#so it absolutely melted my heart when she came up from the basement less than half an hour aftre she got home to eat and then cuddle

[everybody-hit-the-pyro-cue]

my cat was sick and we rushed her to the vet yesterday and we got to take her back today and shes so happy to be back she finally started eating again she keeps following me around and now i cant move because ive brought her to the couch and shes purring so hard i can feel it reverberating in her little ribcage

[jimlingss]

The Colour of Our Voices [1]

Chapter 1 - Chapter 1.5 OR Chapter 2

➜ Words: 3.3k

➜ Genres: 98% Fluff, 2% Angst, Slice of Life, Broadway!AU

➜ Summary: He wasn’t supposed to hear. He wasn't supposed to know. But the instant Jimin came into your life and pulled the curtains back, you couldn't hide backstage anymore. You were no longer merely a phantom of the opera.

➜ Notes: I’m so excited to finally share this series. I’m pretty satisfied with how it turned out, so get ready for a rollercoaster, y’all.

cr.

The moving truck wakes you.   It’s deafening. You can hear the slow ‘beep, beep, beep’ of the vehicle backing up. With one eye open, you grab your phone to check the time. It’s ten minutes before your alarm.

You begrudgingly rise, getting ready for the day and humming while you brush your teeth to warm up your throat. You change your clothes, then eat cereal in silence at your kitchen counter. Once you’re ready, you leave. But not two steps out your door are you clumsily tripping over a cardboard box.   You make sure not to scream too loudly in case you draw attention. So with a muffled sound and your ankle throbbing at how it was twisted, you stand again.    Someone’s moving in next door.   There are messy boxes littering the hall, the door wide open, and from what you can see inside, the living space is empty. But you don’t dwell, making your own way down the hall to the stairwell.   The timing is poor. By mere seconds, you miss the brunette boy sticking his head out the door with pouty lips and cute eyes, peeking down the hall to catch your retreating form.   You limp to the station and as your shitty luck would have it, the train becomes delayed while you’re squished in the middle cart that’s packed like sweaty sardines. It halts suddenly, everyone jolting and you flinch when someone stomps on your right foot by accident.   There’s no apology.    “Hey, watch it,” the man beside you grumbles and you’re pushed again, at least with your foot free this time and throbbing inside of your worn shoe.   “S-sorry.”   The delay makes you late by the time you arrive in Time Square. You run through the street, shouting more apologies as you dive through the busy crowds and tourist groups. Once you make it to New 42nd Street Studios, you sprint down the stairs to the basement of the building. You nearly trip and tumble downwards to your death, but you catch yourself on the sticky railing.   It’s three minutes past nine o’clock.   “You’re late.”   “I’m sorry.”   “Sorry doesn’t make you earlier.”   The director sighs and rolls his eyes. He turns away from you and claps his hands together, scanning the rest of the bustling crew. “Today’s the day folks! We have dress rehearsal and then the show begins at six sharp! It’s showtime! So let’s get moving. You there, intern, go get coffee. And try not to be late this time.”   “Y-yes, sir.”   Up the stairs you go again. It seems like you’re always running, whether it’s for this job or to this job. But you quickly remind yourself that it’s a privilege to be here. Years ago, you would’ve cried tears of happiness if you knew you’d be on the production team of Phantom of the Opera.   Of course, you would’ve assumed you were performing. But being an intern was good enough. Everyone had to start somewhere.   “Hi, can I get ten americanos, six iced and four hot, three chai tea lattes, four vanilla lattes, three espressos, seven cappuccinos, and a green tea?”   The barista runs the company card into the side of her screen and then her eyes flicker up at you. “Sorry, it keeps saying declined. Do you have another method of payment?”   “O-oh. Sorry about that.” You end up paying out of your own pocket for the drinks. There’s no point in telling the director the company card failed — he’ll find some excuse to pin the blame on you, and it’s a small problem not worth the trouble.   You run back while balancing the plastic bags and cup holders in your hands, trying not to spill any of them. Once arrived, you hand them out to the crew members, actors, and actresses.   “Intern! What’s this?!” The director approaches and sighs. You prepare yourself, already reading that expression on his face. “I said six hot and four iced americanos. You got the order wrong!”   You bow your head. “S-sorry, my apologies.”    “You and your apologies!” His teeth are gritted, face reddened in anger. “Apologies doesn’t make my americano hot does it?!”   “I can go get another one if you need—”   “Don’t waste my time more than you already have.” He waves you off, sighing, and you’re left to drown in the humiliation as the others around you snicker underneath their breaths.    You release the air held in your throat and you narrow your eyes sharply into his backside as he walks away from you. You hold your tongue, reminding yourself that being here is a privilege.   //   The curtains draw.   There’s bated breath held in the audience, a certain sense of anticipation that builds the suspense until everyone’s on the edge of their seats. The lair is shown, mist spiraling on the floor, candles all around. The phantom with his cloak and half-mask sits at the organ.   Christine is enchanted, walking closer towards him slowly like she’s been bewitched by a spell.   The actor recites his lines, and then the music begins.    “Night time sharpens, heightens each sensation.” It’s a baritone voice, rich and seductive, but still sweet. “Darkness wakes and stirs imagination. Silently the senses abandon their defenses.”    The violin strings pull as if echoing after the voice.   You hold the microphone to your lips, singing and pulling the notes from deep in your stomach. The mic has been moved down several pitches to match the baritone vocal range that you wouldn’t be able to reach on your own, but the tone is rich and believable to be of the actor’s.   After all, one of the biggest efforts the director made was to be able to pull this off.   “.....the darkness of the music of the night.” Your eyes are shut, headphones on and you press the left side closer down to your ear, drowning in the lovely instrumental. “Let your mind start a journey to a strange new world. Leave all thoughts of the world you knew before. Let your soul take you where you long to be.”   The note is belted out, streaming out from your lips like silk. And when it’s over, you grin. It’s thrilling, a kind of pride blooming inside your chest that’s rare for you to experience. Even if you’ve done it so many times, it never fails to bring you delight — you’re unable to believe that you actually did it.   Once the song is complete, there’s thunderous applause.   A smile spreads into your cheeks, one that’s infectious but no one sees when you’re hidden behind the curtain. And had you been standing on the stage in the spotlight, you might’ve noticed the brunette boy with pouty lips and cute eyes amidst the crowd.   He’s become enraptured by your voice. He’s enchanted, heart stuttering, speechless beyond words. This was the voice he was waiting for. This was it.   The show eventually comes to a close and everyone holds hands to bow to the audience. You peek out from backstage to watch the curtains being brought down.    “Good job everyone. Nice job crew. Taeyeon, beautiful job as Christine once again. You were lovely, darling. Your sound is like melted caramel.” The director continues with his praises, and the other girls playing more minor roles flock to Taeyeon’s side to also shower her with compliments. The whole gathering parade themselves into the dressing room, brushing right past you. “Oh, yes, there’s the star of our show! Kim Seokjin, you never cease to amaze me! Beautiful job as Phantom!”   “Of course.” Seokjin grins, charismatic and charming as always. “You shouldn’t expect any less of me. With a face like this, how could I ever fail?!”   There’s bellowing laughter that rings and pierces your eardrums. “You’re right!”   You wait as they come closer.   Your breath is held. Maybe today, you did a good enough job that he’ll acknowledge you—   But then the director walks past you like you’re a plant. Wallpaper. A backstage prop.   “I loved that emotion you expressed in the final piece. Almost moved me to tears.”   “I tried to do a different interpretation of it this time…” Their voices fade off and you sigh.   You’re envious. Kim Seokjin has a good face. He can act. He can dance. He has stage presence. He’s magnetizing and charming. But he just can’t sing. The man can’t hold a steady note for the life of him. You suspect he’s tone-deaf.    Understandably, the director couldn’t give up on his godly face, so you became his voice. A ghost singer.   It actually works out well. You don't have to be on stage in the spotlight where every single person can scrutinize you, but your voice can be heard. In a way, it’s like you’re performing. But you can still be comfortable. You just wish you were acknowledged. Even if it’s just a little.   You’re suddenly shocked out of your thoughts when one of the crew members hands you a stick, clearing his throat obnoxiously. “Start sweeping.”   You carry the broom and dustpan, beginning to brush away at the confetti that exploded, clearing the floor of dust and dirt. And you end up missing the boy who sneaks himself backstage, who looks around and slips into the shadows.   He walks down the corridor, luckily finding the dressing rooms and he follows the nameplates until he discovers the one that reads ‘Kim Seokjin’.   The boy knocks three times in rapid succession. He puts on his best smile and tries to push the wrinkles out of his suit jacket that’s too small and worn. The door opens. The laughter tapers off.   Jin’s makeup and fake burnt skin have been removed. What’s left is pure godlike genes, and he’s blinded by the older man’s handsomeness, having to resist the urge to shield his eyes.   “Who are you?”   “M-My name is Park Jimin. I’m a fan, I-I absolutely loved your voice on the show.”   “You want an autograph? Of course you do.”   “Who’s that?” the director calls out, lounging on the sofa and drinking a glass of red wine.   “A fan,” Seokjin turns his head to say, and then he grabs a piece of paper. He makes an enormous signature with permanent marker and several loops in his name. Once finished, he slaps it to Jimin’s chest before the younger can even breathe. “Thanks for your support.”   “Wait. Mr. Kim.” Jimin puts his foot between the door before he can shut it. The actor raises his brow and looks at him. “My dream is to be on Broadway. I know this is a lot to ask of you, but can you please mentor me?”   Jin stares at him and then frowns in annoyance. “Mentor you?”   Jimin quickly adds, “I promise I’ll try my best. I am willing to give up anything and learn and you seem to be the best of the best. I haven’t heard such a great baritone voice like yours in so long. Please accept me as your student.”   There’s an extended silence. “Sorry. I don’t accept students.”   “W-wait. Please!”   “Security!” Seokjin shouts outside the door. “Get him out of here!”   Jimin’s shell-shocked, unable to move when his feet are rooted in the ground. His bones have been frozen. The precious image of his idol that he’s created in his own mind for the past two hours has shattered. He’s left in utter shame and disappointment.   “Hey...you’re not allowed to be here!” One of the crew members suddenly points to him.   And then a hand plops down onto his shoulder, a grip firm and intimidating. Jimin looks up to find a stocky security guard, and he sighs. He drags his own legs, shoulders slumped, escorted out.   //   It takes an hour to help the crew clean up. You assist them in sweeping and putting away the props, all while waiting patiently with your eyes pinned on the entrance of the corridor. You dust your hands off, and you’re lucky with your timing.   The director is walking out with his bag slung over his shoulder, jacket over his arm, busy sipping on some warm tea.   “Director Kang!”   You stop right in front of him and he looks at you in boredom. “Why haven’t you gone home yet, intern?”   You’ve been cleaning up the entire time, but you don’t bother telling him in case he tells you that you’re too slow to complete tasks. You’re too preoccupied anyways, catching your breath. It’s the moment you’ve been waiting for. “D-Director. I know we’ve talked about this before, b-but I really hope you’ll reconsider the referral.”   He sighs, rolls his eyes, and continues walking. You follow beside him frantically while he pulls out his phone to message someone.    “I think I’ve been trying my hardest at this job and I've been putting in a lot of hours. I’ve thought about what you said and your advice and I feel like I’ve improved in my singing, s-so….please give me a referral to an agent.”   All you need is a referral. One measly call and you can be in touch with someone who could expand their hands and help you. You could finally make a break in the industry, make a debut on Broadway. It’s what you’ve been trying to achieve your entire life. It’s your dream. Your goal. The reason you left everything back and home and came all the way here.   But he’s not paying any attention to your desperate pleas.   “Director?”   He’s irritated — you can tell with the way he huffs out. It makes you flinch, but he at least stops. “Intern, don’t make me repeat myself. You need to focus on what you’re doing now. Frankly, you’re not even good at this insignificant job. How are you supposed to achieve big things?”   “B-But…”    “You can’t take big leaps when you can’t even take small steps yet. You’re not ready. Not yet. If I happen to notice that you’re finally putting in some real effort and some hard grind, then I’ll think about it again. But now’s just not the time.”   “I…” You’re at a loss, on the verge of sobbing.   “Now if you’re finished, I have a call to make.”   He presses his phone to his ear, a universal sign that he’s not continuing the conversation. You watch him get into his car, driving away, and you’re left there on the street in a cloud of his gas exhaust.

Jimin is at a loss.    He paces around in his empty apartment room with still taped boxes scattered everywhere. He doesn’t feel like unpacking and putting away his belongings. Not when his mind was stuck on something else.   He came all the way here to look for a mentor — having followed his community theater director’s instructions to work on his singing. But without a teacher he can’t make his big break.   “What am I going to do now?” he sighs.    Maybe he jumped the gun a little too soon. It was pretty intense of him to go to a show right on the day when he moved in when he probably should’ve gotten settled. But there’s no time to waste when time is of the essence! Maybe he could somehow convince Seokjin to take him as a student. He is pretty insistent and not one to give up just after a single rejection….   Jimin sits on his couch, the only piece of furniture intact in his home, and he folds his hands together. His brows are furrowed, in deep contemplation onto the next step. But then suddenly, he hears a voice.   “—your eyes and surrender to your darkest dreams.” It’s coming from the window. Sweet and melodic. Jimin’s captivated and stands on his feet, following the sound as if he was being gently tugged by a red string tied around his finger. “Purge your thoughts of the life you knew before.”   He steps out barefoot onto his chilly balcony. His eyes are fixed on the balcony beside him, the tiny flower beds that are wilting, the warm lights that pour out from inside the home, how the doors are slightly open to welcome a breeze. “Close your eyes, let your spirit start to soar!”   He hangs onto the note, relishes in how it stirs his very soul, and then rushes out. “And you'll live as you've never lived before....”   Jimin throws his front door open and then pounds onto the door next to his with his fist.   Three beats. One — two — three. And it opens.   He smiles. Then it falls. His line of sight comes a little lower than expected. He was anticipating a man singing, perhaps someone alike to Seokjin, lean and handsome. But instead, it’s a timid girl in pajamas — you.   “H-hello?” you squeak, nervous.   “H-Hi. I...I just….” He taps his ear, trying to explain himself. “I thought I heard…heard....never mind.” Jimin hitches his thumb over his shoulder and awkwardly tilts his body. “I just moved in.”   “Y-Yeah. I saw this morning.”   “So…it’s-uh-nice to meet you, I guess. I mean I don’t guess because it is great to meet you. I swear I’m not usually like this. What I mean is usually I’m not so direct. And, um, bad at speaking. We’ll be neighbors from now on. So I wanted to say hello, since usually, that’s the polite thing to do. Or at least what my mom tells me. She’s great. My mom. But right, I didn’t even tell you my name. My bad. I’m Park Jimin.”    He extends and opens his hand. Then he realizes it’s idiotic for him to shake hands with you. It wasn’t like this was some sort of business transaction. So Jimin lowers his arm….right when you’re opening your palm.    It’s a missed handshake, and he’s cringing so hard, he’s tempted to jump off the balcony. But instead, he musters up stiff laughter and raises his hand to shake yours. He muses how soft your skin is, but tries not to think about it too much in case that’s a weird thought. Which it is.   God, he’s usually not this nervous. It’s a fucking mess.   Yet, you still offer him a polite smile. “I’m Y/N.”   “Nice name. I mean all names are nice, but yours in particular. Not that I mean anything by it. Like it’s quite normal, but not normal in the sense that it’s overused. Not that overused names are a bad thing.” It’s terribly awkward. That blank stare you’re giving him doesn’t help with his perspiration either. Jimin tries to smile to show that he’s not a freak. But it might also be doing the opposite effect. “Well, I should get going now. Lots to unpack.”   “Okay.”   You’re about to close the door, and he steps away. But in the last second, Jimin spins around before you can seal yourself inside.    “Um, were you playing music?”   You’re silent and you blink at him owlishly. “Sorry, I’ll try to keep it down.”   Jimin nods. It’s not exactly what he meant — he wasn’t complaining. But he doesn’t linger to tell you so. He doesn’t want to make you feel tense and he feels like a creep enough. The last thing that Jimin wants is to be kicked out before he’s even fully settled in for being a complete weirdo.   Typically he’s not this socially inept. But he accepts that he’s made a horrible first impression and shuts the door.   Though as he leans on the smooth surface of it, he quirks his head to one side and his brows furrow. Strange. That voice sounded so familiar. And so tangible as if it were here and not a recording.   But he doesn’t dwell, going on about his night.   In the meanwhile, you try to sing quieter.

[ubernoxa]

The Dare: A Guns N’ Roses FanFiction

Chapter 33: Every Beauty

Masterlist

Story Summary: A stupid harmless dare, that’s all it was supposed to be. It was supposed to be something they would do, and never revisit. For Delilah, little did she know that visiting the strip wasn’t going to be a one time thing when she made the choice to accept the dare. Life is full of choices. Some choices can mean absolutely nothing, while others can change your entire world. Delilah had heard many rumors about the Sunset Strip or Devil’s Strip. Teenagers would whisper stories about how the Devil walks the streets of the strips without a care in the world. It was known as a place untouched by God. After years of hearing rumors about the Devil’s Strip, Delilah wants to see it for herself. Thus a Dare was born.

Chapter Summary: Betsie and Delilah’s exfiance encounter the magazine article. Mags, Stef, and Del put on masks to pretend everything is okay. Not because they want it to be okay, but because it has to be okay.

Taglist: @gingerspicetalks @str4nge-haze @queen-crue

Beth leaned back on the sofa that was tucked away in a small room hidden in the church basement. This ‘hidden’ room was her solitude. At first she couldn’t step foot step foot in the room, too afraid of the memories of Delilah that would flood back. It felt like only yesterday that four friends hatched a dare in this very room. She shook her head trying to get the thought out.

It was such a stupid dare!

Why did she ever agree to it?

How could she had been so stupid?

Beth wondered how different things would have been if she told Delilah no. Would Delilah have even gone on the dare? Guilt flashed over Beth to the night she abandoned her former friend at the bar. Originally Beth though she was courageous for not going into the bar, but after weeks and weeks had flown by, she only saw herself as a wimp and horrible friend.

“Hey I though I would find you in here,” Mat’s words pulled her out of her deadly thoughts.

He felt his heart sink as he found Beth curled up in a ball alone in the haunted room. He had prayed day and night in search of a way to help fight the demons that lived inside of her head, but it was useless. It was clearly a battle she had to fight herself, but that wouldn’t stop him from sitting with her or cuddling her if needed. All he knew was that he needed to be there for her to clean the wreckage Delilah had left in her path.

“Hey,” her voice was week as he joined her on the couch. She was thinking about Delilah, no doubt about it. Part of him wondered how much Delilah had thought of Beth. Had she ever regretted leaving or thought of the chaos she had created?

Mat wrapped his arm around Beth and she quickly snuggled into him. He watched tears slowly form in her eyes and gently cascade down her face. Sadly this wasn’t new to him. This was almost a weekly occurrence, every Saturday like clock work. The tears would come and she would melt into him like wax over a hot flame.

“If I have to make another berry pie or hear another child scream about how they don’t want berry pie, I think I’m going to lose it. God won’t be able to save those little whiny brats from my wrath,” Mat pulled Beth in closer earning a laugh from her. A laugh he surely missed. The laugh that used to frequently fill the room.

“Your wrath? What are you going to do, read them the Bible?” Beth teased back causing their laughter to fill the right room again.

“Hey! My readings are great!”

“No! You couldn’t be more wrong! Have you ever heard of not reading in a lifeless monotone voice?” Beth pulled away pointing at him with her index finger.

“It’s not my fault I get stuck with all of the ‘boring’ Bible versus!” Mat quickly shot back regretting ever volunteering to read for the children.

“David versus Goliath is ONLY boring when you tell it,” Beth chuckled, finally gaining her composure and sitting up straight.

“What time is it?” Beth added, regretting the fact that she didn’t wear a watch.

“Almost 11...did you buy my a watch that way you didn’t have to wear one?”

“That’s a secret I’ll never tell!” Beth mocked before she left the room laughing.

Mat sat up and let out a deep sigh. It was good to see her laugh. Her laugh was more beautiful than any song he had ever listened to. He pulled out the small velvet box he had in his pocket. He sighed as he knew it wasn’t the right time. Maybe someday.

Beth began to collect plates from the picnic tables and place them in large tubs for cleaning.

“Ohh dear, you’ve been working all morning. Why don’t you enjoy a slice of pie,” Beth looked up to see Mat’s mother handing her a slice, not noticing the quick glance his mother made towards Beth’s own hand.

“I just had an hour break, I’m fine,” Beth sweetly replied continuing to wash dishes.

“Honey, relax. We have a couple children who need to serve detention, and will more than happy to chose the chore of washing dishes instead,” the woman replied.

“Thank you,” Beth smiled as she took the plate and headed in search of Mat to share the pie with. He had been cooking them all morning and she highly doubted that he was able to have a slice. Plus she owed him for cheering her up. She didn’t want to imagine where she would be if he wasn’t there for her the past couple months.

She twisted and turned through the church until she found him still in the basement. This time he was at one of the large tables entertaining the children. In a quick glance, Beth noticed he needed to be rescued.

“Hey, Mat! Want to share a piece of pie? I heard the guy who cooked it was mediocre, but it’s still food,” Mat smiles when he saw that Beth was still in a good mood. He quickly said goodbye to the children and one of the nuns took his spot.

“Sure, wanna join Mark?” Beth quickly asked earning a nod.

“No way that’s totally Delilah” the pair froze as they heard the familiar name. Beth sidestepped and headed for the table of girls that appeared to be holding a magazine. Mat chased after Beth hoping that this wouldn’t go to sour too quickly.

“Hey Beth,” one of the with eighth graders sent Beth a warm smile as she hid the contraband under the picnic table hoping Beth wouldn’t see it. Beth saw it, clear as day. Her and Delilah used to do the same thing when they were in middle school.

“Come on, hand it over and I won’t turn you in,” Beth flashed a sweet smile to the eight graders. After a couple of seconds one of them broke the silence, “Give it to her Mary, she would be the best to know if it’s Delilah anyway.”

Mary placed the magazine on the table and Beth’s eyes grew wide.

“Holy fucking shit,” were the only words that came out of Beth’s mouth as she stared at the article.

“Is that the Doof guy” Mat asked looking at the cover, Beth ignored his words too focused on her own thoughts as she quickly went to page 7 where the article was.

“Duff, it’s Duff,” Beth pointed at a picture of Delilah and Duff dancing captioned, ‘late night after a gig, Bassist Duff Mckagan shares a sweet moment of slow dancing with girlfriend Del to Aerosmith’s single, Home Tonight’.

“Duff is a stupid name,” Mat said under his breath earning a nod from Beth.

“So is Del,” Beth replied. Mat pulled the magazine away from Beth before she could continue reading, earning a quick protest.

“Mat give me the magazine”

“No Beth, we all know this magazine is filled with nothing more than gossip. It’s not true and we don’t need to read it,” Mat calmly replied.

“Fine, Fine. We will probably see her in another article in a month or two when she ends up pregnant like that Mags chick that was also mentioned in the article,” Beth shot back.

Before Mat could think the words, ‘how could this get any worse’. Mark grabbed the magazine from him and stared at his ex fiancé posing scandalously with Duff on the cover.

Today was defiantly not going to be the day he proposed to Beth.

Less than an hour south of the church, the article was causing a similar chaos.

“I’m not ready to have a child,” Mags said no louder than a whisper as Tonya, Stef, and Del sat with her in the locked bathroom.

“You’ll make a great mom,” Instead of three pairs of eyes, Del felt like there were thousands starring at her. Del quickly added that to the list of things not to say to a pregnant woman who clearly didn’t want to be pregnant.

“How much longer?”

“A minute, Mags,” Tonya checked the stopwatch she tightly held in her hands.

All four girls sat together in silence beyond cramped in the mold infested bathroom. The stop watch buzzed, and Mags dove for the prgnacy test that was sitting on the countertop, or what was left of the countertop.

Mags remained frozen as she looked at the plastic stick.

Positive.

She had already known that she was pregnant. This test was just for Steven, but it still struck her like a freight train.

“I’m gonna get you some honey tea for you Mags, would anyone else like anything,” Stef asked before standing up. She was quickly followed by Tonya who volunteered to help carry the tea for all four of them.

“Steven get out to the kitchen, if you ask me about the pregnancy I will pour this warm water in your face,” Tonya said before stepping over towards the cabinets trying to find some tea bags.

Stef stood across the kitchen as she watched Steven eyes the bedroom door. He looked like a banished puppy. A hopeless banished puppy.

“Hey, it’s going to be okay.” For the first time all day Stef talked to Steven, her hushed voice causing his heart to melt. She walked over towards him, and he immediately pulled her in for a hug.

“Yeah, I know Stef...but”

“Stevie, you are a good older brother to not only Mags but everyone in this entire apartment. You will be an amazing uncle,” Stef looked up to see absolute shock in Steven’s face. She hadn’t meant for the last bit to slip, but she couldn’t take the words back.

“She’s keeping it?” Stef shrugged as she went back to joining Tonya in the kitchen.

Back in the moldy bathroom, Del moved to sit next to Mags on the floor. Mags immediately melted in Del’s arms, and once the first tear fell, the rest cascaded like a waterfall.

“Please don’t look at me,” Mags mumbled as Delilah tucked Mags’ hair behind her ears.

“Why?”

“Because I don’t want to you to see me like this, I don’t want anyone to see me like this. Just fuckin’ leave,” Mags spat as she pulled away.

“Well, I’m not going anywhere,” Del shrugged. It was clear that Mags needed someone, and there was absolutely no way in hell she was leaving Mags alone in her current state.

“Ohh so you just want to watch a fucking train wreck?” Mags snapped back, careful not to yell in worry that more people would come into the small bathroom. She estimated she had a couple more minutes before Tonya and Stef came back with warm tea.

“If I wanted to look at a train wreck, all I have to do is look in a mirror,” Del’s monotone response caught Mags off guard resulting in silence slipping into the bathroom.

“Why are you here? Aren’t you supposed to be judging me or some shit like that?” Mags spat. To her she was shocked that Delilah wasn’t lecturing her about her sins or condemning her or quoting bible versus.

“I’m here because you’re more than just my friend. As weird as it might sound I consider you as my sister. Plus the Bible doesn’t teach us to judge one another, it teaches acceptance and love. The Bible is open to some interpretation, and sadly most people abuse that and use it a an excuse to justify condemning others. To be honest, I’ve never understood why. Granted I do care that you’re pregnant, but now how you think. I care because you’re going to be going through a lot whether you keep the child or not. I want to be there like you have been there for me,” Delilah’s voice was no louder than a mouse. Several minutes passed and a comfortable silence filled the bathroom.

“Everything has beauty,” Mags looked down at her stomach and placed her hand on it as she spoke.

“But not everyone sees every beauty,” Delilah finished the sentence as she placed her hand on top of Mag’s own.

“Come on, we should get moving,” Mags said as they headed out of the bathroom.

“You should tell your boyfriend his apartment is disgusting,” Tonya mumbled to Stef as she eventually gave up on looking for not only tea, but clean cups.

“He knows,” Stef sighed back. It was a battle she had lost several times.

They both froze as they saw Mags and Del slip into the bathroom, undetected by the guys who were now relaxing in the main room that had the shit couches in it.

“So we need to get out of here without getting noticed,” Del whispered to Stef and Tonya who quickly nodded.

“Mags and I are going to slip through the fire escape, but can you two distract the guys?” Stef was a bit put off by Del’s idea of sneaking out before she talked to Duff, but one look at Mags changed her mind.

“Yeah, we can ask about their gig tonight,” Tonya said dragging Stef towards the guys.

They went their separate was, and everything was going smoothly until Del felt someone grab her arm as she was about to climb through the window and onto fire escape.

“Where the fuck are you going,” Del turned to see the red hair that matched Axl’s voice.

“Trying to leave without causing further damage,” Del shot back, not in the mood to deal with him. They needed to leave ASAP, and he was preventing that. What was he going to do, hold her prisoner?

“Are you okay?”

Del looked at Axl’s hand which was still tightly holding her wrist. She knew that there was no way of overpowering him, and if she resisted she would only drag attention to herself.

“If I answer will you let go of me? I have to catch up to Mags who is probably waiting for me,” Del whispered earning a nod from the red head.

She took a deep breath before speaking, “No.”

Axl watched the brunette as her eyes began to water, he gently let go of her wrist causing her to sprint towards the fire escape.

Delilah sat in the living room that she shared with Tonya and Mags reading the article over and over. She couldn’t wrap her mind around why Drew would do this. He told her that he loved Mags. Love must have meant something different here on the strip. Her heart ached at the thought of all the times Duff had told her he loved her.

There was one paragraph that stuck in her head, and haunted her in her dreams. The one paragraph her mind had over analyzed hundreds of times over.

‘This relationship is doom to fail, no doubtz At first glance one might think the pair have found the infamous true love, but upon a second glance one’s opinion would change. It isn’t a love story like the ones in the movies. This is a story of a guy who has manipulated an innocent foolish girl to fall head over heals for him when he clearly doesn’t have the same feelings for her. There are only two ways this relationship will end, and neither of them bode well for Del. The first option is that he moves on because he grows tired of her. The second is that she eventually catches him cheating, as all rockstars do, but forgives him when he gives her a half assed apology which she pathetically accepts. Eventually though he would move on, but the real question is what will she move on to do? She has nothing. While the old saying does say that opposites attract, but there is a reason opposites are opposites.’

“Del, throw that piece of shit out. You are only torturing yourself,” Stef joined Delilah who was currently sobbing on the couch like a high schooler who had her heart broken on prom night.

“You know that article is trash right? Drew made up this stupid shit so the articles would sell! He did it all for his pathetic career. People aren’t drawn to happy stories Del, they’re drawn to ones filled with drama. Trust me hun, I’ve seen the way Duff looks at you, and you don’t have to be worried. Now go put on something cute. We have a gig to go to,” Stef was quickly met with a grown from Delilah as she melted further into the couch.

“Delilah get off your ass and change. Either you’re changing yourself, or I will. This article means nothing. DUFF IS NOT CHEATING ON YOU. You have NOTHING to worry about okay?” Delilah nodded and headed over towards the kitchen where her bag was.

Feeling like the Delilah situation was under control, Stef headed back into Mag’s room.

“Before you open your mouth Stef, I’m going to save you the time. I’m not going to the gig tonight. Not because of the article. I don’t want to deal with my brother when he is like this. He needs to focus on his gig. I will still be pregnant tomorrow,” Mags snapped back to Stef the moment she entered the room. Stef’s attention quickly snapped to Tonya who nodded her head in agreence with what Mags had just said.

“Makes sense. Delilah and I will be heading out shortly. I think she is currently getting dressed. You’re welcomed to come, but you don’t have to. I get it,” Stef promptly left the room knowing that there was nothing she could do to change Mag’s mind. To say that Mags was stubborn was an understatement. She was a damn bull and once her mind was made up there was no changing it.

After planning a small movie night with Mags, Tonya walked into the kitchen noticing Stef chugging a beer. Tonya’s original intention was going to ask how Stef was doing, but the amount of vodka she had just consumed defiantly answered he question. Stef was not okay.

“So who do you think is going to beat up Drew first?” Stef looked up at Tonya before she finished her drink.

“My money is on Duff or Steven,” Stef made herself another drink as she spoke only worrying Tonya more. Usually Tonya was all for getting plastered, but in the spirit of having fun, not as a coping mechanism.

“I would have said Axl. He already had a shitty temper and is incredibly protective of the band,” Tonya casually replied. Stef shrugged before downing her drink again.

“If you tell him you didn’t say it and that Drew misquoted you then you don’t have to worry. Everyone will believe you. That entire article is filled with lies. Don’t worry you’ll be fine,” Tonya calmly spoke as she watched Stef continue to drink.

“What if I did say it? What if I did say that I didn’t think he was going to make it?” Stef’s voice was barely above a whisper.

“Why would you...” Tonya was immediately interrupted by Stef before she could speak again,

“I would because I was drunk, and Steven is good but.....If he does make it everyone knows it will be short lived. With the money they will get they’ll drown themselves in booze and drugs. Don’t tell anyone but part of me doesn’t want them to make it. I’ve seen what the industry does to people and I don’t want it to happen to Steven.....Drew was interviewing me and I was by no means sober. I didn’t mean for it to come out, and he promised me he wouldn’t tell anyone. A girlfriend is supposed to be supportive and shit,” Tonya ran to Stef’s side as she began to cry.

“Shhh shh shh, you’re fine, no need to worry about it. Just deny it okay? You love him, I know you do. All you can do is be there for him, okay? That’s what you gotta do for him okay? Just be by his side through the think and thin....None of us are perfect Stef. So what you said something? It will all blow over in a week or two, now go fix your makeup because you and Del have a gig to go to,” Tonya flashed Stef a fake smile to cheer her up. Tonya shook her head as she watched Stef leave the kitchen. Tonya wondered if maybe she would be the first to beet the living shit out of Drew.

Delilah fidgeted with the hem of her skirt as her and Stef waited amongst some other girls for the guys to comeback from their quick sound check. Delilah watched true groupies, as Stef called them, as they walk around in heels that where higher than their hair. Paired with their clothes that with one wrong move they would flash themselves to the world. Delilah tried not to judge. She tried to ignored them as they flaunted themselves around, acting like they owned the place and sent Delilah glares. No matter how much she tried she hated them, and she hadn’t even spoken a word towards them.

“Just ignore them, believe it or not they’re jealous of us,” Stef whispered into Delilah’s ear before taking another shot.

“Jealous of having an article written about us or that we are dating a member of Guns N’ Roses?” Delilah questioned.

“Probably both,” Delilah chuckled back at Stef’s question.

“If they want an article that’s full of lies written about them, then they can fucking have it,” Delilah joked back.

“What about Duff?” Stef teased back.

“Over my dead body,” Stef watched as Delilah’s tone went sharp and a frown formed on her face.

“Don’t worry, you got that blonde under some sort of spell. I believe some people call it love,” Stef replied in attempt to pull Delilah back. There was no doubt in her mind that the article put Delilah a little on edge.

“Really?” Her voice sounded like a child when the question escaped her lips. Stef took a piece of Delilah’s hair and tucked it behind her ear.

“It’s clear as day hun,” Stef said as she watched Delilah take her fourth shot. For most a fourth shot in an hour wouldn’t cause any concern, but for a light weight such as Delilah it raised a lot of red flags.

[ohtheseboysilove]

Can you do no.7 on the Halloween prompt list with Ben with a fluff ending

Halloween prompt party !!! (Request here)

7. You absolutely loathe horror films whereas I love them, can we please please please just watch one? I’ll hold you if you get scared!  [B.H]

1421 words / Mention of blood, fluff / And i can’t write short story lmfao

“No, Ben ! Please, not this movie !” You whined childishly, hugging tightly the pillow in your arms. “You know very well that I totally hate horror movie !” You pouted and Ben chuckled heartily at your grimacing face.

“Come on, it’s not that scary. Plus, it’s my turn to choose the movie anyway” The blond shrugged and plopped himself on the sofa next to you, pushing the popcorn bowl on the coffee table. “And I will hold you if you’re too scared, deal?”

You blushed lightly at his words, you and Ben were friends for few months now and nothing happened yet. You really wanted and he seemed like he wanted too but none of you did the first step. Not yet. It was rare to ended up only the two of you, these little movie nights were the only time where you were alone and you loved them very much.

“Deal” You playfully shook his hand and grabbed the blanket before throwing it on the two of you. Ben put the bowl on his knees and gently patted Frankie who curled herself next to him.

“Here we go” The blond cheered and you humphed just for good measure. He pressed play and threw the remote on the table, grabbing a hand full of popcorn.

The fifteen first minutes went pretty smooth, no blood or creepy guy, Frankie little snores were considerably cooling the scary atmosphere and you were glad. You shoved some popcorn in your mouth and chuckled as the student decided stupidly to go in the basement after hearing a strange noise. Dumbass.

“Why is she going there ? We all know a guy with an axe is waiting for her” You complain and shifted uncomfortably in your seat, earning an amused glance from the blond.

“You’re such a wuss” He snorted and gently pushed you with his shoulder, teasing you playfully.

“I am not” You replied and blew a raspberry at him. Very mature. “I’m just— holy shit ! What the— Ben ! That’s not funny !” You cried after feeling something grabbing your food and it was only a joke from the blond, who was laughing like a crazy.

You crossed your arms and pouted, ignoring his attempts to make you talk.

“(Y/N), come on” Ben tugged on your arm like an annoying little kid but you stayed strong, secretly loving to see him trying hard to get your attention back on him. “I’m sorry, alright ?” He said with the cutest smile ever and you rolled your eyes, heart internally melting at the sight.

He tussled your hairs then threw an arm around your shoulder, tucking you cosily against him and suddenly you weren’t annoyed anymore. You didn’t say anything and simply cuddling him slightly, feeling your cheeks burned at your proximity.

Around an hour into the movie, you were completely tangled with Ben’s body. A big mush of arms and legs interlaced after you jumped and screamed more time than remember from fear. You were enjoying totally the situation anyhow. You head was resting nicely right onto his neck, forehead pressing against his warm skin and you were in paradise. Every time he said a little comment you could feel his chest and throat vibrating, his hot and raspy voice echoing right above your ear. You never wanted to move from here. You two arms were on Ben’s chest, you could feel how warm and strong he was and his own hand were on your shoulder, the other one on your knee, stretching your legs on his lap. You never been this close before and you were not far from combusting with excitation.

“He is gonna die” Ben said casually as one of the main character try to help his friend who was mysteriously locked in the bathroom. You whined quietly when suddenly a spike went through the door, impaling the poor guy right in the heart. You repressed a shiver at the sight of all the blood and hid your face under the cover, waiting for the scene to be done. “Told ya. You’re alright, doll ?” You silently jubilated at the pet name then slightly put down the cover, looking at him with your best doe-eyes.

“M’ okay” You murmured quietly and he chuckled softly before pushing down the cover, exposing the rest of your face.

“Poor little thing, you’re shaking !” Ben exclaimed and hugged you tightly, his face bowing slightly toward you with the most adorable face ever.

“Don’t like blood” You whispered, you were not sure why but the atmosphere felt like you couldn’t speak loudly. His face was so close and he was looking at you very intensely, his warm breath caressing your features.

You were almost certain he was about to kiss you. He had to. It was the perfect moment to do that. But he barely had time to brought your face closer that a loud scream on the t.v broke the perfect moment and made you both jolted apart with red cheeks. He cleared his throat then stood up, mumbling something about grabbing a beer.

“Fucking stupid horror movie” You cried quietly, burying your head into a pillow from annoyance.

You were so close to finally kiss Ben, you should have kissed him as soon as he looked at you. Too late.

“I didn’t know this movie was so scary” The blond mocked when he came back, looking funnily at you. His voice made you cursed more and you moved away the pillow, pretending that it was because of the movie.

The next twenty minutes was horrible. Not the movie, you couldn’t care less but your cuddling moment was Ben was completely done. He wasn’t holding you anymore and you didn’t feel like just awkwardly crawled back into his arms, would be weird. You were sad and frustrated but the blond seemed totally into the movie, continuing his little comments, not feeling your change of mood.

Boys…

So you focused back in the movie, abandoning all hope to kiss Ben tonight. It was the final scene and honestly the scene was really scary, you hated the creepy atmosphere with the sudden apparition of the killer from literally nowhere. You yelled from the top of your lungs completely surprised. You kept screaming as the killer started cuting her stomach to apparently cook the poor girl and Ben suddenly pressed his hand on your mouth, a little smile curling on his lips.

“You really need to shut up before my neighbours call the police, doll” Your scream died in your throat at the sudden contact and you had to refrain yourself from kissing his warm hand. “If I take my hand off, you’re not gonna scream anymore ?” You nodded positively and he slowly moved his hand away.

The tense atmosphere came back in a second and the butterfly in your belly went crazy at the thought of the possibility that this time he would kiss you.

“You know you’re adorable when you’re scared ?” He murmured and his hand fell on your lap, making your heart beat faster.

“You think so ?” You asked in the stupidest high pitched voice, sounding like a bloody teenager.

But it didn’t seems to bother Ben as he chuckled softly and gently cupped your cheek, looking carefully at your reaction. Your eyes were screaming kiss me! kiss me! kiss me! and then finally, finally…he kissed you.

You gasped in surprise because he didn’t take his time like earlier and eagerly pressed his mouth on yours. You immediately reciprocated the kiss, throwing your arms around his neck and came closer to deepen the kiss, whimpering softly at the tenderness of his plump lips. He tasted bitterly like beer and sweetly like popcorn and it was suddenly your new favourite flavour.

“I guess it was a good movie choice” Ben murmured with a cheeky smile as he broke the kiss but kept his hands on your cheeks.

“Meh” That was the only thing your mind could manage to say, still dizzy from the breathtaking kiss and a bit shocked.

He finally kissed you!

“You’re adorable” Ben repeated and rubbed his thumb against your cheekbone, spreading warmth through your whole body. “Can I kiss you again ?”

“You didn’t need to ask, silly” You replied and welcomed his lips immediately, hands running through his beautiful hairs, all shyness or hesitation gone.

The movie was long forgotten, even when the end credits started rolling on the screen, both of you to busy making out to even notice that.

[solia-dreams]

Endings

17th January, 2013

The writing had always been on the wall, maybe since the first time she stepped into the basement office and shook his hand. In that moment, he'd both anticipated it and wondered how he might accelerate the inevitable – how quickly could he irritate, scare or otherwise deter the Bureau's handpicked goody-two-shoes?

He was glad now to have been so unsuccessful, to have sold her so far short, but ignoring the writing, even seeming to defy it for a blink or a lifetime or however long had passed, had not scrubbed the wall clean. The writing was still there, crisp like fresh ink in every argument, in every frustrated sigh, in every missed dinner, in every relieved smile and demand of "Where have you been?! I was worried." He saw it between the lines of blog posts he was still reading at 4am while she slept in the next room; he saw it in the barcodes of boarding passes as he took his seat on a last-minute whirlwind flight he'd forgotten to tell her about; he saw it in the hours she clocked up on her payslip.

Like all the best improbable scenarios, he wanted to believe. He was determined to believe that the writing and the wall could be beaten. Whenever he caught it out of the corner of his eye, which was less often than it should have been, in honesty – he definitely missed a lot of the wall's appearances, too distracted – he tried to jump on the opportunity to fight the inevitable.

To call home.

To switch off the computer and go to bed.

To make dinner.

And maybe those efforts were what staved it off, but retrospect gave him a brutal new perspective of his own flaws and the part they'd always played. His forgetfulness. His obsessive drive. His fundamental capacity to take her for granted.

So there was no shock for him when he saw the suitcase at the door and determined resignation in dry blue eyes.

He could have begged. Maybe he should have. But he'd known her for so long, pushed her so far, that he knew when not to bother, and he knew there was no winning this round. It had already been fought in the days, hours, minutes that he'd not been present, not been where he should have been, and nobody had won.

She swallowed and straightened when he stepped out of the bathroom, still towelling his hair. He froze, not because he was shocked but because why now, and he urgently thought through recent events to try and pinpoint the triggering moment. He'd forgotten to load the dishwasher, again. He'd spent money without asking her first, trying to get stolen military satellite images from a shady source he was sure she'd rather not know about. He'd forgotten to come to bed last night. He'd wasted the last three years of her life chasing after a 2012 conspiracy he was absolutely certain of that had, on the big night, turned out to be a total fizzer, and since then he'd been distant, moody, difficult, tense, frustrated, directionless.

So, nothing out of the ordinary.

Which meant, or at least so he deduced, that she'd finally worked out what he'd known all along: she was much too good for his shit, and she was done with it.

He was lucky to have had the years he'd gotten. He dropped his towel on the back of his armchair and she tightened her hand on the extended handle of her suitcase. He wondered vaguely what she'd decided to pack and what she'd decided to abandon, since less than half of her things could fit inside that. Starting over, clean and free. Like she deserved.

Later he'd wonder if she wanted him to beg, wanted him to plead, but he knew in the moment it wasn't going to stop her leaving so he chose to skip to the next line: "Where will you go?"

Deep eyes he would have comfortably looked into for the rest of his life briefly reflected her sharp hurt, then cooled instantly, and he knew it was the wrong thing to say. She shifted a little closer to the suitcase, like it was structural in keeping her upright.

"My mom's, to start with," she answered, very steadily, too steadily. She'd practised this monotone. This had been a long time coming. Not surprising. Her mouth twitched very slightly when she tried to close her lips, when she tried to finish speaking, but the rest of the words wanted to come. Conflicted, not wanting to elaborate but feeling somehow compelled, she added, "Then back to DC somewhere, I suppose."

Unable to break the habit of being clear and honest with him? Or just needing to be clear and honest in that she was leaving for real, and this was no weekend stay at her mother's? Either way, could she be any more carelessly hurtful?

"That'll shorten the commute," he offered emotionlessly. In his ears, over the sound of blood erratically rushing through their vessels, his voice sounded alien, not his. It was the voice of someone distant and uninvested, someone who didn't care for the opinion or favour of the person they were speaking to. That was the furthest possible place from the truth – that his chest hurt with every breath that brought him closer to the inevitable, that his brain was on fire running in circles trying to find a solution, that his throat was tight with unspoken words of anger and regret. But none of this was conveyed in the voice he heard, and none of this was conveyed to the face he had loved for so many of his years when she nodded slowly, resignedly.

"I suppose," she said again. She watched him for a few moments in silence, and he held her gaze, almost in challenge. What was she waiting for? For him to dissolve and break? No, he wasn't going to let her see that. Part of him didn't want to give her the satisfaction.

The other part didn't want to sway her resolve. She deserved to do this. It would be easier if it was clean. If he begged… if he cried, made her see how much he adored her, how much he needed her… if he won her back in this moment, it would be a mistake. He would only lose her again tomorrow, next week, next year, when he fucked up again.

No. He held her gaze, waiting her out, no expression to let her see into the cracks that were opening up inside him, no words to give away the voices that were screaming around his head. Hers was the loudest. You should have seen this coming. You could have changed your patterns of behaviour at any time. You knew what you had and now it's walking out.

"I, uh, I made a casserole," she said awkwardly, dropping her gaze. "To get you through the next couple of nights. It's in the fridge."

She'd been very prepared. He tried not to let that sting. It didn't, really; just reverberated against his hollowed heart, another dull throb to join the dull throb of his heartbeat.

"You don't think I can cook for myself?" It came out like an accusation, colder than he meant. Her eyes came back up to his.

"I know you can't," she replied calmly, and he allowed himself a small smile, because no one had ever known him better, no one had ever been this good for him and he'd ruined it. Even now he was letting it slide straight through his fingers. He closed his fist as though it could make a difference now, and felt his smile turn icy. Frozen and brittle, because if he didn't freeze it, it would melt down his face to the floor where he would join it.

"Well, I guess I'll have to learn," he responded in the same calm tone. Her lips thinned visibly, guilted, and while he so badly wanted her to change her mind right now he also so badly wanted her to stand her ground. Be the strong woman he knew she was. Get what she was owed after all these years, and strike back at the narcissistic, self-loathing creature she'd selflessly shackled herself to out of misplaced love and loyalty. He swallowed. It hurt. Keep it professional. "I'll forward your mail to Maggie's, then?"

She nodded quickly, following his lead back to the cool professionalism that would characterise their relationship for years to come. "Yes, please." She looked around the house, sucking her lower lip into her mouth as she tried to decide how to say the next bit. "I left everything I have so far on Harris on the kitchen table. I hope… I hope you find what you're looking for."

On your own. It was implicit, underneath her words, and he felt his cheeks redden with shame and realisation. This time, she wasn't going with him chasing shadows and unexplained flashes in the night. Finally, he'd burnt her out, and that night was the turning point. Harris, one of his contacts, had been instrumental in helping him pin down Billings, Montana, as a likely site of the invasion he'd spent so many years anticipating, but since December, he'd gone silent. No one from the conspiracy forum circuit seemed to know what had happened to him.

And, eyes dull and voice weary, his FBI girlfriend had agreed to run down some leads at work for him. If he'd been paying attention, he'd have seen that writing again, neon-bright – the same old wall, with the same message he'd been outrunning since day one in the basement.

I hope you find what you're looking for. He smiled again, brittle and forced again. He said, "Yeah, me too," instead of "I don't need to look. I've already got it," and shoved his hands into his pockets so he couldn't extend them to her. He kept his feet planted firmly. He watched her face, loving every curve and every line, and closed his hands into fists inside his pockets in an inner fight against the desire to cup her face with his palms and kiss her and tell her… tell her what? To stay? To put up with more? He wished he could ask that, and promise in return that he would make the changes in himself that he wanted to make to deserve her, but if he could have made those changes he would have. No. He'd done this to them. Later, later he could be mad with her, blame her for leaving him when he still needed her, believe that she played a part in breaking them or that she was weak and let him down, but right now, in the sobering clarity of the moment of her departure, he knew the whole truth. This was his own fault.

He had done this, and he deserved the clawing ache in his chest, and she deserved all the wide world that waited for her outside that door, even if that truth made him want to cry.

He cleared his throat. "So, uh, you said 'so far' with Harris…?"

"I'm still waiting on one contact to get back to me," she agreed, normality relaxing her voice. It gave him a little spark of optimism. They made good partners, worked superbly together, and if this was all they had left when the romance and sex and love was stripped back, well, it was sure as shit better than what most people were left with. "I'll make sure I pass on whatever he tells me. Should I… post it to you? Would that be best?"

The optimism died in his stomach, and he felt himself deflate. He was lying to himself. Their working relationship had always been something to brag about, but in actual fact, if that was what was left over when their relationship ended – which was mere minutes away, waiting to be marked by the second she walked out that door, he was only prolonging the inevitable here – then it would not be good enough at all. More than her brilliant mind at work, more than her excellent body in his bed, more than her hand in his, what he loved most about her was her friendship. He could do without everything else. Christ, he'd done without the sex for months now, without realising, caught up with his work and frustrations of the mind. The real loss he stood to experience was the loss of his best friend, the soul he trusted above any others, the heart who knew his, the person who had stood at his side and had his back and pulled him out of more trouble over the years than anyone but a best friend could be expected to put up with.

His best friend was leaving, asking whether she could contact him via post from now on.

He hadn't just burnt his lover; he'd unwritten his deepest friendship. How long before he unwrote himself?

"Whatever you think's best," he answered coolly. "Should I do the same if I find work I think is more yours than mine?"

"My phone number won't change," she said, quite gently, quite kindly, and he wanted to rekindle that sparkle of optimism but he didn't dare. He smiled wryly at her.

"You know they're tapping that line."

Her restrained sigh was one of exaggerated patience with his paranoia, one of her least favourite of his qualities. "They're not tapping my phone. You can call me whenever. You know I'll answer."

"Do I?" He couldn't help a deliberate glance down at her heavy-looking suitcase, the elephant in the room both had managed to avoid directly addressing. Her hand tightened again on the handle and her expression closed further. Eyes sharpening. Mouth thinning. The longer they stood here, the further away he drove her, and neither was even moving.

"I'm telling you I will," she said steadily, without warmth, "if it ever occurs to you to call."

Ouch. His surgeon cut through the pretence with medical precision and shone her harsh penlight straight at the malignant mass of brutal truth at the heart of this breakdown, and he felt the slice like it was made with a real knife.

"Neither will mine," he said finally, when he was certain his legs weren't going to give out beneath him. It had just struck him that this was really happening. She was really going. After all this time, this was happening. "My number."

She laughed, surprised. "Mulder, your phone number always changes."

"Not this one." He'd been prepared, too. Knowing this was coming. He unrooted his feet and made himself walk towards her, hoping his gait looked natural and comfortable, two things he felt anything but. "Give me your phone."

She was reluctant but produced her cell from inside her jacket and placed it without question in his hand when he stopped in front of her. He tried not to wonder whether he'd chosen an appropriate distance for exes. That's what they were about to be. He tried further not to wonder whether he would always notice how pliant she was with him, how her blind trust in him had not faded, how normal it still seemed despite their in-process breakup for her to do as he asked. Would that change next time he saw her? Would she question him where she hadn't before, be wary of him, refuse where once she would have followed without thought? Would he know her like he did in this moment?

Did he know her in this moment like he did in moments before? His Scully had never left him. He raised his eyes from her phone as he worked to survey her quickly. He saw the writing on the wall in the sad, tired lines around her eyes, in the red at their edges, and he saw the woman he'd loved and wanted and breathed for so damn long that he didn't even know how a future without her looked. He wanted to touch her hair and say this was a mistake; he wanted run his fingers across her lips and say he was sorry; he wanted stroke her cheek and promise that she'd adequately scared him and didn't need to go, that things could be different, he could change. Maybe it could be true. With her help maybe he could make it true.

But he handed her back the phone and let his heart crumple a little more at the sight of her wry smile to see the entry into her address book. "M. F. Luder," she read. She looked up at him sceptically, normalcy restored for a brief flicker that he cherished while it lasted. "Excellent cover. No one will ever guess that one."

"If you think of a better one, change it." He swallowed, wanting to prolong the normal, wanting to stretch out the gentle and the playful and the love for as long as he was allowed. "That number won't get recycled. That phone will always be charged up, always be switched on." He swallowed again. Say it. "For you."

It swayed her, he could tell, made the writing on the wall fade to the periphery. He saw her expressive blue eyes fill with regret and apology and saw her mouth open, struggling for words to say amidst her inner conflict. He knew her in this moment, he knew her fully. Her mind was saying go. Her heart was tugging her against all logic, against all sense, back to him, and pushing her to stay. God, he wanted her to listen to that voice, like she had every other day of their lives together.

"Won't… won't it be trackable?" she asked, shaking her head to get some clarity. Her hair, which he'd always loved, so vibrant, fanned at the motion, catching morning light from the windows. He'd remember that in the days to come, sitting here drunk and delirious and ruined with this one memory of her hair reflecting red sunlight. "Isn't that why you burn through all the others and jump between numbers?"

Impulsively he touched her hair. She flinched; it was unexpected. He let the strands fall between his fingers. He might not get another chance to feel its softness, its familiar texture, and he wished he could take back every opportunity he'd missed to touch it.

"No one else has this number," he answered. "I haven't given it to anyone, so no one can track it." Heart thudding, probably pumping blood straight out of the holes they'd cut in the organ with this conversation, he shifted his fingers to her mouth. He felt her sharp intake of breath, waited for her to pull away, but she didn't. Best to say it now, then, before he lost his nerve. "If you ever need anything, I'll answer. I'll…"

I'll be there. But he couldn't say it. The words got stuck, his concentration trapped in the overwhelming sensory overload of her. The softness of her lips under the pads of his fingers. The familiar smell of her skin and clothes and hair. The brightness of her beautiful eyes, exactly as sad as he knew his must be. They had invested so much into this, and now… He swallowed again. He heard it, that and her shallow breaths. Their age-old chemistry mesmerised him and he could tell it was the same for her. It would have been no effort to lower his mouth to hers, to start that fire, to wrap his arms around her and lift her, to run his hands through her hair and feel hers in his, to push her against the wall and get his hands under her clothes, to get them off, to unzip his…

Instead, he brushed his fingers from her mouth to her cheek. His body fought every muscle twitch of his exercise in restraint.

"I know," she said finally, and he knew she did, and that understanding hurt even more than relinquishing what would have been excellent sex. She knew he would be there whenever she needed it, she knew what she was to him, she knew his devotion was incapable of compromise or degradation and that he would be ever loyal to her… and she was leaving anyway.

She was leaving.

And she wasn't going to call, because she had made up her mind in all those moments he'd made it up for her. The phone calls he hadn't made, the seduction attempts he'd dismissed because he was too focused, the irritable words he'd spoken when he was frustrated with his work and not with her. She wasn't going to call. Why would she want to?

"And, you know, if you ever need help with a case," he added, casually, dropping his hand and hoping it would take the magnetic tension with it. She nodded, channelling professionalism again.

"Right. Of course. Well, hopefully I won't need you for that. I'm not working the X-Files, remember, just Counterterrorism." She looked at him oddly. "I'm done."

I'm done. Not just with him, but with what they'd worked on together. That shocked him more than the fact that he was leaving him. "But… all our work…"

"Your work now," she said, looking much less sad about this, more certain. "I'm done with it. No more dead-end conspiracies and skygazing and inexplicable phenomena."

"It was never about that," he argued, annoyed now. Annoyed that she could whittle it down to such meaningless base elements. "Fighting for the truth, Scully, shining a light on what men with power will do with secrets they shouldn't have and making visible the people they hurt along the way."

"That's what you're upset about," she noted, cold again. "That I'm leaving the work, not that I'm leaving you."

I'm leaving you. There, the words, out in the room for them both to cringe at, peeled straight from the wall. He felt a surge of shame and rage.

"Yes!" he fumed, though there was so much more he should have said to better detail the depth of his brokenness. "That's what we stand for."

"That's what we stood for," she corrected, and he remembered the suitcase at her side. "I can't do it anymore, Mulder. From now on I stand for fighting evil that can be beaten. Don't fight me on it, Mulder," she interrupted him when he tried to disagree. "I have already given it everything I had, and it's still not done." She left the details unsaid but he heard them. Her sister. A daughter she'd not been given the chance to know. Their son. Twenty years of her life. And him, lost to her somewhere along the way, too caught up in the work to be what she deserved. "I'm done."

He stood there, rocked to his core. He really was alone. He looked from the suitcase to her face and couldn't help the cold smile that stretched, unforgiving, across his lips. "You're giving up."

It hurt her, he could tell. But she shook her head and muttered, "Whatever. It was a good fight but it's over and it's not having me." She hoisted the heavy-looking suitcase to turn it around. "I should go."

"Do you want me to carry that to the car for you?" he asked, though once he would have taken it without question. He extended a hand, hating that he was questioning his own behaviour around her already, but she raised hers to stop him.

"No. I want to do it myself. Thank you." She opened the door and took a deep, unsteady breath. "Good luck, Mulder. Take care of yourself."

Don't leave. Stay. Take care of me. Love me. I love you. I'm sorry. Please. I need you. You're everything. I don't know who I am without you. I can change. I can be better. I can take us back to better times. Just don't go.

All the best option words did not come through, and he said only, "Yeah. Sure," and she nodded resolutely, a transaction completed, and turned away to leave.

To leave.

"Scully." His voice made her stop and look back. Was that sparkle in her eye the beginnings of tears? "You… You too. Take care."

She nodded again, but with the traces of that soft smile of hers this time, and he knew it was the right thing to say. Permission to go and find herself. A clean break, on good terms, because that was the least of what they deserved.

"Thank you," she murmured, and he knew she understood.

"Just… one more thing," he made himself say, though it came out uneven, ragged. "I know, after this minute ends, you won't be with me anymore." It cut deep to say aloud. He wanted to stop, but there was something he needed to hear, and he needed to bleed first to be allowed to ask it. "I know. But…" He didn't even know how to phrase it, or whether she would get what he was asking. Her glistening eyes held him in their longing gaze while he struggled, and god, he loved her. How could this be ending? "But even if you aren't with me, are you still… with me?"

It made no sense. He wasn't certain even he knew what he had just asked, except that he knew it was a big ask and he might not like the answer. Was she still on his side, when push came to shove? Was she still going to keep his every secret, the lockbox of trustworthiness he'd fallen in love with? Did she still have his back when it counted, as only best friends do? Did she still believe in him? She stared at him, processing, struggling, halfway out the door. Halfway gone.

But she stepped back inside. She left her suitcase on the porch and came back in. She raised her hands to her neck and felt for something under her hair. She stopped right in front of him and reclasped her necklace, then looked up at him.

He felt twenty years of need and want and love and trust and friendship and wholeness in the hold of her gaze, and felt the equivalent emptiness waiting just beneath it, ready to crush him, ready to end him when she ended them. She took his hand, squeezed it gently, and coiled the chain in his palm. She closed his fingers over the necklace. The gold was still warm from her body heat.

Her voice was cracked and loaded when she spoke.

"Like you wouldn't believe."

She left quickly after that, eager not to let him see the tears as they fell though how could he miss that, and before he could get a handle on the moment it was over and the door was closing behind her, and her car was starting and she was gone, she was gone, and he was still standing where she'd left him.

Drawing a ragged breath before his own tears spilled, he opened his hand. There in his palm was the golden crucifix Maggie had given her daughter as a girl, the delicate gold chain he'd found when she was abducted by Duane Barry and again when she'd been stolen away to Antarctica. Both times he'd kept it close while she was missing, while he worked tirelessly to find a way to bring her back into his life. Both times he'd found her and given it back and their lives together had resumed.

Slowly, heavily, he dropped into his armchair, ignoring the damp towel that tumbled onto his shoulder. He stared at the little ray of hope she'd left him through glassy wet eyes. He wondered how deeply he could read into this. He raised his eyes to the blank wall opposite him and felt the hollowness of his loss and wondered whether the tiny cross could defy the truth he'd been avoiding for two decades.

The writing had been on the wall since the first moment. She was always going to leave.

The cross said something else, a message he'd listened to before only in the darkest moments of peril but which should have been his life's mantra. She can be found but she has to be earned.

He closed his hand over the cross, heart aching, and let the tears come.

--

This is the 44th chapter of my X-Files fic This Is How The World Ends, which you can read on AO3 and FF. MSR, slow burn, post-IWTB, alternative events of S10/11 ignoring most of what happened in the revival episodes. Novel-length.

[arcadeguk]

dessert

prompt: “you look amazing tonight” + “if we get caught i’m blaming you” + “night, princess”

pairing: hoseok x reader

genre: fluff

a/n: ceo!hoseok is the one thing i need to see irl. him in a suit fucks me up more than anything ever could. step up your game jeon enjoy!!!!!

“you know, in our next apartment, i’m putting a plaque on the door - ‘makeup cave of the she-hulk, do not disturb’” your boyfriend chirps from the other side of the door, and you can just imagine the dopey, sarcastic grin coating his face right about now, most likely accompanied with a quick tilt of his head, a self-congratulations on his absolute sick burn. “do you want me to look nice, or be fast?” you quip in return, yanking an eyelid to the side as you fix your winged liner for what was easily the fourth time tonight. at this point, you could either go out with a bloody eyelid, or a black eye. appealing options all around. “both, please!” he sings, and you can hear him bounce away, most likely to return to his perch at the kitchen counter, anxiously checking the time on both his watch and phone (as if they’d be any different), jingling his keys and letting bubbly sighs fall from his lips as he waited for you. 

tonight was unbelievably important, and you knew that - which was exactly why you were currently mummified in two pairs of spanx, heels that could snap your ankle in half at the mere mention of a breeze, and were desperately throwing all your makeup into your purse, only for it to be reapplied once you reached the hotel. tonight was hoseok’s first big business dinner after becoming the ceo of seoul’s finest tech company. an honor, considering the amount of years he’d poured into this place - seeing it from the tiny startup in his cousin’s basement into the formidable world empire it was becoming. you were unbelievably proud of everything hoseok had accomplished, and took every chance you could get to talk about his accomplishments. in the 4 years you’ve been dating, you never missed an opportunity to gloat, especially when he was there to witness it. his cheeks would be  burning red, his top teeth catching his bottom lip in a gentle squeeze. he’d sweetly fix his collar, coyly trying to fan the fire that crept up from his chest into his neck. he melted every single time, and would grasp your hand the first chance he got, peppering your neck in shy kisses when you were alone.

tonight, hoseok needed to make an excellent impression. all the VPs and stockholders would be attending, along with a couple of potential investors, who hoseok had the daunting task of trying to convince to open their wallets, giving more money and influence to the company.

he’s always been great with people, his glittery personality and calm confidence always made others feel at ease and open - a huge reason why he was picked to be the face of the company. hoseok’s collected demeanor never shifted, not even when shit was completely hitting the fan. especially when it came to you. his calm demeanor always relaxed you, and a rant session, mixed with a shoulder massage, and a million soft kisses put you at ease every time.

but this dinner, it had him simply rattled. the anxiety and tightness in his body tensed him up, knotting the muscles in his back, and creasing the thin skin between his eyebrows. he’d been jumpy all week, startling at even your simplest touch. last night, he’d woken up in a cold sweat, on the verge on tears - incoherent, sleepy ramblings after waking up from a nightmare - something about him screwing up the entire dinner, completely beyond fixing. he’d lost his job, his reputation, and worst of all - you’d left. you coaxed him through it, brushing back his hair, fetching him cold water to drink, and trying to explain to your very sleepy, very puffy boyfriend that none of that could ever happen. seemingly contented by your words, he’d fallen asleep on your lap. you spent most of the night watching over him, gently rubbing his tummy or arms at any sign of a twitch or hurried breath. you hadn’t minded staying up with him at all, but it wasn’t exactly doing you any favors right about now. after a 5 minute nap at your desk and at least 3 pounds of concealer, you looked semi less-deceased. almost passable, if you were trying to look like a corpse. whatever, you reasoned internally, it’ll be dark in there anyway.

finally emerging from the magic shop other mere mortals call a bathroom, you saunter into the kitchen, intent on seeing hoseok’s face when his eyes finally landed on you. you’d only shown him the dress on the hanger, which hadn’t done it any justice. it was a deep navy blue, adorned with sequins that glittered in just the right light, and hugged each of your curves perfectly. the train of your dress swooshed behind you, and if you focused hard enough, you could go 5 steps without tripping on it. you smiled at hoseok, who was currently absorbed in his phone, leaning on the edge of the counter.

“ahem”, you clear, and his head snaps up. his pupils dilate to twice their normal size, and whatever words he thought about saying ultimately die in the back of his throat. hoseok’s slim fingers subconsciously grip his phone a little tighter, and his tongue presses to the roof of his mouth. he straightens up, flicking his head to toss his bangs out of his eyes, to get the full sight of you. the only resolve he clings to is the fact that you’re both already 10 minutes late to this fucking dinner, but then again, what was ten more minutes…

“ready?” you chirp, breaking hoseok from his reverie, leaving him nothing but a stuttering, flustered mess as he tries to answer you. he follows you to the door, leaning unnecessarily close to you to grab the keys that hang on the door hook. a firm hand grasps your waist, accompanied by warm, wet breath on your ear.

“you look amazing tonight.” the statement is followed by a chaste, quick kiss on your ear, and a gentle push towards the door, his smirk resting in your hair the entire walk to the car.

you know you’re in for one hell of an evening when hoseok’s hands never leave your body. normally, hoseok’s clinginess would send your heart straight to the moon, but tonight, you know it's not a side effect of his chirpy happiness - it’s a mixture of nerves, anxiety, and this jaw-dropping dress that you almost didn’t buy. hoseok drifts from group to group, charming everyone in his path, more than happy to have you on his arm, showing you off every chance he could possibly get.

to your credit, operating on 6 hours of sleep within the past 48 hours - and still being able to show up to this event not looking like a total disaster - is a feat in of itself. yet, you can’t help but feel downright terrible when you accidentally let a couple lazy yawns fall from your lips. it’s not boredom at all, considering you get to watch hoseok glide around in a $700 tom ford suit, looking like a businessman prince who just stepped out of a fucking disney movie - no, it’s a complete dream come true. but the exhaustion creeps up slowly, blurring the corners of your vision and black velvet settling in the back of your mind. names of investors and conversations about the stocks all blur into one, and you’re left sleepily clinging to hoseok’s left arm.

speaking of hoseok, he’s on his best behavior all night, that is, until, you both saunter over to the dessert table. delicate cakes, cookies, and every other sugary, delicious concoction has been laid out in full display, illuminated by the bright, shiny lights of the hotel ballroom. an obnoxious pink sign rests on the table, screaming that only “two desserts allowed per guest”, with an even more obnoxious and passive “thanks” scrawled at the bottom. hoseok’s eyes glance from you, to the table, then back to you. his eyes then travel downward, to the navy purse you’re currently clutching.

“hoseok, don’t even think about it.”

“babe, just open the purse.”

“you know, if we get caught, i’m blaming you.”

he leans close in you, the devilish smile that rests on his face makes your whole body shake. “sweetheart, i own this entire fucking company. i could buy this hotel tomorrow if i wanted to. what could they possibly do?”

needless to say, your navy handbag is soon in his possession.

however, much to your surprise, only ten minutes later, hoseok is making his final rounds with his investors, giving quick bows and handshake. he drags you along, practically shoving you to the coat check.

“in much of a rush?” you inquire, quirking an eyebrow. he smiles in return, and answers you without looking up from his coat, “yeah, i figured it was time to get my sleepy princess home.”

you can’t help but stutter at this, trying to come up with some kind of a comeback. “i-i, shut up, my concealer is fucking perfect. you can barely tell.”

he finally meets your eyes, the corners of his crinkling up ever so slightly as his mouth stretches into a smile. “sweetness, come on, like i didn’t see you yawning all night long.” your face falls into a frown, and you wish for an instant that you’d kept a better grip on yourself. you’re prepping to whine just a little bit, but he quickly hushes you with a hug. as he bundles you into his chest, he takes the moment to lean down into your ear and whisper; “i know how hard you’ve been working lately. i know how much you’ve helped me over the past couple weeks. and i know that all you want to do right now is get into some comfy clothes - which will most likely be mine, but that doesn’t matter - and fall asleep in bed while watching some mindless tv. so, what do you say? sound good, babygirl?” he pulls away, and nuzzles his nose with yours. his deep browns eyes gaze into you with so much love, so much trust and gratitude, you’re afraid you’re going to tumble right into them. “yes, please” you sigh happily.

only four minutes later you’re tucked into hoseok’s side, head resting on his shoulder, torso buried into the little cavern his body has carved for yours. as soon as your head hits his shoulder, a comforted little sigh falls from your lips, one that has hoseok giggling and blushing and desperately trying not to lose his mind in the backseat of this mercedes. he slips his coat off, only jostling you slightly in the process, and lays it over you. the long overcoat covers you almost completely, and you tug the collar of it closer up under your chin.

the arm curled around your torso is rubbing gentle circles into your hip through the wool, and the other rests on your knee, slowly tugging your legs more and more onto his lap as you fall further and further asleep. it’s hoseok’s deep, hoarse voice, strained from tonight’s overuse, that stirs you from your sleep.

“i meant what i said earlier.”

“which part?” you mumble in return, “the part where you said you were going to dissect the cupcakes surgeon-style and try to deduce the exact recipe because, and i quote ‘i could and will eat these every single day for the rest of my life, just you watch?’”

the throaty giggly that rises out of hoseok’s chest soon turns into a guffaw. you look up, and even in the darkness of the car, you can see hoseok’s million-dollar smile light up the interior. his mouths stretches wide open, a toothy smile and deep laugh on full display. as the car races down the road, streetlights catch the stars in his eyes, stars that peep downwards, and shine the brightest, just for you.

“you’re funny baby, really truly” hoseok says, wiping a stray tear from his eye as he collects himself. the car falls silent again, and then hoseok speaks:

“no, i meant it when i said that i was so grateful for everything you’ve done for me lately. this dinner, i don’t know baby, maybe i worked it up too much in my head? i just wanted to make a great first impression, the amount of important people there was insane…” he trails off, and in the warmth of the overcoat, you drag your hands upwards, to rub small, gentle circles in the center of his chest. “thank you for keeping me sane. for reminding me what’s important.”

“and what’s that? the cupcakes?” you whisper with a smile, and hoseok grins. “that, but also, that this job, this company, all this hard work, it’s for a purpose. it’s to guarantee a life for you, for us. to make sure that we always have anything, and everything, we’re ever going to need. to make you the happiest person alive.”

“and what about you? what’s gonna make you the happiest person alive?” you question, leaning upwards to land a kiss right on the hook of his jaw.

“this, baby. this moment right here. this is all i’m ever gonna need.” he whispers into the dark, and lands a loud, smacking kiss into your hair. “but right now, you need sleep. i’ll carry you inside once we’re home.”

you don’t have the energy to even try and fight him on it, and simply give him an affirmative hum, and not two minutes later - it’s lights out. the last thing you hear before you disappear into inky blackness is hoseok’s gentle whisper floating around your head, “goodnight, princess."

[kariachi]

Some Static Shock fanfic, as commissioned by @thenixkat, featuring Freida, Daisy, and Sharon gaining superpowers and coming together into their own superhero team.

It was seven weeks after the Big Bang when things got weird…er. Really that was most shocking part- that after a bunch of people got melted in a chemical explosion, and a load of other people got superpowers in the same explosion, and her friends started ditching her at random intervals, and she almost got eaten by a giant amoeba, there was still something that made Freida go ‘this is weird’.

“This is too fucking weird.”

Okay, ‘too fucking weird’, still. She was sat on her roof, where she had been- not stuck per say, but definitely not in a position to come down- for about an hour, watching the leaves in her yard go back and forth from one side to the other. The constant shifting of the wind would’ve been weird enough on its own, out here by the Lakes wind tended to change direction often but this was just ridiculous, but it was following her lead. Frieda moved her hand this way, the wind blew in that direction, she moved it the other way, the wind shifted. She swirled her hand around in front of her like she was stirring something? The wind turned into a small twister that sucked in the leaves and left them all piled in one spot.

If she’d known she could get the yard cleaned up that easily she wouldn’t have made the gesture to the sky that’d landed her on the roof in the first place. She supposed that theoretically she’d be able to use the same windy powers she was using on the leaves (and really, when had these shown up? why? when and why?) to get back down, but she wasn’t sure that she trusted it. After all, the worst-case scenario was that they stopped working while she was in the air and she plummeted, while if she stayed here eventually her parents would come home and get out the ladder. Then she’d have to come up with an explanation for why she was up there though.

Truly a lose-lose situation.

~*~

Her parents totally bought ‘I wanted to clean the gutters, but I couldn’t find the ladder, so I climbed the walnut tree’. They’d looked at her like she was a moron, and she was never going to be allowed to live this down, but they bought it.

~*~

As she practiced with her powers (in private, of course, ever since the Big Bang there were Opinions about anyone in Dakota who had superpowers and wasn’t Static) Freida contemplated her options. She wanted to help people, she already worked hard trying to better the world and keep people informed of what went on around them, and with these new powers of hers, she could do so much more. The idea of becoming a superhero, like Static, was tempting. Dakota had so much shit going on, so many Bang Babies causing trouble, and she could do something about it.

It took her a week of thinking, weighing pros and cons (“Pro- help people. Con- I do not have the kind’ve time you need for this.”) before she came to a decision.

Another week, forty dollars’ worth of black and amaranth fabric, a handful of sailor fuku patterns, and way too many failed attempts at using her mother’s sewing machine later- Hurricane was born.

~*~

Hurricane’s first attempt at stopping crime went surprisingly well. It turned out that the sort’ve people who rob convenience stores are also the type to get freaked out when doors suddenly slam open and a gust of wind drags them outside and drops them at the feet of somebody in thigh-high heels. They hadn’t known what hit them and when they’d tried to bolt she’d easily been able to sweep them into the air and hold them there until the police arrived.

The second was a little harder. That time the man was in an alley and much more level-headed. Hurricane had drug him away from the woman he’d been threatening and rather than spook and run he had instead decided his best bet was to open fire. Still, she’d managed to come away unharmed- the wind had carried her safely into the air in a breath and the gales she’d called down had made it nearly impossible for him to aim, right up until they ripped the gun clean from his hands. After that it had, again, purely been a matter of keeping him in one spot a few feet off the ground until law enforcement could come get him.

Annoyingly enough the first criminal to give her trouble was Hotstreak. It turned out, to their mutual aggravation, that they were stuck in a stalemate of sorts. Hurricane couldn’t get any real control over the situation, his own flight making her tendency to lock people in the air pointless and his fires too intense for her to put out without risking damaging the buildings around them. On the plus side, he couldn’t get any control either, as she could just blow his attacks right back at him. They spent a good twenty minutes circling each other in the air, volleyballing fireballs, before they both had to stop and breathe, glaring at each other across the airspace over a Burger Fool.

Thankfully Static had shown up at about that point, turning the tide in her favor. Working together they’d been able to take Hotstreak down and turn him over to the authorities with less trouble than either of them seemed to have expected.

~*~

“So, when did you plan on telling me about the whole ‘superhero’ thing?” Eyes blowing wide, Freida’s gaze shot up from her burger. Daisy was settling into the seat across from her, knowing smile on her face.

“How-?”

“Five times you’ve gotten annoyed with someone only for a sudden gust of wind to blow their stuff everywhere.” She popped a few fries into her mouth, chewed, and swallowed. “Plus, I saw your costume last time I was over, and you don’t seem like half the cosplay nerd the boys are.” After a second or two staring at her friend, Freida sighed.

“Okay, I’m a superhero, happy?” Daisy snatched a few more of her fries.

“Nope. From now on, I’m helping you out.” Freida blinked, eyes still wide.

“Helping me out?” Daisy’s smile broadened.

“Well it’s not like I can just let you go it alone.”

~*~

Daisy’s basement turned out to make a pretty good base of operations. Her parents had long ago turned it over to her and her projects, and it had its own entrance from the backyard. Within a few days they had a tracker in Freida’s costume, access to police records and radio, and programs set to alert them to any strange sightings or occurrences around the city.

It wasn’t the Justice League Headquarters or anything, but a damn fine job for a pair of high school students.

~*~

For Daisy, her power reveal was a little bit more of a close call. It was five months or so after the Big Bang when she woke up feeling and looking absolutely miserable. Between helping Freida, her school work, and her own personal projects, she wasn’t getting near enough sleep and she could feel it, a tired ache down among her bones. On top of that, her hair was refusing to cooperate, the bags under her eyes were dark enough to draw in light like a black hole, and she had too many zits to even think about.

In a fit of teenage melodrama, she had wished with all her heart that she could just disappear.

Alas, life doesn’t stop for the tired or those with bad hair, and so she’d gathered her things together and headed off to school where, nothing had happened. Not the normal nothing, the ‘nothing interesting’, but, isolated nothing. Nobody so much as looked at her all morning. Nobody said hello. The teachers didn’t call on her. It was like she wasn’t even there. Just an empty patch of air threading its way through the halls and taking up her seat. Easily one of the creepiest experiences of her life. Come lunch she’d found herself heading for one of the lesser-used bathrooms, wanting to take some time to calm herself down, to relax. Went in, splashed some water on her face, looked up

There was nothing in the mirror.

Good news, the sight shocked her right back into visibility. Bad news, she hadn’t been visible all damn morning.

“That was too fucked up!”

~*~

“Where were you all morning?”

“Invisible, apparently.”

“…huh.”

~*~

That Saturday Daisy and Freida hopped a bus to the outskirts of town, where they could experiment with their powers without risking any company. Once you got out of the cities populations tapered off quick and by nine they were well out of the way of anybody who might see them or give them trouble.

They were methodical in their investigation, Freida hovering around in the air taking notes as Daisy first worked on winking herself in and out of view, and then began trying to do other things. She couldn’t float or hover. No ghosting through things. Unsurprisingly no possessing stuff either. Nor, it seemed, astral projecting, or shield generating. Then Daisy’d stepped into a beam of light and that had set off the most impressive lightshow either of them had seen outside of a rock concert.

Of course, focus went immediately there. Could she do that on purpose? Tests said yes. Could she do it without reflected light? If she tried. Could she generate light? To Freida’s amusement, yes there too. (“My bestfriend’s a flashlight.” “Shut up.”) The best part though, was when they were testing whether she could control the intensity of the light (yes) and discovered she could focus it into lasers.

Actual lasers.

That was going to be so awesome.

~*~

Of course, this meant Daisy was going to start helping out in the field, she had fucking lasers now. What person wouldn’t use that new ability to help their friend, especially if it meant saving the day? Especially if it meant you got to dress up.

Freida had taken this calling to superheroing as her chance to live childhood dreams of being a Sailor Scout, with a costume that was probably only two steps away from copyright infringement and the addition of some black leggings to protect her modesty. Daisy headed in a similar direction, recognizing an excuse to make herself up like Cardcaptor Sakura. One flowy purple dress, complete with ribbons, and a pair of nice yet functional boots later, all laden down with as much sparkle as possible (it served a functional purpose, how awesome was that?) and Ultraviolet was ready to go.

~*~

“‘Ultraviolet’. Of course, because nerds of a feather.”

~*~

Ultraviolet’s first few times out fighting crime went pretty well. Temporarily blind a robber here. Disorient an aggressive drunk there. She couldn’t use her light powers and go invisible at the same time, unfortunately, but both came very much in handy. She could fight and sneak with the best of them out there, it was great. Bang Babies gave her a little more trouble than people without powers- they tended to be faster, more durable, and somehow seemed to have better access to eye protection- but between herself and Hurricane they could easily handle things as well as Static could.

Then they’d gone up against the Meta Breed. It’d been going, mostly well. Ultraviolet was pretty much the anti-Ebon, and Hurricane countered Talon beautifully, it was just Shiv that was a pain in the ass. The gang was spread out just enough for Hurricane to have to take her focus off Talon to handle him, and Ultraviolet was stuck on the ground with him. Worse, exposure to his own powers seemed to have made him less susceptible to her own than most people. Not that they couldn’t have eventually gotten everything managed, but then…

~*~

Sharon didn’t get a power reveal, hers built up slowly over time. At least at first. She could levitate a pencil. Weird, but cool. She could drag a book off the shelf and across the room into her hand. She was Matilda! She could walk on walls, apparently, let’s not do that again, please thank you.

Then one day, at around the same time Daisy was learning she wasn’t normal any longer, she been internally raging about how maybe if she put everything on the fucking ceiling and out of the way one of the men in the house would finally deign to pick up a damn broom, and before she knew it there everything was, on the ceiling. Including her. And the damn broom.

The family had ended up with take-out for dinner because after cleaning up the resulting mess like hell she was cooking.

~*~

Becoming a superhero was in the cards from the moment she realized just how great a jump in power she’d experienced. It was one of those traits people were always surprised to learn she shared with her brother, the feeling that she’d have made an amazing superhero if she’d had the powers or tech for it, the knowledge that she would’ve gone that route given the opportunity. That was just the sort’ve person she was. But she was also a grown woman, an adult who knew well enough that diving into the fray without proper preparation could be disastrous, especially when she was relearning the boundaries of her powers. Instead she’d set to practicing in her spare time, studying up on the various criminals of Dakota, taking self defense courses at the community center. Preparing.

Unfortunately, the best laid plans of mice and men…

She hadn’t expected to find herself smackdab at the edge of a fight between Hurricane, Ultraviolet, and the Meta Breed. Really, she hadn’t. Still, she knew she would need any information she could glean later, and so had stuck around to watch from what was hopefully a safe distance.

They’d been holding their own surprisingly well. Talon wasn’t built to withstand high winds, and the roar of them stole away a good amount of her voice’s potency, making her much less of a threat when Hurricane was on the job. And Ultraviolet, the light she was giving of, the lasers she was firing, were practically making swiss cheese out of Ebon. But, there were three criminals there, not two, and Shiv was making himself a slippery little nuisance for the heroes, working to distract Ultraviolet from Ebon. It was when he came forward while her back was turned, aiming a blow somewhere around her kidneys, that Sharon couldn’t stop herself jumping into action.

Note, she had been attempting to repel Shiv, not everything.  What happened was she ended up alone in a circle of empty space, each and every item in a forty-foot radius that hadn’t been nailed down having been sent flying off. She at least had the decency to be sheepish about this fact (and to panic internally, because holy fuck she wasn’t exactly wearing a disguise) for about a second and a half before steeling herself and leveling her harshest glare at each of the Meta Breed.

Either her glare, her powers, or the fact the numbers were now even apparently got through to Ebon that this wasn’t a good place to be, because patches of black shadow opened under himself and his gang, dragging them away as the heroes shook themselves off and got back to their feet. Both girls were staring at her like she had two heads.

“Sharon?!” That voice was too familiar, and the hair, and build-

“Freida Goren, what do you think you’re doing?!”

“Helping protect the city!” Sharon paid the stubborn tone no mind, still choking on the idea that Hurricane was a kid she’d known since her brother was still small enough for her to pick up. She whirled to face Ultraviolet, who at least was good enough to look like she was in trouble.

“And you-”

“Daisy.” Daisy. Was Virgil’s entire social group out fighting violent criminals!? Was that what was happening here? Letting out a ragged breath, Sharon dropped her head into one hand and began massaging her temples.

“Bad enough Virgil and Richie are running off all hours of the day and night, now I have to worry about you two too…”

~*~

After that, of course she wasn’t going to let them go running around fighting crime without adult supervision. But, first things first, she enrolled them both in the community center’s self-defense classes. In exchange, they helped her practice with her powers in a safe and controlled environment.

~*~

For over a month Sharon refused to let the girls help her get an outfit together. She threw something together, accepted a mask ‘for now’, and ran around in something that didn’t look quite professional until finally-

“Oh my god, tell me you didn’t actually commission leather armor for your costume.” Sharon just smirked, spreading her arms and twisting her body to better show off her superhero outfit. She’d gone for a knee length skirt and tall boots, long sleeves, leather greaves, and a mask to match, all in rich browns and golds. It even tied into her hairdo, braided edgings mimicking the braided bun she’d begun keeping her hair in.

Daisy was seriously considering following her lead there. Freida could fly out of reach, and Sharon was getting better at precision use of her powers, keeping people at arm’s length, but a simple pair of sunglasses could cause her trouble and she was getting real tired of people trying to use her hair as a handle.

“It was way more than I’d planned to spend,” Sharon explained, openly proud of herself and given how impressive she looked she’d earned it, “but if I’m going to be a superhero I’m totally Wonderwomaning it up.”

~*~

“You know what, girls?”

“What?”

“We totally need a team name.”

“No.”

“That could be cool...”

“I vote ‘Earth, Wind, and Fire’.”

“…”

“…Daisy, you’re closer, smack her for me.”

[howterrifying]

+molliarty: 2018

I promised myself I would spend the last hours of 2017 writing, in the hopes of setting the tone for 2018 that I would spend less time moping about and wasting my life, and instead, doing that which I love which is write. I'm glad to say I've done that. Wherever you are in the world, whenever it is that your clock strikes twelve, here's wishing you hope, health and happiness for 2018. Happy New Year, darlings. x

::

A Beginning  (also on AO3 and FF.net) It was not often that Jim found himself in a fix. If anything, he was the master of getaways, literally getting away with every crime he had committed – or helped commit. Furthermore, Jim could not recall the last time he had felt anxious. As a man who always found a solution to everything, this was a perplexing situation he found himself in.  

“Sir?” the voice of one of his peons broke his train of thought. “Hmm?” he answered, somewhat distractedly as he looked up from his desk.   “The mission was a success and we’re ready for your inspection.” “Ah yes, the spoils of war…” Jim murmured. “The car is waiting for you, Sir.” “Excellent.” All through the car ride to one of his secret safe houses, Jim’s troubled mind continued to whir on. The safe house was empty today, save for the usual security and staff that manned the place. Today had not been a day for prisoner or hostage-taking. Instead, Jim was ushered to a vault at the basement of the building. Stepping into the cold, grey-walled vault, the eyes of a pre-occupied Jim Moriarty merely glanced over the towers of cash and bags of jewels that had been the catch of the day. He almost looked unimpressed in spite of the rather impressive loot displayed before him.   “Is that all?” he said, clicking his tongue casually as his perfectly polished Prada oxfords stepped heedlessly over spilled stacks of pound notes.   In answer to his question, a staff member directed Jim to a small table beside the mountain range of treasure. On it was a very small safe, pristine and unopened.   “What have we here then?” Jim asked, a spark returning to his eyes as the challenge of an unopened safe set his little worry aside for a moment.   He ran his hands gently over the cool metal exterior of the safe, smirking to himself as his mind spun, studying the dial of the safe and working out the combinations in his head. Jim Moriarty never had to break into safes. He merely opened them.   “There…” he whispered to himself, satisfied as he heard the final click of the dial and the glorious sound of the internal catch being released. Slowly, he pulled the metallic door open and his eyes brightened in curiosity at the small velvet pouch that lay in the centre of the safe. Jim reached for the pouch and undid the butterfly knot at its neck. With the mouth of the pouch open, he spilled the contents out onto his palm and gasped softly at what he saw.   “Ladies and gentlemen,” said Jim, looking up from his palm and turning to the row of staff behind him. “I congratulate you on a job very well done.”   The pleasure that filled Jim from head to toe was not from the sheer beauty of the rare and beautifully-cut ruby that lay glittering on his palm. Instead, it came from the immense relief that his conundrum was now over.   -- With his problem solved and well behind him now, Jim Moriarty could hardly believe the new wave of anxiety that started to creep under his skin again.   “I don’t like this at all,” he muttered to himself, tapping his foot in frustration. Still, he knew what lay ahead of him and, against every instinct he had, extended his gloved finger and pressed the doorbell in front of him.   “Jim! Hi! Come in, come in…” Her voice alone reminded him why he had texted her if to see if he could come see her and why he was now stood outside her door late at night on New Year’s Eve. “Thanks Molly,” he said with a genuine smile as he wiped his feet and stepped into her lovely, warm flat.   Molly had already gotten tea ready and poured them each a cup as they settled on her sofa.   “So, how was the New Year’s Eve do?” he asked, reaching for his tea.   “The same as they always are. Clichéd and uneventful,” she answered with a shrug.   “Is that why you’re home before midnight?” said Jim with a little chuckle.   “How clever you are, Jim Moriarty,” she answered with a laugh of her own.   “I’m sorry I couldn't go with you…” “I’m rather glad you didn’t actually,” Molly remarked, sipping her tea. “Oh? Why?” “You’d have been so bored,” laughed Molly, “And I would have felt bad.” “Never feel bad for me, Molly,” Jim answered, smiling at her. “I’ll remember that.”   Jim sat up and reached for the pot of tea, proceeding to refill their cups.   “So, what brings you here so suddenly?” asked Molly.   “Would it be too nauseating to say it was because I missed you?” Jim remarked with a teasing glint in his eyes.   His words caused Molly to laugh, almost spilling her cup of tea. She then put her cup down and leaned forward to kiss him gently on the cheek.   “And would it be too nauseating to reply with a kiss?” she asked, smiling against his cheek.   It was his turn to chuckle heartily as he turned to take her face in his hands so as to kiss her properly on the lips.   “If you must know,” said Jim softly after their mouths parted ways, “I just wanted to see you. An office romance isn’t purely restricted to the office, I’ve been told.” “We must be telepathic then,” Molly replied, amused. “How so?” asked Jim, slightly confused.   “Because I wanted to see you too.”     Her words lit a quiet fire in his chest, almost causing him to blush. Thankfully, the cold blood that made Jim Moriarty Jim Moriarty contained the flush in his cheeks. Jim really did not like this at all. Yet, here he was – sipping tea with what should have been a prop in his grand scheme but who was now the very centre of his existence.   “Also,” he said, remembering what he had really come to do, “I have something for you.”   Reaching into his pocket, Jim took out a familiar velvet pouch and placed it firmly in Molly’s hands.   “A little something,” he said, somewhat bashfully, “for you.” Molly stared at what he had placed in her hands before looking up gratefully at him.   “May I open it?” she asked, her eyes shining in excitement.   “Please,” he answered, trying to hide the nerves from before that now resurfaced. After she had carefully undone the knot, Molly tipped the pouch as a silver necklace with a pendant slid out into her palm. With gentle fingers, Molly lifted the necklace to examine the pendant and her eyes blinked in wonder at how beautiful it was.   There, hanging from a silver chain that Molly held in her fingers, was a miniature but anatomically accurate heart carved intricately out of silver. Not only was it perfectly carved with its details of veins and arteries, embedded just slightly off-centre of it was the exquisite ruby Jim had uncovered from before.   “My god, Jim,” Molly whispered, completely mesmerised by the work of art in her hands. “Is it too much? I knew I’d overdone it—“ “Rubbish,” interrupted Molly. “It is, isn’t it? Maybe I should’ve—” “Jim!” exclaimed Molly, smiling at him, amused, “You’re quite the fool for someone so intelligent.” Jim had not realised that the waves of anxiety had finally peaked into this moment where he was sure he had gotten everything wrong. It angered him further how much he yearned for her to be happy with his gift.   “So…” he began, a little unsteadily. “So,” Molly continued for him, “I absolutely love it.” With that, she turned to him and moved to kiss him again, smiling when she felt his smile against her lips.   “It’s so beautiful, Jim. Thank you,” said Molly.   “I’m glad,” he replied, as he finally began to relax.   “I’ve never seen anything like this,” Molly continued in wonder as she began to study the pendant. “And this ruby is just—I have no words for how beautifully it gleams even in my flat’s awful lighting Jim laughed at her comment and gently took the necklace from her. He gestured to her to sweep her hair aside so he could put the necklace on for her. Carefully, he fixed the tiny clasps of the necklace behind her neck and was relieved to see it did suit her.   “I have to ask, Jim…” Molly said, picking the pendant up between her fingers. “Yes?” “It looks so expensive. Did you rob a very rich person or something?” she asked with a laugh.   Jim had to blink and compose himself. For a moment, he had forgotten that she still had no clue as to the nature of his real, IT-unrelated occupation. Her joke had, in fact, been fact.   “I did, actually,” he said with smirk, watching in amusement at Molly’s expression of mock horror. “If it’s any consolation, she wasn’t a very pleasant rich person.” Chuckling at his answer, Molly looked down at her pendant and smiled to herself.   “Well, I am touched you would go to such lengths for me,” Molly remarked, amused.   “Anything for you, Molly,” Jim replied.   It was true, though. Jim had decided he probably would do anything for her. Had that not been the idea behind his gift? Love – and all its nauseating sentiment – was far too visceral a concept for him to handle and yet, with her, it was impossible not to consider it. She was the gem embedded in that heavy, iron heart of his.   “Oh,” Molly exclaimed suddenly.   “What?” Jim asked, sitting up with a start. “It’s midnight,” answered Molly.   “And so it is,” Jim concurred, checking his watch.   The pair looked at each other and the corners of their lips lifted into smiles. They had not expected to meet this evening, much less cross into the new year together but it seemed now that they had. For Jim, he had not expected to want to begin the new year this way.   “Happy New Year, darling,” whispered Molly as she surprised him with a quick kiss on his temple.     Darling, he thought. Had his insides not already been on fire he was sure he would have melted into her sofa.   “And a Happy New year to you too…darling,” he repeated, turning to kiss her on her beautiful lips.   For Jim Moriarty, this was certainly a new beginning, in more ways than one.

[evdothansen]

Mad – Michael Mell x Reader;

Author’s Note: i would like to thank the lovely @1enchantedfantasy1, who helped me out with the idea for this. thank you, emily, for real. i hope you like it xD also what the heck the struggle is real ok it’s almost 30 degrees here and it’s 11PM??? get ur shit together, vienna, i’m melting;

Pairing: Michael Mell x Reader;

Request: not requested by anyone (although requests are open!), but the prompt i used was “I forgot about the no spaghetti strap rule, give me your hoodie before a teacher notices.”, because i knew i had to do it for michael the moment i laid eyes on it;

Word Count: 2611;

Warnings: swearing i think?? fluff??? HEAT???? and physics which for me has to be a warning. also, not proofread;

Michael rung the doorbell quickly, scratching his neck right afterwards. He stood in your front porch, waiting for you to open the door so the two of you could study together. He changed his weight from one foot to the other, seconds feeling like an eternity. When he finally heard footsteps approaching the door, he felt his heart skipping a beat. What was happening to him? He was there to tutor you with mechanics because your Physics teacher asked him to, just like he’d been at other classmates’ houses to tutor them because your Physics teacher had asked him to. It wasn’t really a big deal – he was deliberately the best student in the class, specially when it came to mechanics, so every now and then, since freshman year, the teacher would ask him to help out a classmate. It was a regular thing on his life.

Except that he had never been asked to tutor you, specifically. You, his crush since freshman year. Heck, since middle school. You weren’t exactly on his friend circle, no, but he still remembered seventh grade, when you were science lab partners, and so did you. You saw eachother in the hallways every day, and, whenever you passed by, you’d smile at Christine, who you knew from the Drama Club, and Jeremy, who you knew to be Michael’s best friend, and sweetly say hi to Michael before following your way to class. All year long, he’d been trying to get himself to answer you properly instead of just babbling, but had no success. But social interaction wasn’t Michael’s forte, right? That was totally the reason why he got way too flustered at those greetings, it had to be. Mechanics, though? That was his thing. It would be just fine. He wouldn’t become a mumbling mess, after all, he had gone through it more than a hundred times.

The door was shot open, cutting his thoughts off. On the other side, stood you, shining him your always sweet smile. “Michael! You’re here!”

“H-hey.” He managed to say, mentally facepalming himself.

“Come in, please!” You told him, stepping out of the way. He did, gripping onto his backpack tightly so his hands wouldn’t shake. You closed the door behind him and started walking in, leading him to what seemed to be your room. “God, I’m so lucky you agreed on this. I mean, everyone knows you’re the best student on Mrs. Smith class, and I’m almost failing Physics, so I think you’re the only one who can actually save me from this one.”

“A-almost failing?” He managed to say. “But y-you’ve always been so smart, Y/N.”

You turned your face away and faced the door, thankful for having an excuse to not letting him see your face as you blushed as pursed your lips. Calm down, Y/N. It’s just Michael Mell, who you know since seventh grade, helping you out with mechanics. “Yeah, well, apparently not smart enough.”

“You probably don’t even need me.” He told you with a small smile as you both entered your room. It was a nice place with a single window, your bed, a desk, a door that led to what he thought to be a walk-in closet and your decorations. He was admired at the bedroom. It wasn’t much and he felt ridiculous, but, still, it was a part of you. And, God, it was so you.

“Oh, believe me, I so do.” You told him, fully believing it although Mrs. Smith told you the same thing. Your self-esteem wasn’t the highest ever, though, so you didn’t believe ether of them. “But, um, make yourself comfortable, I guess. Let me just grab my brother’s chair and we’ll start, okay?”

Michael nodded and hummed as you headed out and briefly came back in. The two of you revised exercises and the notes you had taken (you just discovered that Michael didn’t take too many notes, his notebook was mostly doodles of videogame characters), then he tried to clear up some of your doubts. Two hours in, your mom came home, greeting him and giving you a look that could only mean so-this-is-the-guy-you-just-won’t-shut-up-about before offering both of you something to drink. Ten minutes later, she brought upstairs a tray with two cups of apple juice and a plate of your dad’s homemade cookies. You studied for yet another hour, and then you realized Michael had been a little uptight and was letting it go by now. He seemed to be really at ease with the subject, and there was something about how he raised his eyebrows and pointed at different numbers. Although you suppose he was being of more help now, when he was finally comfortable, you were having a harder time focusing, and of course it had absolutely nothing to do with his caramel lips or how his jet black hair looked soft. No, that would have been dumb, right? You didn’t know for sure, but you tried to convince yourself of it for hours after he left.

For two more weeks, you and Michael had these little study sessions three times a week. On Mondays, you’d just go to the school’s library and work there, for both of you had a free period in the middle of the day. Then, on Wednesdays, he drove you both to your place, where usually you’d have the same routine as that of the first time. Then, on Fridays, when your brother’s garage band usually held rehearsals a your place, he waited for you at his house, and you’d stay up late studying (and talking about stuff that just popped up spontaneously, because, God, it was Friday) together. Michael was a great tutor, yes, so you learned a lot, but you felt as if throughout the two weeks you learned less by the day. Not that he was teaching you less, no, the more comfortable he got with you, easier tutoring became for him. You just couldn’t focus on mechanics as well as you could before now, because Michael’s lips were way more interesting than what he was talking about and you were forced to admit it.

The Physics exam was on a Thursday, and, wow, did you thank goodness for it. Wednesday afternoon, you and Michael did a big review of everything at your place, and you absolutely couldn’t understand how come he was so relaxed. You thought your brain would freak and explode, because besides that being the big test and Michael being distraught making you even more attracted to him, it was way too hot to even hold a pen up properly.

“Come on, Y/N, you have to relax a little.” He told you around 6PM. It was amazing how he seemed way more natural when talking to you now, the Michael you saw on the hallways with his friends every day. “It’s not like you don’t know anything, you’re gonna do fine! And, even if you didn’t, freaking out a day before’s not the solution.”

“Yeah, easy for you to say it.” You said, a little way too bitter, wiping sweat away with the back of your hand. “Sorry. Hot weather turns me into an asshole. How the heck are you not melting under that hoodie, Michael? I feel hot only for seeing you in it!”

You are hot, he thought, barely being able to hold it back in. He pushed the thought away, shaking his head at you. “This hoodie’s miraculous, Y/N, but don’t change the subject. Look, why don’t we close those textbooks and do something else? You need to chill.”

“Michael, the exam’s tomorrow! I can’t leave the books, not tonight.” You reasoned, and Michael gave you a smirk that told you he had an idea. “And, no, we’re not gonna get stoned in your basement right now. Wrong timing, buddy.”

“I didn’t even say anything about getting stoned!” He defended himself, and you rolled your eyes. “I do have videogames in my basement, though. I could teach you how to play something.”

“Did you not listen? Test! Tomorrow!”

“There’s an AC there, and my parents don’t mind if I keep it on.”

You bit your lip. The little asshole got you. As much as you needed to study, you knew you wouldn’t be able to when it was melting hot like this, and an air conditioner sounded like heaven right now. “Fine!” You told him, and his smirk grew wider. “But I have to be back by 8, or my parents will kill me.”

“Whatever you say, princess.” He told you, picking up the Cruiser’s keys as both of you left the textbooks behind.

You had a good time at Michael’s, you had to admit. Even if you sucked at videogames, it was fun when he taught you, and the two of you laughed a lot at your lack of skills. At a point, however, you gave up, leaving the controller on the sofa and satisfying yourself by picking songs while you watched Michael playing. He seemed to do videogames the same way he did Physics, or the same way he breathed. Oh, Jesus, Physics! You’d completely forgotten about the exam. You yawned, checking your phone’s clock – it was way past ten by now. Your parents would freak out completely.

“Michael.” You called in midst of a yawn. “I really should go. It’s late, and I didn’t finish –”

“I’m not gonna let you walk home by yourself when you’re almost passing out on my couch, Y/N.” He told you, shooting you a concerned look before turning back to the TV. “Look, the round’s almost over. When it is, I’ll drive you home and help you through the window, okay?”

You were too tired to disagree, so, instead, you yawned again and nodded, mumbling a response. When Michael took his eyes off the screen again, ready to grab his keys and take you home, you were already asleep on his couch. He shook his head and chuckled slightly. You’d been working yourself so hard this last week, he knew you were gonna pass out on the first opportunity you body saw. He couldn’t bring himself to wake you up, so, instead, he took your phone and called your mom, explaining how you were exhausted and was now asleep on his couch. She, who had already picked up on the fact you were stressed over the exam, said that, if it wasn’t a problem for him, you could spend the night there, as long as you came home to grab your school stuff next morning. After hanging up, he laid you down properly, putting his pillow under your head and leaving a blanket by your feet – though he doubted you’d need it. Before going up, back to his room, he stopped for a second and looked at you. Even he was amazed at how the tutoring had helped him out on talking to you. That same night, hadn’t you been so stressed, he was even planning to ask you out, which was just wonder of wonder. I mean, if you said yes, which you probably wouldn’t.

Michael sighed. Lying asleep on his couch, you still looked as beautiful as you did two weeks ago, when he first went to your house, and his heart still skipped a beat when he looked at you. He leaned down and pressed his lips against your temple for a second. “Good night, Y/N.”

The next morning, when Michael woke you up, you were confused for a moment. Then, you were mad at him. Really mad. And, then, having breakfast with his family – him, his parents and his grandma, who were absurdly kind to you –, you couldn’t help but be embarrassed. Still, when you both left his house to go to your place and fetch your stuff before going to school, you didn’t say a word to him. Michael, who knew you had a reasonable reason for all of it, only chuckled, even letting you pick the playlist.

When you entered the Physics classroom, stomping your way in front of him, Christine looked at you funny. “Hey, Y/N.” She greeted you. “Um, why are you wearing spaghetti straps?”

You looked at your shirt, still the same you were wearing the previous afternoon, only matched with pants now instead of your previous shorts. “The asshole here didn’t wake me up when I fell asleep at his place, so I’m still wearing what I wore yesterday afternoon.”

“Oh. So that’s why you seem so mad and Michael can’t stop cack – anyways.” She started, but trailed off at your angry glare and Michael’s frantic head shaking. “All I mean is that spaghetti straps are out of the dress code. Mrs. Smith won’t let you take the test if she sees you with that shirt.”

You facepalmed yourself. Shit. Christine was right. You didn’t even think about that, because you were too mad at Michael to pay attention to the school’s stupid dress code. So you did the only thing you could thing of: turned back to Michael, who had a concerned look on his face, and grasped at his hoodie’s hem. “Look, I know I’m being an asshole to you right now and you sort of deserve it but I’m exaggerating, but can you please, just for once, land me the goddamn hoodie?”

He blinked once. Then twice. Then, he nodded his head and shrugged, starting to take the red hoodie off. Once he was finished, you tried not to pay attention to the arms he always hid underneath it because goddamn it you were still mad at him, and put it on as quick as you could. Just when you were finished, Mrs. Smith entered the classroom, a few minutes early because of the exam, but you didn’t realize it, too blown away by how it felt. The fabric was good, yes, and surprisingly cool, as Michael had told you, but there was something else – the smell. A mixture between Michael’s Old Spice, Mountain Dew Red and a little of weed. Your senses were all messed up, but in the best possible way.

Michael, on the other side, was staring at you and blinking repeatedly. He had never landed that hoodie too anyone, not even Jeremy, but, God, did he choose the time right. You looked… Wow. Astounding. He felt the urge to touch you, to hold you, but, goddamit, you were still in the middle of a classroom crowded with students, and there was about a minute left before the bell rang. Ever so subtly, he took the hood off your head, letting his hand fall really close to where yours searched for support on your table. “You… You look really good in it, Y/N.”

His voice pulled you back to reality. Inside his hoodie, you felt really close to Michael, close enough to make you feel dizzy. Except… Except you weren’t.

Next thing any of you knew, your lips were pressed against his. He barely had time to react before the bell resounded and you were away again, sitting down as the teacher started taking the exams out of an envelope. Michael took the closest desk he could find, right by your side. As Mrs. Smith started giving instructions about the exam, he smiled, touching his lips, flustered, then looking at you.

“Didn’t see that coming.” He told you in a happy whisper.

“Yeah.” You bit your lip, blushing a little, and then smiled mockingly at him. “I’m still mad at you though.”

Michael shook his head, putting his pen, pencil and eraser on the table and chuckling a little. “If that’s mad you, you can be mad at me for forever.”

[hawaiianhalfwolf]

So what you're saying is, I'm your brand of heroin? | Noah & Reza

About three things Noah was absolutely positive.......

Toweling off his hair a little more Noah looked in the mirror for one last time checking to make sure he was presentable. If this was any normal night he’d be most likely be naked by now, obviously company warranted proper clothes. Or at least a pair of basketball shorts and a muscle tee. Hanging up his towel in his bathroom, Noah padded back across his room human ears pricked for the doorbell. He’d told Reza he could come over like an hour ago though maybe it took more time for the kid to get here than 30 minutes. Shrugging it off Noah went to scoop up the little foster pup from his position snoozing on his bed figuring it was best to just move everyone downstairs to wait. And of course it was only when he was halfway down the stairs did he hear it the faint chime of the doorbell that was only installed for Noah’s benefit, the little pup tucked under his arm starting to stir from all the noise. “Coming!” the boy called out as he ran down the last of the stairs Kea already beating him to the door “Back,” he commanded looking straight at her expecting her to do as she was told. And she did paws moving back a few steps, tail still wagging profusely. “Good girl” He praised before going for the door and opening it wide upon Reza. “Hello hello, long time no see.”

Reza would never admit to it but he'd shown up to Noah's house at the exact time given -- half an hour from their conversation-- and then proceeded to loiter around for another half hour. Mostly to avoid any unbearable situations, like accidentally disrupting Noah's shower early, but also because he didn't want to seem too eager. Which he was. Hanging around in that smelly hole of a basement he called home got lonely. Way lonely and cuddling it up with a dog was without a doubt the perfect solution. Talking to Noah didn't make things worse, either, since the older boy seemed to exist purely to spread positivity and kindness; something Reza really was lacking in his life at the moment. If only his traitorous thoughts would stop making him feel like hanging out with an admittedly handsome friend was in some way betrayal to a dead person. And really, person was a stretch. Jittery hands finally knocked on the door and Reza could immediately smell the mixed scent of dog, fresh shampoo and something his nose told him was Noah. "Hey," he greeted with a touch less enthusiasm, smile getting lost as his gaze quickly turned to the ground. "Thanks for letting me come over." Reza shifted on the doorstep, shrugging off his jacket as soon as he did to avoid it getting covered in dog hairs because no way was he not getting on his knees to pet the gorgeous dog wagging its tail, leaving him in the traditional black, skinny jeans and an even darker T-shirt (a personal favorite decorated with a sleeping cat and the words 'not today'). A sensation he knew by now, but was no less uncomfortable, told him that he couldn't pass the doorstep just yet. Noah hadn't explicitly invited him in which meant... yeah.

Moving away from the entrance so Reza could pass through Noah went to stand next to Kea happy she was waiting patiently. “It’s totally no problem dude.” He brushed off the gratitude smiling at the boy, because it really was no problem. “Plus you caught us on a quiet night, most of the time there’s at least 3 extra people milling about the kitchen eating our food, isn’t that right?” Noah cooed down at the little pup in his arms, his little snout giving a rather large yawn that made Noah’s heart practically melt in his chest. God he love puppies so much. Glancing back over at the kid he noticed he’s gotten rid of his jacket, a funny shirt and his general punk skinny jeans look underneath. And Noah would be lying if he didn’t feel that tingle, that small little wolf inside of him kinda wondering what all those clothes would look like on the floor. But he pushed that down. God. He really needed to get laid sometime soon so that shit stopped happening with his fucking friends. Shaking off the inner turmoil though Noah cocked his head at the boy outside. “So what are you a vampire now?” Noah teased looking at Reza standing stock still on the doorway. Most of his regular friends would have barged in by now, but then again Reza was not a normal friend, and maybe he just was super polite, yea maybe that was it. “Come on get in here before Kea explodes from excitement.” Noah said before turning and walking towards the couch making it plainly clear the Reza should come inside now. Oh and shut the door behind him too.

Reza quickly began to fidget, weighing the option of just turning on his heel and walking the other way because this was just... the worst. The puppy yawned with excitement and Reza decided to stay, if only for the dog. Something shifted in Noah's eyes for a second, pupils darkening and for a moment Reza wondered if it was realization dawning behind his eyes. Did Reza's reluctance -- or inability-- to enter somehow out him as a vampire? Holy... “So what are you a vampire now?” A... a joke? Noah was joking. Obviously. He didn't know, how could he. The offer to step inside was accepted without hesitation, Reza shuffling inside with an awkward laugh. "A vampire. Yeah, for sure. I'm the one creeping outside your window every night." Cringing at himself, Reza simply turned all his attention to the dog instead of trying to fix that mess of a sentence. He was greeted vigorously by the door, a genuine laugh slipping past his lips as paws scrabbled for Reza, tongue slobbering towards his face. "Hey, there, girl How are you? You are absolutely gorgeous," he cooed, the built up tension and nervousness easing slightly as his cold fingers wrapped into the soft fur.

“You know if you wanted to see me naked all you had to do was ask.” Noah quipped playfully over his shoulder as he walked over to the couch the little foster puppy in tow with him while Haukea stayed by the door. Blanching a little though at the realization of what he just said, to Reza, someone who thought he was weird for giving a compliment Noah instantly backtracked “And I swear that was totally a joke” He said turning around so Reza could see the seriousness in his eyes. Holding it for a moment Noah resumed his task, sitting down and making himself comfortable. That and reminding himself that Reza was not one of his bros. He didn’t get the humor and the subtle gay undertones that were a part of Noah’s everyday life with his friends. Looking over at Haukea though (as she totally ignored her training and jumped on Reza, hed had to go over that with her again) Noah realized again where he was failing  “Oh my god. You’ve never met Haukea have you.” Noah asked over the side of the couch practically face palming himself “Wow. My total bad dude. So yea that’s Haukea, she loves long walkies and taking up half of whatever you are sitting on. So don’t say you weren’t warned” Noah grinned over at the pair happy that Kea might have have a part in making the poor kid smile.

"That's not what I..." Reza started defensively, cutting himself off short as he remembered that Noah liked his jokes a bit underneath the belt. So this was a joke. Obviously. Noah quickly confirmed that he hadn't been serious but Reza was still rigid as a stick. Man, this was exhausting, wading through weird hoops of compliments and sexual jokes delivered so casually that they made him sort of choke on his own spit. His attention turned back to the dog, a much safer area than pretty much all conversation with Noah, a smile returning to Reza's face. "She can take up all the space she wants." Nuzzling her head with his forehead before the dog bounded back to Noah, Reza stood up and brushed off his jeans. He felt pretty exposed wearing nothing but a T-shirt but putting on his jacket would make it seem like he was itching to leave right away. Hands in his pockets, Reza loitered over to the couch, glancing to the puppy joining Noah on the couch. "And, uh, who's that then?"

Ignoring the slightly awkward atmosphere that came about with his joke Noah focused on making himself more comfortable on the couch.Turning his back toward the armrest Noah spread his legs slightly placing the small pup on the space between his chest and his knees. Yea that was a lot more comfortable, though that still left Reza over by the door while Noah was taking up half the couch.. “You shouldn’t say that.” Noah replied to Reza with a playful shake of his head hoping the kid would get the memo that he could come into the living room. “Because next thing you know she’ll be pushing you out of a queen sized bed. Huh you little bed stealer ” He gave Haukea a nice head scratch as she passed already jumping up into her usual spot at Noah’s feet. But that’s not what Noah wanted. “Down.” Noah commanded with a finger snap the second her paws touched the couch. “Reza gets to chose where he sits first then you can squeeze your ass in whatever space is available” He told her as if she understood, but he guessed that was less for her benefit and more for Reza’s. Because while there were few of fluffy pillows strewn about the floor (from the last pack meeting), and a rather large looking armchair tucked in the corner (Cahill’s chair) Noah kinda wished Reza would sit with him on the couch. You know. Like Friends did. Looking down at the speckled puppy trying to find a good sport on his chest Noah huffed a little, the pups name a sore spot in his eyes “Well technically his name at the barn was Granite, but I’m not sure if I like that for him.” He frowned at the puppy slightly “Though I probably shouldn’t rename him if I’m fostering, don’t want to become too attached you know”

"I don't need..." A bed? Sleep? Not things you can say, Reza, "...that much space, to be honest. Perks of being a skinny, small guy." Usually, he was more comfortable curled up on the edge of a mattress, anyway. As Haukea was commanded to the floor, Reza frowned, her big, sad dog eyes tugging at his sympathy. Noah's following statement made him shift awkwardly as he wondered if Mister Big and Burly wanted Reza to squeeze into the couch with him. That plan had so many flaws, including but not exclusive to Reza's cold skin, Reza being that close to someone with a beating heart (blood bag or no, his gums still itched at the thought) and Reza being mildly terrified of the thought of human contact since... Yeah, Reza on the couch wasn't happening. "Aw, I don't have the heart to leave her on the floor," he excused himself, taking a seat crosslegged on a pillow facing Noah. It felt instantly more comfortable, perhaps in part because this was the similar set up he'd had with Heath while watching TV and no, comparing Noah to him in any way or form was not an option. "What if I rename him?" he blurted out to escape from pit in his head that had slowly cracked open, "that way it's not exactly yours but you get to call it something else?"

Noah couldn’t help but chuckle a bit at Reza chalking up the small pause in between his phrases as just the punk teen being awkward again. “Well the concept of not needing much space that has become completely foreign to me since puberty,” He admitted with a shrug ruffling the fluffy ears of the puppy in his lap. Watching closely as Haukea used her eyes Reza though Noah opened his mouth to say something but instantly shut it, knowing that he probably had fucked on on this one.  Because offering couch space to Reza was too forward wasn’t it? It was too intimate and too. It was too much of what Noah liked and what Noah needed, and probably none what Reza needed. So taking the small sense of hurt and rejection and burying it deep down Noah just spread his legs out in front of him the pup in his lap nipping lightly at Noah’s leg as it moved. “Well your loss dude.” He joked out casually “Especially since she’s definitely manipulating you.” Noah looked over towards Haukea the lab smiling between both Noah and Reza almost happy she got her way. But he could never be mad at that face for long “Yea cuz you would have been just fine spread eagle over the top of us on the couch wouldn’t you?” He cooed as he gave her a couple good neck scratches with his outstretched hand. Feeling Granite start to puppy chew on his other hand Noah glanced over to Reza mulling his proposition over in his mind  “I mean if you want to? I mean. I guess. I don’t know.” Noah rambled knowing he was making no sense whatsoever, “But I guess what I mean to say is If you feel like you have a good one I’m definitely open to it.

Reza watched the dog for a moment as it made itself comfortable, wondering if he was really that easily manipulated that a canine could overpower his will. No, this had been a decision based purely on not having to plop onto the sofa next to Noah. Reza wasn't the pushover he'd been -- how could he be considering what he'd become? Besides, that big ball of fluff wasn't capable of real manipulation, anyway. Brushing off the cord the statement had struck within him, Reza focused on the name-giving instead. "Hey, woah, I never said I had a good one. Just trying to be a problem solver." Leaning back, palms flat against the floor, he thought it over. A lot of names he'd have given his own pets came to mind but this was Noah. Maybe it didn't need to be too complicated, though... "I think, and don't cite me on this, that in Hebrew, Caleb means like, wolf or dog or something. So it's like naming your cat Cat."

“Well you’re in the Kalani household now kid, we expect perfection” Noah teased out towards Reza a sly grin on his face. It was hopefully taken as the joke it was, mostly because he really did appreciate the help however small. And he was glad reza was starting to get comfortable with him enough to suggest things. Contemplating the suggestion though Noah bit his lip slightly “You know I never thought about Caleb. I mean I usually name my animals funny things in Hawaiian and not funny things in Hebrew.” Noah smiled looking down at Haukea (aka little miss Snow White) fondly. Well that was before Granite puppy chewed at his fingers again bringing the older boy’s attention back to him “But maybe you could be the one that breaks the mold huh buddy.” He cooed moving his hands a bit so the pup had to move some to pin them. “So hebrew huh? Do you actually know the language or are you like a name researcher” He asked glancing over at Reza.

Reza felt immensely relieved that Noah liked the name, feeling pretty happy to have put something nice into this household. Even though it wasn't permanent but maybe the name would stick. Eyeing the dog with envy, knowing that there was no way he could take care of a dog -- not to mention a puppy-- Reza ripped himself out of those thoughts. Yes, having something to cuddle in the damp hole of a basement would make everything tremendously improved but he couldn't do that to the poor thing, bringing it into those living conditions. He didn't want to think about what else could go wrong, having a live animal around him at all times. The blood bags weren't necessarily going to be a plan forever. "Uh, neither? I do know some Arabic and the two are pretty similiar in a lot of ways so... I mean, I have researched names but like... only pet names since that was kinda all I wanted when I was younger. And now, too, I guess." He smiled, eyes flicking back to the puppy trying to devour Noah's hand and failing completely.

Glancing over toward Reza Noah could see his eyes on the pup, the longing almost palpable and Noah knew what he had to do next. Lifting Granite/Caleb off of his chest the older boy placed him on the floor in a small unceremonious gesture scooting the pup toward the boy “Here go terrorize your sister and Uncle Reza for a change.” He mock whispered to the pup as Haukea lifted her head from her spot, tail thumping against the ground in anticipation for puppy play time with her new little foster brother. Settling back into his dog free zone on the couch Noah scooted forward his head now resting on a pillow against the headrest, his long ass legs dangling slightly from the other end.    “Thats pretty cool.” He commented though once Reza started talking about his language skills “I mean I’ve never tried Arabic, but I give you mad props for trying, cuz it looks hard as fuck.” Turning he resettled himself so he was facing Reza and not the ceiling “I do get the pet name thing though, cuz my dad was always asking me to name the strays left at his clinic. So I’d go online and take a few days to pick out like what I thought was the perfect name and he’d be like… you know you could have just picked something easy like Bob” Noah recalled with a smile, heart aching slightly at the fact that that was only a memory now.

Reza accepted the pup trotting over with welcoming arms, chuckling as it stumbled over his legs. "Hey," he whispered to Caleb, scratching his head. "Hmm? Oh, it's easier when your parents speak the language. I mean, I'm rusty as fuck these days but..." Shrugging, Reza saved his fingers from the relentless puppy's chewing to pull down the collar of his shirt. "I kid myself that I'm keeping the language alive by getting tattoos in urdu, like my mom's name here. I also have a quote on my ribs but, uhm..." Reza let his shirt fall back over his collarbone, clearing his throat. "Yeah, you can just imagine that one. So, uh, Bob the dog. Doesn't have as good of a ring to it as Caleb the dog." Smooth transition there, big guy. Reza really did like talking about his tattoos but he wasn't going to start... stripping for Noah to show them off.

Looking at Reza Noah smiled a little glad that the Caleb was having a good time with his guest. “Yea i’ll bet” Noah mumbled out into the couch a little sad that his dad didn’t speak more Hawaiian to him, or that his mom completely forgot her Turkish due to being adopted young. Eye tracking Reza though he stared at deft fingers pulling down his shirt collar to show him his urdu tattoo, that was actually quite beautiful. Trying not to stare to hard though Noah focused on the symbolism of the tattoo and not the pale skin underneath especially when Reza started blushing about the quote on his ribs.  “Dude don’t kid yourself.” Noah shook his head sitting up on the couch  “I mean first thing I’m doing when I get off of football this year is go and get my family’s tribal pattern on my chest and shoulder in honor of my dad. So like I get it.” He grinned at the other boy before the light bulb went off in his head “Which speaking of, do you know any good artists that know about polynesian tattoos?” He asked Reza ears perking up slightly at the sound of the door opening. It was Charlie one of the pack members coming through the door. “Looking for extra poker chips?” Noah called out to him pre-empting the mans questioning. It was poker night for Cahill and his male pack members, and of course the Alpha would send someone else to collect the things Noah told him he should bring in the first place. Typical. Standing there like the lumberjack wonder he was Charlie looked a little confused, hand rubbing in his beard, before he nodded, eyes never straying from Reza “Up the stairs in the hall closet” Noah pointed, as if this was the most casual thing in the world to him. Slowly Charlie climbed the stairs leaving Reza and Noah back to their talking “Don’t mind him, that’s just Charlie, a friend of my Uncles” Noah said waving it off as it if was nothing.

Reza perked up when Noah asked about a tattoo artist, the thought of actually being able to give someone good advice on something he knew and knew well filling him with a euphoric purpose. "Dude, yeah! I've seen so many great tattoos when I've been browsing and--" The door slammed and Reza's newly found energy escaped his body like a deflating balloon. Someone was home? Reza hadn't been prepared for anyone other than Noah and some dogs. The very tall, very burly man that appeared in the door caused every muscle in Reza's body to tense, his fingers wrapping up in Caleb's fur. The fact that this bearded man wasn't moving his eyes off Reza's face despite how uncomfortable the vampire clearly looked wasn't helping the situation. Even when the freezing stare left him, Reza still sat completely still, almost inhumanly so, only snapping back to reality when Caleb started to squirm. "Hmm? Yeah, it's... fine. Just... fine." Caleb starting licking at Reza's hand, clearly sensing the discomfort. With his brain slowly calming down after the disheartening staring contest, Reza became acutely aware of the smell in the room that seemed to have intensified with Charlie's arrival. It was the same smell Reza had subconsciously started connecting to Noah, only much stronger. Was this... were the both of them not... human? Did Reza's nose know more than he did?

Smiling at the boy Noah tried to keep the conversation going, mistaking Reza’s silence for the possibility that he was just uncomfortable. Which Noah thought was fair enough, not everyone lived with such an open door policy as the Kalani Pack did after all, and that could be startling at first. Just all the people coming and going. “That’s good though,” Noah commented after Charlie bounded up the stairs “I mean I want to make sure it’s done, well, respectfully and as authentically as possible though so it’s like.” Noah shrugged “I almost feel like i should fly to Hawai’i and get to done there just to be safe or something”

"Yeah, mhm," Reza replied with disinterest, ears now perked for any sound from the broody Charlie. Something in him was tingling, telling him to run, probably just his paranoia but he was definitely on edge. "Hawaii sounds fun and--" Footsteps thumped back down the stairs and Reza tensed, with Caleb cuddling into his lap, probably expecting something dangerous to happen just because of Reza's reaction. Charlie appeared back downstairs and Reza's eyes locked onto the dogs, in the hopes of avoiding another staring contest. As soon as Charlie left, Reza could politely excuse himself and bolt. Even though he could already imagine Noah's big, sad eyes reacting to that announcement.

Watching Reza tense again as Charlie came back down the stairs Noah couldn’t help but be concerned. He didn’t know much about Charlie only that the 30-something man had swept in from Montana 5 years ago after his wife left him. Apparently she wasn’t a fan of werewolves, which was sad, but luckily Charlie found the right man to bring his car into for repairs. Funnily enough the rest was history. But that didn’t mean Noah felt as at ease around Charlie as he did other members of the pack. Charlie was. Well he was just Charlie. Stoic and obedient. Didn’t talk much. Which was a shame because he always looked like he had something to say under that rugged beard. Like he did right now standing at the bottom of the stairs a troubled look on his face. “Hey before I go,” Charlie paused coming a bit closer “Um did you happen to tell Cahill about this?” He asked swinging a finger in both of their directions.  Glancing over the side of the couch to where Charlie was standing Noah gave a confused stare. “Tell Cahill what? About me having someone over?” He asked not really knowing what the big deal was about. He was 22 after all well past the age where he needed to tell Cahill about each and every one of his playdates “No I meant about you being here with” Charlie’s eyes flickered slightly toward Reza, giving Noah the all so subtle hint that it had something to do with the boy on the ground “I dont know what you’re-”” Noah until. Shit. Fuck. Did Charlie mean, no, he couldn’t be. Trying to stop his brain from exploding inside of his skull Noah stood hand in the air the a look of pure panic written all over his face  “we’re totally not like dating or fucking if that’s what you mean I swear we’re just friends I mean I’m not even g-” “Stop,” Charlie stopped him with his free hand eyes wide “I totally did not mean that,” He clarified before his face soften “though If you were to be dating men now I would be totally fi-” Noah could feel all of the blood rush out of his body at that exact second. “Do not finish that sentence for the love of all that is holy,” He blurted over the top of Charlie, the look of panic still caught in his eyes. Because nope he was not doing this here, like this, in front of Reza ok. I mean not that he minded coming out to Reza since it seemed like the boy wouldn’t judge but just. Yea no, Nope. Not the time not the place “Just tell me what you meant before and we’ll consider everything good.” Noah continued lips pursed in a line now. But it was Charlie who now  looked confused “You mean you can’t feel it?” Looking at Charlie and Noah couldn’t help but shake his head, an eyebrow raised to illustrate his own emotions on the subject “Feel what?” He asked turning to Reza wondering if the boy had any insight.

It was definitely time to freak out now, Reza decided, as Charlie asked his 'before I go' question. Really, it was some sort of miracle that Noah hadn't found him out yet, since Reza felt like he just radiated these awkward vibes of 'I'm not human.' Avoiding Charlie's accusing gaze, mind screaming fire and setting off every alarm, Reza couldn't help but wonder just how this very large man had deducted Reza's secret after being here for literally five minutes. It had to mean that he wasn't human and neither was Noah... Noah, who was now on his feet and Reza realized he hadn't been listening to what was transpiring, instead just preparing for imminent doom, but his friend (?) was blushing like crazy and maybe this wasn't about him being a vampire? Did Charlie think this was a... date? Noah was close to screaming now and Reza's muscles were all tensed for escape, his eyes starting to flit to the door. Charlie had made it clear that he wasn't showing an interest in Noah's love life. He was showing an interest in the vermin Noah had brought into their house. “Feel what?” Noah asked and as soon as his attention turned to Reza, the vampire was on the move, scrambling to his feet around the confused puppy and bolting to the door. He heard Charlie approaching before he saw him, barrelling into the muscular chest now blocking the door. His stance went defensive -- primal-- as Charlie growled deep from his throat. The other dogs whined at the sound and Reza could feel his eyes flashing red. Shit. “You let him invite you into his home. His den-” Charlie paused, taking a deep breath, his hackles coming down slightly. Reza didn't relax one bit. “You owe him an explanation. You owe him that much at least. And if you don’t tell him I will." Shoulders still hunched, eyes red and narrowed, Reza resisted the urge to hiss. He should just let him leave, this was completely unnecessary. "Just let me leave," he half-growled under his breath, for Charlie's ears only, voice almost pleading.

Watching it all unfold like a bad horror film, Reza must have been supernatural with the way he moved Noah’s eyes barely registering he’d left before he was clashing at the door with Charlie. And Noah was up in an instant mind going straight to how he could de escalate the situation instead of anything else. Or rather just get Reza to somewhere safe and not staring down the barrel of 250 pounds of angry werewolf. Wedging himself in between the two men Noah kept his eyes on Charlie, hands reaching out behind him to start pushing Reza’s torso, hoping the other boy would get the hint that he needed to back away and back away now. “Stand Down Charlie” Noah growled out a certain venom to his words. In purer werewolf terms he was outranked for sure. But this was still his house, and Noah was. Well Noah was the punk ass kid who challenged his Alpha all the time, so he wasn’t going to let some lowly pack member try to tell him what was best for his world. Not now, not ever. “Noah” Charlie growled out as if to test his resolve. But noah was not backing down No sir. “Do not fucking Noah me right now. This is my house. I outrank you by default.” He was staring straight at Charlie now as if daring him to challenge his authority in his own fucking house. Luckily for all of them though Charlie had enough sense to know when he was beaten and silently looked away waiting for Noah to clean up the mess he’d just made. Taking a deep breath Noah kept his eyes on Charlie but spoke for the boy behind him. “Reza, if you need to leave the back slider is open. You can go down the porch, and take a right around the struts, there’s a gate to the drive way in that general direction. If you just need somewhere safe my room is at the top of the stairs 2nd door on the left. No one but me is allowed to be in there.” The last part was emphasized not for Reza’s benefit but for Charlie’s, as they all knew the house rules. Noah’s bedroom was off limits unless invited. Even for Cahill the alpha.

Noah's hand on his torso made Reza cringe away, his body still pulled taut like a string waiting to snap. A part of him wanted a fight, convinced he could at least get a few good hits -- or bites-- in, but Noah being in the way stopped him. It took his panicked and anger-run brain a moment to realize that Noah wasn't trying to defend Charlie; he was defending Reza. Deflating like a popped balloon, Reza took a few steps back, eyes fading back to brown. The word 'leave' snapped his attention because yes, yes Reza needed to leave. The primal part of his brain was still lit up like a Christmas tree and that scared whatever logic was left in his brain; no way did he want this situation to escalate. He backtracked a few more steps, feeling Charlie's gaze burning his face. "I'm sorry," he muttered under his breath, turning on his heel and bolting for the back slider. As soon as he burst outside into the fresh air, his head cleared, managing to work through some of what he'd just witnessed. Charlie was an... animal. A werewolf. Which had to mean that Noah was one, too. And Charlie could have killed him. But he didn't. Because of Noah. Noah had protected him, even after most likely realizing that Reza wasn't human either; that Reza had lied. Realizing that he was still sprinting, Reza slowed down, finally slumping down to the ground. He could still see the barnhouse in the distance but he couldn't find the strength to get up, mind still reeling. His secret was out to Noah. And Reza had no idea what would happen now.

[ghost-chance]

IMO : Story trends that need to die

No matter what your medium, sometimes artists and writers go through periods when they struggle for every break - you fight your way through writer’s block, find yourself falling into your old drawing errors, and worse. Fortunately, there’s a seemingly unlimited supply of help at hand - tried and true methods and tools for any writer or artist who chooses to use them. Over time, however, some wind up being used far more often than others and become OVER-used. These, IMO, are a few that really need to die, and each is accompanied by a fandom that has become a repeat offender.

Be warned: Snark, coarse language, and smart-assery follows.

It’s orgasmically delicious!

Anime is a repeat offender on this list, and never more so than with this whopper. In a world where the average viewer is incredibly likely to be struggling with obesity and/or an eating disorder, the anime industry’s best idea is to insert constant scenes that needlessly glorify the taste of food when it has NO BEARING on the PLOT. Even more awkward is that these scenes are often accompanied by a hentai-esque MIND-BREAK and ecstatic squeal. FOOD PORN is no longer a figure of speech, apparently.

Sure, food’s great - if it wasn’t great, I’d be a twig, and I sure as hell ain’t a twig - but when the plot is ‘everyone’s about to get blown up OMG!’ and the characters pause to savor a triple strawberry sundae, you’ve got some bats loose in your story’s belfry.

GUILTY PARTY: Dragon Ball Super

DRAMADRAMADRAMA! EVERYTHING SUCKS AND WE ALL HATE EACH OTHER!

This one has completely robbed me of all interest in far too many TV series to count, and it sucks every time. I’ll find a new series that seems pretty laid back and entertaining, I’ll get hooked, then they’ll start dumping constant diva-fits and toddler-tantrums on the viewers every five minutes. When you can’t even get through a single 20-minute episode without someone repeatedly launching into a tangent about some completely minor slight or AGAIN rehashing an old argument at top volume, it gets old, FAST.

Offset your angst and anger with fluff and fuzzies, and try to maintain a steady balance. Drama is necessary for good storytelling, but as with fertilizer, if you use too much, it STINKS.

GUILTY PARTY: Supernatural

Everything ends with a....

                                                             ...CLIFFHANGER!

You know that feeling when you’re groovin’ in the shower, belting out your favorite bad 80′s songs at top volume, and relishing the scalding hot water with your faithful rubber ducky, then suddenly someone flushes the toilet, the water turns ice cold, and you’re left singing soprano? Well, this trend can give you that feeling with every chapter, every episode, and even, dare we say, with every book and movie! An occasional cliffhanger can be a powerful tool and can hook your audience but constant back-to-back cliffhangers do the exact opposite. Instead of being stuck on the edge of their seats, your audience will realize every chapter ends with a cliffhanger, and BOOM, no more urgency...and oftentimes, no more readers.

Constantly having the toilet flushed is bound to piss off any unwary shower-groover - don’t abuse cliffhangers.

GUILTY PARTY: The Ancient Magus’ Bride

I love them and they love me, but I can’t have them both, WAAAAH!

What do you give a fandom that likes two hunky canon characters and wants to see them fighting over a single woman? Why, a classic love triangle! Don’t get me wrong, some pairings and plots DO call for such a complicated romance; it’s when the triangle is unnecessary and pointless that the fans can take exception. After all, classic love triangles aren’t very common once we, I dunno, GROW UP and we aren’t hormone-drunk teenagers anymore.

If you absolutely MUST have more than two characters in a pairing but aren’t comfortable with allowing polyamory in the story and MUST use a love triangle, try variations rather than the classic ‘two dogs fighting over one indecisive bitch in heat.’ A few entertaining and underused variations include “I love him and he loves me, and someone else ALSO loves me but I think he smells funny” or “We both love him but he loves himself more than he could ever love us” or even “I love him, my sister loves him, and even my DOG loves him, but he only loves the dog, WTF?!”

GUILTY PARTY: about 50% of M-Rated Fan-fiction online

I love you but you don’t love me, so I’m gonna MAKE you love me!

This one has become obscenely common in fan-fiction, and every time I read another such story, I throw up a little. Kids, RAPE is NOT something you should be flippantly throwing into your story, ESPECIALLY in hopes of resolving an unrequited romance. Okay, so Bobby loves Susie but Susie doesn’t love Bobby - that doesn’t mean Bobby’s only logical course of action is to screw Susie until she stops protesting. In reality, rape victims are less likely to fall passionately in love with their rapists than they are to be hit by a diesel going the wrong way down a one-way street. IT DON‘T WORK LIKE THAT!

If you absolutely MUST include rape in your story or backstory, make sure you do your research, treat the subject with all necessary respect and sensitivity, and if you refuse, DON’T assume that follows and faves are any indicator that you made the right choice. TOILET PAPER is bought more often than good literature, but it’s also more likely to wind up covered in...well, you know.

GUILTY PARTY: Also about 50% of M-Rated fan-fiction published online.

For a good book: combine 1 cup plot, 2 cups characters, and a heaping spoonful of drama

Writing from a recipe can be easy, fast, and profitable...IF your audience is already accustomed to reading cookbook fiction AND IF you can manage to make the story work. If you’re honestly trying to write a genuine story that will melt your audience’s hearts, however, it’s best to start fresh instead of relying on ‘fill-in-the-blanks’ writing. Poor recipe-writing has chased me away from far too many otherwise talented writers to count, and as a writer, every time I see recipe-writing being hailed as quality, it always makes me want to cry for our poor, deprived youth.

When every episode begins with “We’re really ill-mannered and need to be reminded to behave ourselves!” and ends with “SURPRISE! The bad guy isn’t really dead after all!” or “OMG! Something sinister happened I can’t wait to find out what it means!” readers can get bored pretty easily. If they don’t get bored, it’s even worse - if they never expand their horizons, they’ll never be able to comprehend just how little effort was actually put into the story and they may grow up to be recipe-writers themselves.

GUILTY PARTY: 2012 Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles TV series

Hook, line, and................never mind.

It’s always sad to see a beloved series or story die. IMO, what’s even sadder is wasting months, years, even DECADES waiting, hoping, and yearning for more, only to find the ball dropped. This is a common problem in pop culture, especially in film, what with Hollywood being so freaking fickle, but, alas, it’s also a problem in fan-writing. You get hooked on a story, the writer slowly bacs off, then all-but disappears or moves on without the slightest explanation, and the story just sits there rotting in the archives without even a tombstone to mark its grave.

People, if you lose your muse, just say so - don’t leave your readers thinking you  croaked or developed amnesia and forgot you ever wrote that story. Better to end a story half-way through with “Well, THAT died” than to leave your fans in the lurch.

GUILTY PARTY: Del Toro’s Hellboy series

It’s High School all over again!

Another groan-worthy trend that needs to die. When we’re in high school, it can seem like the most important part of our lives - we can lose sight of everything else that came before and everything that will come afterward. After all, who cares what career you’ll choose or how you’ll pay the bills when your mom finally kicks you out of her basement? That jock looked at you funny! Go deck’im, it’s not like you’ve got a future!

Seriously. Unless you’re catering to the high school-aged crowd, best skip the high school plots. If your intended audience is older, don’t be surprised when they have no interest in who was caught blowing the quarterback behind the bleachers this time.

GUILTY PARTY: FAN-WRITERS and Anime

OMG THE WORLD’S ABOUT TO BLOW UP!!!

                           ~ Cue filler ~

You know that moment when you’re on the edge of your seat, you just KNOW the world’s about to end, and your every sense is hyper-focused on the TV screen, then SUDDENLY there’s a CITY-WIDE BLACKOUT?! Yeah. This is that moment. This one, technically, can be covered under ‘cliffhangers’ but in a way, it’s even worse. At least with a cliffhanger you know the problem’s probably going to be resolved/replaced with a new problem next episode - with THIS, you may have to wait through THREE SEASONS of FILLER before you find out if everyone you thought just died actually did, just die!

Filler episodes can be fun, and they can be a great way for fans to learn more about the smaller facets of their favorite characters’ personalities, but they can also cut your viewer stats in half if used excessively. As with all things, MODERATION is the key.

GUILTY PARTY: Naruto Shippuden

I’m an angsty teenager - it’s my job to be the surly primary source of conflict in this story!

Ahh, the teenage years...that wondrous near-decade of acne, raging hormones, constant mood swings, and making your parents’ lives a living hell. Who misses it? NOT ME. The odds of a teenager responding to their parents’ decisions with pushing boundaries and being stubborn are about nine-to-NONE. Face it, teenagers are really just unstable little kids who think they’re grown-ups. That said, there ARE some teenagers who DON’T hate their parents, who actually LISTEN to their parents, and who DON’T fly off the handle over every little thing. There ARE sometimes teenagers who can be reasonable at times, and not every teenager who hears the words “We’re moving” will respond with “I HATE U! UR RUININ MA L!FE!” (Insert fifty screaming frowny-face emojis)

If you’ve got a family with a teenager moving into a new house that will turn out to be (OH NOES!) haunted, instead of hopping on the ‘angsty teenager was right, this place blows’ bandwagon, go for something less over-used and more subtle. The family dog freaks the frick out, the electricity goes wacky at odd times, the MIL pops out of the closet at midnight despite being ten years dead - you know, stuff that hasn’t been completely written to death.

GUILTY PARTY: most modern horror movies about hauntings/ghosts