his chest.

"And, yet, I wouldn't trade it for anything" Carlos stated, and TK could only admire him with a silly and loving smile.

Carlos squeezed TK's hand in his.

"So, I was just wondering about how, among uncountable stars, planets, stars, nebulas," he started, and TK smiled sweetly once again. "Among all of the possibilities inside and out of the way we see the Universe, among all the time in its totality; life, death, whatever time is," he said, still looking up. Then, his eyes went down and his face softened even more as his beautiful, dark, brown irises met TK's green, light ones. "How, on Earth and out of it, did I have luck enough to find you?"

In a second, TK lost his breath and ability to speak. His eyes widened a little, his chin no longer using Carlos' shoulder as support when his mouth just went open in incredulity with the weight those words had. He didn't even realize when tears gathered at the edges of his eyes, his heart insanely beating inside his ribcage with strength enough he could swear his ribs would break.

It didn't last more than five seconds, TK knew it, but for a moment it felt like forever. Carlos watched, a sweet smile taking over his lips and a purely joyful sparkle glimmering on his eyes as TK processed the words and, in seconds, threw himself against Carlos.

The cop laughed, his arms quickly wrapping TK's waist to pull him closer and his lips happily parting so TK could kiss him the way he wanted to. He felt something in his chest exploding, and he could only imagine that, whatever it was, it was just as bright as his boyfriend's smile between kisses.

Because Carlos could never imagine, as a child, that he would love someone the way he always heard love was. He couldn't convince himself that, somehow, among all things they could have, a feeling so pure and especial would be a possibility. Something so good, so unbelievably safe and warm could be his.

And, somehow, now TK was in his arms, kissing him breathlessly and caring, making him feel as if all the questions he ever made had an answer. They didn't, he knew it deep down, and he didn't really give it much importance as TK curled himself against Carlos, breathing deep as his nose went to the crook of the cop's neck.

"I love you," TK said. "The stars are witnesses to this" his voice was a low whisper against Carlos' skin, and he could only smile widely and hold TK close as they both looked back up at the skies.

"They'll forever be" Carlos answered, and he could tell TK was smiling.

There's something about the nights that makes Carlos's mind feel light and peaceful.

There's something about TK that makes Carlos feel infinite.

[imastrangeone98]

New Life

(A/N: I'm thinking this is it! This shall be the final chapter of my surprisingly long carlos series! I might do one shots with him down the line or include him in a future story arc but in the meantime this is it! Say goodbye to the UBCS hunk for now!)

@meisharmony if you get ideas for him, you're welcome to hmu 😉

Emma finally made it to the roof of the hospital, only to freeze at what lay before her.

Carlos and Jill, passed out on the floor. As if they had been beaten.

"No!" Before she could run to them, she was forced to the ground, her pistols tossed aside- far out of her reach.

Above her stood the infamous Nicholai, who frowned at her. She glared at him in return.

"You're not going to stop me," he decided with a slight grin. "After all, I promised your friend this, didn't I?"

A small tube of purple liquid was tossed on the floor. It must have been the vaccine they were searching for. But just as she reached for it, it exploded. Bits of glass flew everywhere, and the life-saving liquid stained the ground. Useless.

"...You... son of a..." she growled. "Do you have any idea who you condemned?!"

"Don't know- don't care. My client simply ordered me to reduce Umbrella to rubble." He leaned towards her. His blue eyes were black in the dim light. "And I always complete my mission."

"And your mission involved killing off innocents?" Emma rolled her eyes. "Mercenaries. You're all the same."

"So are cops. Who are you to judge?"

"Ten minutes until missile impact."

He smirked. "The missile has launched. And that is my cue to leave." He gave her a mocking bow- she slowly began to slide towards her guns. Out of the corner of her eye, she thought she saw Jill blink. "Goodbye, Ms. Jung. A shame you and your friend didn't listen to me when you had the chance-"

He was suddenly tackled by a roaring Carlos, who began trying to wrestle him into a chokehold. Jill was also up, dealing with the former soldier's front, only for him to push her aside.

"Jill!" Emma grabbed her pistols and was about to help them when she heard, "Emma! Shoot him!"

Carlos had the man in a tight headlock. They were standing so close together that she knew any bullet she fired would also hit him.

"No! You'll get hurt too!"

"Trust me!" He gazed into her eyes. "You have to trust me."

...So she did. With a bitter taste in her mouth, she pulled the trigger.

The bullet went straight through Nicholai's stomach, and the two men went down.

"Carlos!" She dashed to his side and cradled his head in her hands. "자기? Are you hurt?"

He coughed, before smiling at her. "Look at that. I must have gone to heaven."

She would've teased him for his horrible joke had she not been squeezing the life out of him with how tightly she hugged him.

"You're alive!" she breathed. "You're okay."

"I'm here, amor. I'm here." A soft kiss was pressed to her forehead. "I'm not leaving ever again."

Emma breathed in his smell. Blood, sweat, and the slightest hint of that cologne from Spain he always liked.

He smelled so alive.

"Okay," she murmured, placing her trust in him one more time. "Okay."

As they stood up, Carlos nodded to the helicopter. "Imma get that thing up and running."

She watched Jill as she interrogated the rotten bastard. "I'm gonna wait for her."

"Got it." He quickly jogged to the front of the chopper, throwing himself into the task of flipping switches and checking dials as the engine began to roar to life.

"Who are you working for?" Jill asked.

He coughed. "I'll tell you, if you get me out of here. I'll pay you whatever you want."

Emma rolled her eyes. There was no bargaining with these types of people. They were either willing to change, or they weren't.

And he definitely wouldn't.

Jill looked at her. Emma shook her head, and held out her hand.

Let's go.

With a grin, she took the outstretched hand, and they boarded the helicopter, Nicholai shouting behind them that they were fools, that if he died, they would never find out the truth.

"Well, then," the older officer said. "It's a good thing we don't mind detective work."

And they sat back as the helicopter took off, watching the form of Nicholai grow smaller and smaller as they ascended into the skies.

And she didn't feel an ounce of regret.

With a groan, the two slid the door shut. Jill proceeded to sit near the window, eyes open for something- the missile, most likely.

Emma made her way to the cockpit, where Carlos handed her a headphone set.

"So..." he said, glancing at her out of the corner of his eye. "What's next?"

"I don't know," she admitted, sitting on the floor next to him and resting her head on his knee. She could feel a warm hand on her hair. "I'm tired."

"Then we sleep," he chuckled. "And then...?"

"Well... Umbrella still needs to be taken care of." She turned back to Jill, who waved at her. She waved back. "As long as they're still out there, incidents like Raccoon will keep happening."

"Then we put an end to it." The hand on her hair moved downward to stroke her cheek. "But you know what? I did a lot of thinking back in Colombia, and I kinda want to start a bakery."

"A bakery, huh?" She giggled. "You know what? That sounds nice."

"Yeah. Hella peaceful." His thumb grazed the corner of her lip. "Peace sounds really nice right now."

"Yeah." Tilting her head slightly, she kissed the fingertip. "It does sound nice."

They kept flying. Towards an uncertain yet hopeful future.

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

A/N: now that I wrote this, it kinda makes me realize how cheesy this entire game was. In fact, a lot of video games are cheesy. But hey, maybe that's kinda part of the appeal

Carlos, it's been a long ride my dude. While I work on other things, I'll be sure to think of something to use you in for the future!

[nobodyeverasked]

00:00; mark tuan

(6293 words) - large

summary - there’s one small second where the world holds its breath. In that second, you feel okay.

Y/N tried to withstand the symphonies of the sunlight lulling him to sleep as he pinched himself through his sweatshirt sleeve and squinted at the projector ahead of him, really debating why he took Art History for the third year in a row despite how much he hated it. He needed the credit for his internship program in the summer, but he didn’t know he was going to have to withstand this kind of torment. 

He let his sighs dissolve into the pages of his textbooks which piled up his heavy eyes and tried to focus on the man gesturing enthusiastically at a black and white picture of a historic art figure Y/N swore he saw two slides ago. Professor Cross was a tall, gaunt man with nothing in his wardrobe other than those sweater vests that were so washed out of their colour Y/N almost sympathised with them. They looked like they were tired of his lessons too; the threads bouncing around his writhing arms looking like they wanted to rip themselves off and hide away in the nearest washing machine. Y/N thanked them for staying on, though, he ran out of eyebleach when he had to sit through an entire presentation by the junkies behind him on why erotica is the pinnacle of artistry and how modern interpretation and segregational stigmatism is the bane of humanity.

Don’t worry, Y/N didn’t stay awake for that one either.

He almost gave into the sleepiness that pulled at his eyes and weighed down his shoulders until a head leaned onto his, and heard a dramatic huff he knew all too well. He combed those famous brown and blonde box-braids out of his face and turned to face the one person in this entire college he didn’t entirely dislike. Gloria Antoine. One of the only people that was there to dash to his front door and cook some month-old ramen from the back of his pantry and be there to hear his rants that seemed to only surface under the veil of the moonlight. 

“Remind me why this is important…?” Gloria groaned and Y/N struggled to hide a chuckle in his sleeves. “I’m like, I get it, but why…?”

“You don’t find Cezanne’s works transcendent?” Y/N poked Gloria’s cheek before she lifted her head off his shoulder. “I wonder if Mcdonalds is still hiring?”

Gloria stifled a cackle and they both looked forward to the screen, letting the whispers of their laughter flutter around them and fuel the flames that lay smouldered under his fingertips. Y/N turned his hand over, the memories of the night prior still ingrained in his mind, still blessing every beat of his heart that pounded at the thought of the guy that made every second they spent together - in and out of each other’s arms - so special. Mark Tuan. He remembers the knot of devotion tied between them as they laid back on the hood of Mark’s mustang and looked at the canopies of ivory stars that gleaned like spotlights and spilled on their skin. He remembers Mark taking his lips with his own and the cold metal under them rendering itself useless. Mark was the arms of sanctuary that wound around his waist and would never let go. The feeling of safety and freedom, the moments that made Y/N feel like a bird soaring through a cloudless heaven.

 Mark was his everything, the vows of affection that tumbled out of them on their lazy Fridays, the sheets between them that scorched their bodies and drowned them in the waves of their own admiration. He was almost too good to be true sometimes. He sometimes felt so unworthy to feel the heat under Mark’s fingertips, to be scorched by the skin that runs so sweet under his tongue, like the stars under Mark’s skin always shone too bright, were always too beautiful for Y/N’s skies whenever they aligned.

Even so, he couldn’t wait for the bell to sound so he could fall into Mark’s embrace, drown himself in the haze of coffee and cherries that always reminds him of the clementine skies they shared on rooftops together, brings him back to when they had the golden sunlight carve out their leather-studded kisses in the sands.

Their nights draped in the Shanghai moonlight are all just a blur now, blissful memories that hang on the edge of their tongues-

The bell sent Y/N careening out of his trance and up to the students that scrambled for the exit, hoping to escape the clutches of black coffee are boredom that swelled in the room like pungent stench. He could hear Gloria whoop before jumping out of her seat and tossing her back over her shoulder, barely able to contain her excitement for the fact that this lesson was finally over. She tugged at Y/N’s arm, gesturing her head to the door and Y/N followed her out, the stiff smile he held out to Professor instantly falling off his face as he stepped through the doorway like a breath he didn't know he was holding.

He followed Gloria to her locker where her friends waited there expectantly, tapping away at their phones to distract themselves from the concept of socialization. Abbey - the blond one…? He didn’t remember - greeted Gloria with a hug and an avalanche of words came tumbling from their lips, frantic chatter taking over their small circle. Y/N just leaned onto the lockers behind them, taking in all of the latest ‘tea’ Abbey had to spill, wishing he could take in the melodies of his midnight conversations with Mark instead. Gloria snatched him down from the clouds of euphoria that began to swallow him up and wrapped her arm around his shoulders, bringing him back into the circle and turning him towards a new girl that he somehow didn’t notice stepping into their conversation. The shy hunch in her shoulders and the demure shimmers in her hazel eyes danced in the amber sunlight contorting to the busting chatter going on around them.

Was she Abbey…? Or was she Britney…? He didn’t remember, and he genuinely didn’t know if he wanted to care.

“Hey Y/N, this is Stella, she’s new here and I met her in my Bio class.” Gloria gestured towards the girl whose eyes were taken over with a flourish of confidence as she heard Y/N’s name.

“This is Y/N?” Stella’s smile was weirdly wide and brilliant. Y/N just smiled back awkwardly, Gloria’s arm that comfortingly wound around his shoulders failing to shed the shivers of awkwardness that slithered down his spine. “You’re the one that’s dating Mark, right?” Stella stepped closer, he could see the brilliance of admiration shine in her eyes, light up her smile. The same light which ignited every one of Mark’s laughs as they swayed in their living room,  the light that wound around them and dyed their most cherished memories, the light that was caught between their lips as they sealed their kisses in their indigo night. “Oh my God, Mark Tuan… I’m sad he transferred schools, he’s so hot.” Gloria could feel Y/N tense up and opened her mouth to cut in, but Y/N stopped her with a shrug.

“Yeah, he’s pretty amazing.”

“I know we just met, but I’m gonna be honest with you Y/N. Just for the one-time.” Stella building up her statement didn’t help the blissful toxins that bloomed under the violet tapestries of Mark’s admiration adorning Y/N’s chest from running bitter like as and stinging with regret. “I have no idea how you copped that. You’re lucky as hell.”

“Well, Mark’s pretty lucky too, Stella. Y/N can actually stay awake in art history.”

“Thanks Gloria…” Y/N shook his head. Gloria was always there to be his hype-woman when he needed her. “It’s not that impossible, right?” He turned back to Stella, trying not to let the doubts that boiled in his stomach and spilled out in smokescreens in his mind leech into his resolve too much. Y/N forced down a frown, trying not to snarl in the face of Stella’s unyielding persistence to make his kisses on mark’s skin feel paper thin, feel stone cold, like the paradise in his hands that Mark said was always there was nothing but a mirage.

“I mean-”

Gloria slammed her locker closed with a nudge of her knee and whipped her head towards Stella. “Thanks for the Ted Talk, Stella, but Y/N and I need to get going. I’ll see you girls tomorrow.” She didn’t pull back the punch of her glare into Stella’s hazel eyes as she nudged Y/N around the corner, taking his hand and escaping the estrogen-fest that did nothing but beat Y/N down. “I’m sorry, Y/N. We were vibing in Bio, I don’t know what happened.” Gloria shifted her gaze over to Y/N, his resolve crumbling in one defeated sigh. Y/N tried to focus on the clicking of Gloria’s heels against the white tile floors of the hallway before pushing his words past his teeth.

“It’s okay, Gloria.” He tried not to let her words bite too deep into his skin, to keep the stars under his skin that would always wait to align with Mark’s from fading in the whirlwinds of Stella’s words that kept Y/N with his fist clenched in his pocket and the hold on his textbook tightened to his chest. “How did I get a man like Mark? He’s literally everything, and I’m just a guy with a seventy average and a dream laid to waste..” Y/N stopped walking, gaze trained to the shine in the freshly waxed floors and the reflection of his eyes that held too many questions and not enough answers. Gloria froze where she stood and snapped her head to her best friend, someone usually so confident, so in love with themselves in others, now his voice was barely above a whisper fading in their breaths that echoed in their silence. She grabbed his shoulders, and brought his gaze up to hers, looking at him with a wildfire of determination lapping at her dark brown eyes.

“Hey, I know it’s been hard cause everyone seems to have a hard-on for comparing you two just because you’re dating, which sucks. Stella sucks. But you’re the best and you deserve to know it, okay? He’s so lucky to have you, because you’re so dedicated to him and me and us and you, and you’re so loyal. You’re beautiful, okay? You’re beautiful and talented and amazing.” Neveah took an exaggerated breath, a smile beginning to frame her lips as Y/N’s chuckles resonated between them. “Don’t-”

“Ah! Y/N! I’m glad you’re still here!” Y/N and Gloria turned their heads to the monotone voice they’ve grown to fear. It was Professor Cross, walking up to them and waving his arm above his head. 

“Can’t catch a break, huh?” Gloria and Y/N let their laughter fade into the evening air. “I’ll see you tomorrow morning, and coffees on me.”

“Six shots of espresso or I’m suing.”

“Your wish is my command, Y/N.” Gloria wrapped him up in a hug before scampering towards the exit.

“Y/N!” Professor Cross called again despite their distance. Y/N tried not to scrunch his nose as he could smell the coffee and disappointment in his Professor’s breath, wedging his teeth into his lip as he suspected the hundreds of things that this could be about. He knows that he’s been falling behind, the worries and stress that riddled his mind like a plague and withered his willpower leaving him to stare at his essays with nothing but doubt, nothing but his knowing that he’ll never be smart like Mark. His favourite moments with Mark were when that didn’t matter, when knowing complex historical milestones or bisecting segments on invisible squares never came spilling from their lips like their vows of affection did. “We need to talk about your marks in my class…”

“I-I know, Professor Cross, I’m in a slump right now but the summative will bring my mark up, I’ve been working on a piece-”

“I know, I know, but I didn’t expect you to hit a slump, Y/N. You’re one of the most enthusiastic students in my class. Granted, it’s art history, that’s not saying a lot, but I was surprised when I got the numbers for your last few tests. You know, I thought Mark would have a better influence on you, after all. He was always first in my classes.” Professor Cross tried to joke around, tried to bring some hollow laughter into the stale air trudging between them, but he knew he took it too far. He could see the fluorescent lights above chipping away at Y/N’s resolve, the hands clutching his anthro textbook gripping onto the spine. Y/N’s gaze shifted to everywhere except on the professor, deep breaths drying his throat and weakening his forced smile.

“I know, Mark’s smart, he used to be the top in the class, he’s been making art, fixing cars and changing the world, I know…” Y/N tried to wring the sweat out from his hands, doing his best to not let the sunlight streaming from the classroom windows to scratch into his skin too much. “I know, he’s the best, I know…” Y/N only shied away as Mr. Cross took a step closer. “I’ll get my grades up, I promise, I’ll try hard.”

“Y/N-”

“Have a good night, Professor…” Y/N could barely raise his gaze up from the ground, the weight of his professor's words dragging down on his shoulders and keeping his breath lodged into his throat. He turned away without a second thought and barely spared a glance towards his Art History professor before whipping himself around the corner of the nearest doorway. He needed to escape, he needed to escape from the spotlight that burned into his head and constantly sung his inadequacies into his ears  whenever he let his mind wander. This was no swansong that so easily fell from between Mark’s lips, and this light was not the ivory whisper of the starlight that would alway drape over their entwined fingers. 

He tried not to let his inner thoughts consume him as he made it to the main gates, the smokescreen of his doubts boiling, bubbling under the breath he finally let out as the amber sunlight followed in his footsteps to the main courtyard of the campus.

*

Mark leaned against the side of his car, playing with the edge of his sleeve as he waited for Y/N in the front of the parking lot, bathing in the amber sunlight streaming from the golden sky. It’s been a few months of this routine, picking Y/N up and heading home to bask in the fires of their admiration together, and Mark could not get enough of it. Seeing Y/N’s tired smile bloom as they sat next to each other in the front, the lazy kisses and intertwined fingers making them grateful his windows were tinted. Mark couldn’t get enough of it, he wanted more, just to take Y/N in and all of the wonder that spilled out from between those beautiful lips - heaven’s gates - the edge that their secrets used to tremble on and now free fall into the oceans of their trust, their love.

He couldn’t help but beam as he saw Y/N finally scamper out of the entrance to his design college, but he didn’t notice Y/N’s shifting gaze and the dejection weighing on his shoulders. Mark only focused his gaze on Y/N’s eyes that seemed to sparkle in the gilded sunlight and his skin that glowed under the golden skies, his lips that always wrenched his gaze on them and reminded them of how sweet they tasted under his tongue and between his teeth. The stories they told, they could go on and on and he could spend hours listening to what they had to say. That head of hair still singed by his wandering hands and burning touch where he could bury his worries, and revel in the softness that he tangled between his fingers. Those shoulders he would wrap his arms around and feel the tides of their cherry chapstick crash on the shores of their adoration, the shores like those beaches they burned black with the circles they danced in the sands. 

“Hey, baby.” Mark wrapped his arms around Y/N’s waist and kissed the top of his head, lips trailing down to his cheeks and waiting, longing to paint his skin in tapestries of their compassion. Y/N just hid his face in Mark’s hands, eyes taking sudden interest in the pebbles on the concrete. “How were classes today?” Mark cradled Y/N’s cheeks between his hands and kissed his lips, his smile slowly fading as the one that shone behind Y/N’s pressed lips didn’t budge. “What happened? Did Mrs. Fletching go on about why colour theory is JUST A THEORY, A COLOUR THEORY!” 

Mark nudged Y/N’s chin up and pecked his lips, unknowing of the judging stares and jealous glares that dug into Y/N’s back and ripped out his spine Mortal Kombat style.

“Something like that…'' Y/N’s lips finally budged with a shrivelled whine, his head leaning onto Mark’s chest, hoping that his leather jacket and beautiful hands could hide him from his own shame and the girls that he knew were whispering about him by the library entrance. Y/N’s smile always sweetened the sparks that ignited between their teeth, and Mark wants to get that blissful glow under Y/N’s cheeks again. “Can we just head home?”

“Of course baby.” Mark opened the door for Y/N and then wound around the front to head in himself. “Do you want to talk about what happened? I really like your smile and…” Mark paused, trying to choose his words carefully so the heavy silence practically crushing the car could feel just a bit lighter. “I haven’t been seeing it a lot nowadays, you know I’d do anything to see you smile.” Mark caressed Y/N’s cheek, seeing a weak smile spread across his baby’s lips made him feel a tiny bit better, at least the words spun like silk from his lips could always make Y/N feel safe. He meant every word and wanted Y/N to know that.

“Maybe later? I just wanna get out of these tight-ass jeans and sleep…” Y/N shrunk back in the seat, with Mark’s touch melting from his cheeks and smoothing across his hands, the demons thrashing about in the pits of his stomach made and making him question his worthiness of such a man. A man who smiles in Y/N’s adversity… 

I don’t deserve him, Y/N thought as they pulled out of the parking lot and headed home.

*

Y/N sat on the couch, doodling on his tablet, one of Mark’s many sweatshirts that found their way into his closet on his body. Mark couldn’t resist the way Y/N looked in his clothes, the scent of coconut and lavender staining all of his shirts and the admiration that dripped down their necks in the nights under the moon drenching the collar of everything he put on. It was the smell of home to him, the touch of home to him, the feeling of home to him. Y/N’s fingers between his, the coffee flavoured kisses starting every one of their slow mornings. He shuffled over from the other side of the couch, raising to his knees to tower of Y/N’s huddled form and looked to the tablet to see what masterpiece he was conjuring on that screen this time. He played with Y/N’s hair, kissing his forehead and stroking his arms before scrunching his nose at Y/N’s focus on the brilliant screen between his hands.

“Y/N~” Mark kissed Y/N’s nose, earning the cutest little squeal he has ever heard in his life. “What d’you want for dinner…?” Mark straddled Y/N’s legs, playing with the hand that wasn’t vigorously scribbling on the screen with his stylus. Y/N leaned forward - eyes finally off that screen - to press his forehead to Mark’s. His big baby. Sometimes, in moments like these with the evening sunlight draped over their shoulders and the gleam of their smiles taken between their lips, he feels like he deserves this. Sometimes he deserves Mark, the most caring, affectionate, optimistic and beautiful man he’s ever met. But it just takes one day, one thing, one word to break that all down, to tell him he’s not worth him, not worth anything. The sting of his classmates’ glares still burned into his skull, etched themselves into his memories every time he and Mark kissed. 

Maybe they were right - he thought. Maybe… 

“Uhm~” Y/N sang into Mark’s skin, the fingers tracing the lines in his palm and the body inching itself between his thighs breaking his melody a little. His heart burned for Mark, longed for him, but did he deserve a man like that to fester the flames? To ignite the weathered stars under his skin? Sometimes when he ran his hand through Mark’s hair or listened to the symphonies of his precious heartbeats on the nights that used to leave him sleepless, he could feel his skin burn. Not with the sparks that writhe between their sweat-soaked chests, but with a toxin of those doubts that leech into every hesitant kiss he plants. “How about pizza?”

“Sounds good to me.” “You wanna come?”

“I think I’ll stay here, gotta get some stuff ready.”

“My hero.” “Turning on netflix and everything.”

“I know, superman was found jobless.”

“You’re everything superman wishes he was.” Mark headed to the door with a parting kiss Y/N wanted to last forever, until the sunset bled black. “And so much more~”

“I don’t deserve you.” Y/N widened his eyes as he realized what tripped over his tongue, he hoped Mark didn’t read into that too much. 

“You deserve the world, baby.” Mark hummed into the coffee-stained air of their house before slipping out the door, making sure to send a wink Y/N’s way. The scarlet in Y/N’s cheeks bit into his skin. He wanted it to feel good, the way Mark’s sweet nothings made his cheeks burn like wildfire. But so many voices in his head, Stella, Professor Cross, that one teacher that constantly calls him Mark’s boyfriend. They all started screaming, voices in his head that tore the feeling of Mark’s lips from his skin. 

As the door shut and Y/N sighed into the haze of silence settling in the house, he just let the voices twist and echo in his head and rip into his heart. He let them stifle the flames stoked between the symphonies of their twilight, he let them wash away the footprints in strawberry sands and make the coral sunlight that melts on their skin on those summer nights they’ll always cherish submerge him in pools of guilt.

“I don’t deserve you…”

*

Mark stumbled through the front door, kicking off his shoes with a stagger and proceeding into the surprisingly dark house. Pizza boxes in one hand, house keys in the other, he stalked into the kitchen with a cocked eyebrow. He presumed Y/N may have been napping, but he knows Y/N hates having all the lights off. Mark learned his mistake the last time they did that during one of their many journeys to thwart the waning moonlight together, Y/N in Mark’s arms as they tried their best to keep their eyes on a horror movie Mark said would be ‘just fine~’. He could still remember the popcorn they had to clean off their carpet and the nails that dug into his arms. Neither of them slept that night, but at least they had their midnight conversations and entwined grins to help ignite the starlight between them and ease the nerves that rumbled through their nervous laughter.

He sighed at the memory, still feeling the cinders of their admiration staining his fingertips as he dusted off his hands and walked towards the bedroom - going to retrieve Y/N from whatever blanket cocoon he was probably in -  but instantly halted when he heard sobbing scratch at the bathroom door. Desperate and fragile sobs freezing Mark in his place. He scrambled to the sound and rushed towards the bathroom, pressing his ear up against the door.

“Y/N?” Mark didn’t hide the panic beating senseless at his throat or the stress that fested under his shaking hands. He remembered Y/N’s silence, the hollow light of his weak smiles. He remembers how Y/N’s gaze always fell to the floor and how the kisses to his fingers as of late weren’t moulded by the grin he loves to see. Why couldn’t he see this before? 

He kept his forehead on the door, wincing as the sobs and whines from behind it instantly stopped as Mark called out Y/N’s name again. “Y/N… What’s wrong? Can I come in?” Mark didn’t know how to handle this… The stench of grief that oozed from under the door and rose to his ankles. He didn’t hear an answer, but pushed past the silence and saw Y/N in the corner, knees hugged to his chest. Y/N’s head snapped up to the sound of footsteps and let a gasp rip through his sobs as he clambered to his feet.

Mark put his hands on Y/N’s shoulders, stopping him in his place before he could escape. 

“Y/N…” 

He didn’t like this, seeing the tears rolling down Y/N’s cheeks, staining his hands and carving rivers into his skin. He sat Y/N back down onto the floor wrapping his arms around Y/N without a second thought. “What happened?”

“I...I…” Y/N tried to choke out some sort of excuse for why he was feeling this way, battling through the smoke and breaking the mirrors that housed a reflection he despised. He brought his knees closer to him, his efforts to wipe away the onslaught of tears staining his sweatshirt stopped by Mark, who took Y/N’s hands into his own and kissed his knuckles softly, his face contorted with confusion and worry. “I really don’t deserve you… The more I thought about it, what everyone’s been saying, the truer it seems.”

“Y/N- what are you talking about? You-”

“You’re the most beautiful, empathetic, loving man I have ever met. You can do anything you set your mind to and even when I decide to let my thoughts take over and consume me, you’re still there to hug me and kiss me and hold me even when I ignore you or dismiss you. Everyone is so right… You’re too good for me, your everything is too good for me, Mark. I-”

“Stop!” Mark shook his head violently, taking Y/N’s face in his hands and standing him up. “What are you talking about? Who’s making you feel this way?” Mark’s voice was barely above a whisper as he brought Y/N away from the corner, wiping his tears as he waited for an answer. Something. 

Even with Y/N’s face between his hands, his eyes still looked everywhere but him, Mark couldn’t stand it. Y/N was hurt, someone was hurting him, and he wasn’t telling him who it was! “Please, Y/N tell me, who-”

“ME!” Y/N tried to push himself away. “I… I don’t have a reason, but every day I look at you, I realize how worthless I am, how I could never do anything you do, and yet you come home or pick me up and you take me in your arms and tell me that I’m perfect…” 

The girls in the wallways...

“Every day I start to hate myself more and more because of who I am, what I look like, what I do or what I CAN’T do… And no matter who tells me to get over it, or that it’s just in my head, doesn’t understand that I can’t stop it!” 

Stella… Professor Cross… Everyone… Everything!

“I don’t know what to do, Mark… I love you more than anything. But I don’t deserve you… I don’t deserve your smile, or your love or your compassion because I’m ME! I’m a failure, I’m just another guy who’s trying to make his dying dreams a reality. I’m a guy who thinks he has everything down pat until the test comes up and I fail again, I’m the guy who lies about his problems ‘cause I’m always told they don’t matter. I’m just a commendable, malleable second choice for everyone around me and I don’t know how to stop it!” Y/N’s sobs ripped through from between his teeth, hitched breaths boiling in his throat as he hit his head against Mark’s shoulder. His cries took up the silence in a cacophony of sadness and anguish, and the light in his eyes that Mark could embrace himself in for hours died out like the withering flames of whatever confidence he had left. 

“Y/N…” Mark pulled Y/N into his embrace, hoping that his kisses to Y/N’s neck could straighten his frown or stop the chills of his cries from biting so deep. “I didn’t know you were feeling this way… I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry I didn’t notice and I’m so sorry I let these thoughts get the better of you. They’re not true, not a single one.” 

“It’s not your fault, Mark… It never was, please don’t blame yourself.”

“We’re each other’s responsibility, right Y/N?” Mark angled Y/N’s chin and fixed their gazes, trying to take solace in the fading galaxies that embraced his boyfriend’s teary-eyed gaze, the stars that light his nights ablaze.

Mark pulled Y/N forward and turned him towards the mirror, wrapping his arms around his waist and setting his chin on Y/N’s shoulder. With a shaky breath, he entwined their fingers and pointed towards the mirror, leaving Y/N to cock his head their reflections. “You know what I see?” Mark kissed Y/N’s neck, feeling the fires of their adoration start to dance under his skin with every second Y/N spent in Mark’s embrace. “I see the most beautiful man I’ve ever laid my eyes on-”

“But-”

Mark stifled Y/N protests and let his tongue take their place, looking at Y/N with so much purpose, so much love. Even now, when the flames between their skin are just tiny sparks, even when the sunsets in their skies are pale with their cries and the tears drenching their hands and cheeks dwindle the lights in their eyes. Mark’s admiration never wavers, will never waver even if anybody wants to tell Y/N otherwise.

“You know what I see…?” Mark nudged Y/N’s nose with his, the small chuckle he earned from between Y/N’s lips made his hopeful smile that much brighter. “A gorgeous, compassionate individual, who is also an amazing artist and the best boyfriend a guy like me could ever ask for. You will never be a failure, Y/N, the mistakes you make now will only help you become an even more perfect guy if that’s possible. I know it’s hard to realize, especially now babe, but what those people down the hall or up the creek or whatever say, shouldn’t matter. They’re the same people that will marvel at every single thing you’ll create through those beautiful, beautiful hands. I can’t completely understand what you’re going through, but I’m here to stand with you, I’m here to help you respect yourself because you deserve it, Y/N. It’s hard to hear the love when the hate speaks so loud, I know… What others say though, shouldn’t affect you like this, they aren’t you, they don’t know what your can do or what your precious, pure heart is capable of. I know you love me so much. I know that. Sometimes I feel like I don’t deserve you, with the weird looks we used to get in public or those people that don’t know what love is or how free it should be. But when I drop by to pick you up or come home and see that smile and hear your beautiful voice, it helps me believe. It helps me believe that I’m worthy to wake up next to you or to see you embody the moonlight you hold in your hands.” Mark took a breath, looking up into the mirror to see Y/N’s teary-eyed gaze and a smile as brilliant as the sheets of starlight that drape around their shoulders on the nights they’ll never forget. 

Y/N whipped around and threw his arms around Mark, the arms instantly tightening around his waist and the lips ghosting his ear leaving Y/N’s sobs as nothing more than shrivelling whispers behind Y/N’s grin. The flames of their admiration that lapped at their hearts in delicate flames burst under their fingertips and spiralled between their breaths. Mark pressed his forehead to Y/N’s, the sweetness of Y/N’s skin that ran under his lips like velvet and the light of his smile that made the sun look like a shadow made his chest swell in happiness. The wildfires embracing them and their hearts lifting the haze that choked out their sobs and letting their breaths of ease mould the soft kisses Mark traced Y/N’s cheeks with.

“I love you, Y/N. You mean so much to me… I just want to show you how special you are, not just to me, but to yourself too…” Mark’s breath was caught in his throat as Y/N entwined their lips with a flourish, tongues caressing lips that curled into grins as soon as Mark’s back hit the wall. Tear stained breaths burned up in cinders to reveal languishing sighs, the streams of sunlight now stained with their quiet laughter and the ruby red that painted their kisses.

“I… I don’t know what to say…” Y/N held the hands that cupped his cheeks and pressed them to his chest, kissing Mark’s knuckles as their giggles ignited the dreary darkness of their bathroom. “I didn’t expect all of that, thank you, Mark. I love you more than anything and you mean the world to me. I’m sorry-”

“No apologizing!” Mark freed his hands and messed with Y/N’s hair, scrunching his nose and burying his kisses into the hair he would knead through as the summer rain sang it’s melodies at their window, or when the glow of the clementine skies of their autumn evenings finished carving out the ripples of their sheets and ran weathered between their restless hands. He draped his arms around Y/N’s waist, looking down to his pout he couldn’t help but kiss away with a blissful, lovestruck grin plastered onto his face. Y/N just leaned onto Mark’s chest, breathing out into the symphonies of silence that surrounded them and the violet evening that began to bloom above the rooftop of their house. 

They enjoyed the silence that draped over them like the ashen sheets just two doors over that housed their safest sounds, the amber sunlight stepping through the door and painting their grins gold like the honey that embraced their most cherished memories. 

“Now, I, as your amazing, loving boyfriend brought home pizza that’s probably freezing cold by now. Would you care to accompany me on my journey to the microwave?” Mark let his stray fingertips prod at Y/N’s waistband, failing to hide his smile as playful shrieks soaked into his neck - music to his ears.

Y/N just remembered why Mark went out in the first place, making him wince into Mark’s skin. He hummed at Mark’s proposal. 

“Microwaved pizza… How romantic…” Y/N followed Mark out of the bathroom, tightening the knot of devotion that burned between their interlaced fingers, their giggles spinning into the gold that dripped from their smiles. The sweetness of the air following them out into their hallway that surrounded all of their midnight walks down the block shoving their heads under the reckless waves of their ocean.

“I’m honoured, my beloved.” Mark playfully nudged Y/N towards the wall, pressing him up on it and taking his skin between his lips. “I love you, baby…”

Y/N looked into Mark’s eyes, auburn gemstones of untainted beauty. The one place he could truly see himself - suspended in Mark’s star-studded gaze. Mark was the flowered path of happiness and acceptance he longed for every day the full moon peeked out to talk with him on his lonely nights. He did deserve this, he thought. He deserved to savour the air that stings with the sunlight they stir every morning, the fingers that tangle in his hair and worship him like a treasure, the ivory spotlight that hangs over their dancing tongues, the desire stuck between their teeth and dripping from garnet lips. Maybe he did. 

As he cradled Mark’s cheeks with hands scorched by the beautiful novas that burned between their lips, they let the blissful silence ignite between them and allowed their fingers to wander across skin they were blessed to memorize every inch of under the spotlight of the stars.

“I know, Mark. And I’ll never forget it.”

“You better not.”

[shellalana]

Changed

((writing prompt from @write-it-motherfuckers))

It had been months since he’d “disappeared.” That was the word she preferred using because “dead” sounded too final. Too... sure. And if there was one thing she’d never been, it was sure of him. A man so shrouded in mystery, she couldn’t tell the truths from the lies, the make-believes from the white smears of could-bes if you looked at things another way. Always stretching a fact until it was completely unrecognizable and making up new ones to fill in the holes being torn apart by these tall tales. Dead? No. He was out there somewhere. Amongst the stars, spelling out his bullshit to anyone who would listen. She wanted to tell herself that she was better off for it, too. Without his need to have things just so and his stubborn stance of ignoring all of her prying questions, she could leave her life tension-free, her curiousity having nothing to needle at and pick apart. Her life, to put it simply, had returned to being quite boring. And that’s what she’d been searching for after two years of drama with him. Going to another planet, uncovering the secrets behind what he really was - which she still never fully understood - and taking down a crime lord whose very reason for existence was to make those around him uncomfortable. And for what? To discover he hadn’t even been human at all? To discover that he was part of something so much bigger than the small planet she lived on, that to stay would spell death for every living there here? Perhaps even the very galaxy itself? To watch him step into the beam of light and simply vanish? “Being returned to the data stream,” he’d called it. Which sounded like a crock of bullshit at the time - still did - but he would offer up nothing else as an explanation. He’d ran his hand through his messy hair, lit up the last of his crushed cigarettes, and watched the smoke vanish into nothing in the bright blue spotlight that shone down on him from the huge black ship that hovered above us. And she had to watch as piece by piece, molecule by molecule, he faded into particles of glowing dust that the light trapped and drew up towards the ship at such an agonizing pace, she couldn’t be sure of what was happening. It was only when his headless body still stood there that she felt her throat tighten with a scream. But she heard no sound as she dropped to her knees and watched the rest of him disintegrate into nothingness. Those months had passed in what felt like seconds. Mourning became acceptance, and then she’d put aside the whole thing as if it had never happened... save for him. She kept his voice at the back of her mind on those days when she second-guessed herself. That grating, gruff voice that told her to stop being stupid and to go with her gut. The look on his face when she threw tea on it always followed the thought shortly after. ... god, she could go for a strong cup of tea right now. After that? She’d kept her story to herself, told those that knew her that she’d been gone on a long vacation, a much-needed one after her mother’s passing. How stupidly convenient that turned out to be. No one asked more about it and slowly, her life slipped back into the normal. She, however, would never be. It only got worse in the passing weeks when she started to feel like she was being followed. Something moving out of the corner of her eye or a small sound that could be nothing more than a cat darting into some bushes. She tried to tell herself that it was nothing, that it was just her paranoia getting the best of her after months - almost a year - of living a life of secrecy, backstabbing, and otherworldly explanations. He would have been the only one telling her she wasn’t crazy, that if she saw or heard something there, it was there. But she didn’t have his voice at the back of her mind anymore. She didn’t have his obsession with being constantly followed. Because she was just a dullard in the eyes of the normal world. A person who hadn’t done anything remarkable in her life worth writing about. Just a blip, and then she would die. That was the thought that crossed her mind as she took a shortcut through the empty park on her way to dinner, to meet her fellow coworkers. She hadn’t originally agreed to go, but it felt like the right thing to do; it staved away the loneliness she felt in the empty apartment. A forced social life to blanket the void that still dwelled within her chest. It was the best she could do for the moment. “You got a dollar to spare?” a voice behind her asked, grated from years of smoking, most likely. “Sorry, I don’t have anything.” She brushed his request aside and kept walking, thinking nothing of being accosted in a dark park, alone. She’d faced worse. She had, but that didn’t make her any more prepared. “I’ll just have the purse, then.” It took a few seconds for her to register what exactly was being asked of her, and by the time she recovered, her hand diving into her purse to retrieve her pistol, there was already a gun in her face. The large brimmed hat hid the man’s eyes from her, but she could see silvering stubble just beginning to sprout across his chin and cheeks. The hairs on the back of her neck shot up suddenly, not out of fear for her life... but in response to something else. Something familiar. It felt like a small rainstorm was about to start, though the skies were completely clear. Why did it make her- The gun suddenly fell to the ground... with the man’s arm still attached. Shock suppressed the scream waiting at the back of his throat. His eyes drifted to the side to the source of his sudden amputation, then upwards as the hidden figure melted out of the shadows. Bright specks of blue light stared back and there was the sound of a gun being cocked again. The man didn’t need more than that to turn tail and get out of there, leaving his arm and weapon behind. She should have watched him go, should have gotten a better look at what he was wearing so that she could report him to the cops. Instead, she was completely transfixed on her supposed “rescuer.” “Are you alright?” How could she be, when she couldn’t sure if it was him or not. That coat, that voice... She reached up to touch at the hood, but he turned just enough to keep her out of reach. Had that been deliberate, or... “... what...” He grumbled to himself at the side of the bloody arm and quickly kicked it into the darkness. The sound of rustling leaves in the darkness told her that it likely landed in a bush. Best case scenario was that a local raccoon would chance upon it and devour it before the unarmed man got to the cops. But that wasn’t likely, not when he’d just tried to rob someone. “... what.” She couldn’t get past the single syllable as she watched the cold blue light dance across the edges of his hood like he was searching for some way to explain himself. It sank her heart into her chest that after all they’d been through- “I’m not him before you start asking,” he suddenly said, as if he’d read her thoughts. That made it all the worse. His voice. His posture. That stupid infernal coat that still stunk of cigarettes. Her gut instinct told her he was lying, but what could she do to prove differently? “Then...” she began, but she was denied even the satisfaction of finishing her question. “No. You won’t get an explanation. That’s that.” It was like a punch to the gut. By the time she remembered to breathe, there were thick tears in her eyes that refused to fall. Not out of heartache or sadness, but because he felt she didn’t deserve an answer at all. That she was still just some useless whelp to him, that despite the hardships they’d endured, the trust they’d built... she was nothing more than a burden. Anger stiffened her lip and she steeled her resolve. “Then have a good night,” she replied curtly and continued on her way through the park. She didn’t once look back, determined to get out of there before she had second thoughts. He watched as her small figure disappeared into the night, the circuitry within his chest shifting ever so slightly with the fluttering of emotions he thought he still had. His chest cavity felt heavier somewhat... or maybe that’s what he wanted to think. To convince himself that- No. It was over with. He would fade from her mind eventually, she would move on as if the past ten months had never happened. But he would continue to be there, watching over her as the years passed... and long after she was gone. Because he didn’t know anything else. And it bugged the hell out of him. “Good night.”

[allanpaulvin]

I HEAR YOU

Once again, it's my pleasure to welcome you to another day, here on God's earth.  It's 9:21 on the twenty-fourth day of July 2018.  Here in Central Jersey, the sun and clouds are battling for the lion's share of the skies above the homes of those who continue; to pay high real estate taxes and search for a significant slice of pizza. Other than that, things are status quo.  The New York Mets continue to fall; my eyes are still directed towards to my large TV screen to feast my eyes on the endless repeats of my favorite cop shows.  I continue to focus on my navel in search of answers to questions I ponder.  When I have nothing better to do, I turn to CNN for information about what our Commander and Chief and what's he's posted on Twitter to help divert our attention from what's really important.  Enough about me.  What's happening in your life and time?  Are you fully focused on what's important?  What's your remedy for dealing with high humidity and the rain that it helps produce?  Do you have a plan that goes into the effect when your IdeaPad computer runs out of storage space?  How would you deal with the "fruit from the poisonous tree?"  If I were you, I wouldn't.  Do you think that the "DUMPSTER," actually listens to the "Subject Matter Experts," who serve in his cabinet?  I don't.  What's your favorite summer fruit?  Have you escaped to some quiet place at which you could lay on the beach and just relax?  I'm hoping to do so in the very near future.  

Enough idle rattling for now.  We've all got lots of things to take care of, taking that under consideration, I'll quickly move on to today's edition of:  "Al's Diatribes."  I've delved deep into my mind to come up with a subject that will be of interest to you, my avid followers.  I've selected, I HEAR YOU as today's subject.  

I do hear you when you:

- cry out about the non-presidential actions of Mr. Donald Trump

- shed a tear for the immigrant families that have become detached from their progeny

- search for answers to the useless deaths of folks who've died needlessly

- are taken aback by the prejudice abounds around the world

- run out of your favorite sugary delight and your local grocery store is closed

- look at your clock, it reads twelve AM, and you've accomplished nothing

- feel life has passed you by

- are thinking about whether or not you should move to the Sunshine State

- are complaining that you can't find an edible bagel in the community in which you choose to reside

- are not excited about the upcoming new TV season

- haven't found a significant other.  You might want to move your search to the town of Cranford, New Jersey

- notice that the dude who occupies the Oval Office is attempting to start a war with countries in the Middle East, Asia, etc.

- CNN's "Breaking News," informs you that some seriously obese non-human is attempting to the Security Clearance of former members of the Intelligence Community

- find out that your favorite shoe store has run out of your favorite brand of athletic shoes

- discover that Junior's has gone out of business

- realize that it's difficult for good to overcome evil

- I've run out my sarcastically humorous prose in my daily attempt to entertain and inform

Please remember that I do hear you when you need to tell someone something important.  I'll support you in your attempt to make the world a better place.  As always, make it a great day!    

[allanpaulvin]

MY ABILITY TO CONQUER MY CHALLENGES IS LIMITLESS

Hey, you out there, in the world at large, I'd like to extend a hearty good morning.  In keeping with my usual procedures,   I'm advising you that it's now 8:25 AM EDT on the twenty-fifth of April 2018.  

It appears that at least here in the Center of the Garden State clouds abound in the skies above my abode.  "Uncle Weatherbee" and his band of merry men are forecasting that temperatures will rise into the low sixties.  Since I've allowed the Chief Forecaster to enjoy his evening meal, it appears that he's returned to his wayward ways.  See what leniency gets you!

Enough time wasted.  Here are today's questions that will help me compose a detailed description of my avid constituents.  

1.  Do you prefer winds to blow from east to west, or west to east? 2.  Do you prefer a regular burger or one top with cheese? 3.  To those of you in my vast audience who are members of the male gender, do you prefer boxers or briefs? 4.   Do you think our Commander and Chief prefers to hold hands with the President of France rather than his gorgeous spouse? 5.  Are you a fan of tuna or salmon?

It's now for those of you who aren't fans of my political views to leave the room.  My daily email from my contacts at the New York Times has arrived.  Per their request, I will  share today's headlines with you and yours.  

1.  "White House Rushes to Defense of V.A. Pick Under Fire."  When you're useless and unprofessional at what you do, you don't deserve to serve our valued nation in an executive capacity. 2.  "DACA Must Remain, Judge Rules, and Take New Applicants."  At least there's someone out there who gives a shit. 3.  "Trump's Travel Ban Faces a Supreme Court Test."  It's this writer's opinion that our Commander and Chief needs some more significant tests to determine his competency. 4.  "Trump Signals Openness to a 'New Deal' on Iran."  Mr. Trump is only open to what puts more fat on his belly and permits him more time to travel to his resort at Mara Lago.   5.  Trump and Macron Seem to Revel in Eash Other's Presence."  Perhaps Mr. Macron is the "DUMPSTERS" next spouse?

It's now that time again for today's edition of:  "Al's Diatribes."  Our subject is:  "MY ABILITY TO CONQUER MY CHALLENGES IS LIMITLESS."  It appears I've returned to extended subject choices.  

I believe I do so, because:

-  on occasion, I'm "brave, clean and reverent." -  as you already know, I hail from the Borough of Brooklyn -  I graduated high school a long time ago -  I'm proud to be left-handed -  even though I've never been an accomplished athlete, I have a jacket that bears Duke Snider's autograph -  my daily diet may be compromised? -  I've been able to adapt to the keyboard of my IdeaPad Computer   -  I've added the Merriam-Webster App to my Android Device -  I've been able to stop watching "Cop Shows," from the 60s and 70s     -  I've stopped crying about the wayward ways of our current President -  I continue to think about relocating to the Sunshine State -  I've connected with this valued woman who hails from Elizabeth, New Jersey -  I now value the opinion of others -  once again I've begun to smile at least fifteen minutes/day -  even though it's quite difficult, I've decided to reduce my daily word counts

Whether you believe it or not, we're all capable of overcoming our challenges.  We can overcome our fears, climb those steep mountains, and rid ourselves of the unnecessary bullshit that needs to be removed from our heads and hearts.  Make it a great day!