#that's like real life for me. little bar in the top left corner for my stress meter except it's always above 50%

[draconicace]

*does many scary but necessary life tasks* when will i be rewarded... when will i get to a save point please there's been so many boss rushes...

[escapingrealtiylovinginsanity]

Jay Halstead: The Man Who Loves Her 

The link to the song that inspired this is here. This was healing for me to write. I hope everyone finds someone who will defend and protect them like Jay Halstead.  

Warnings: Daddy issue & alcoholism  

The bar was a hole in the wall. It was dingy but Jay had been in worse for work. Unfortunately, this unsavory stop had nothing to do with his job, and he knew he couldn’t get this bastard to bend to his will by flashing his badge. He knew he would get no satisfaction out of the encounter, more likely to be more pissed off than anything. 

He saw his target sitting at the bar in a dark corner. A beer was in his hand still chilled and two more empty next to him. Jay took a breath and then another to calm his anger.  

An attempt that failed. 

He charges over to the man with purpose and clears his throat. The man in front of him grunts. It pushes Jay’s buttons a little too well. He clears his throat again louder, and this time when he gets the same response, he slams his hand a little too roughly on the man's shoulder. It has the intended effect; the man turns to growl at Jay. “Do I know you?” 

“You would have if you had bothered to show up tonight.” The man sighs heavily and turns forward waving his hand in a clear dismissal as he takes another sip of a beer. Jay feels the anger start to bleed into fury. He let a breath out of his nose. He sits down on the stool next to the man. He grabs the bottle that's up to the other man's lips and slams it back onto the bar. Foam and beer spurts on the bar top. Eyes flash towards the disturbance. 

“Listen,” His tone is low and with a razorblade edge. “This isn't some shit that you get to wave away. She waited for you for hours. What the fuck was the point of making plans with her if you had no intention of showing up?” Your father glances down refusing to make eye contact with Jay’s icy blue gaze. “No, I was the one who pushed her to meet up with you again. The least you can do is look me in the eyes and talk to me man to man.” Jay slams his hand down the bar top when the man's stubborn gaze still refuses to meet his. His gaze shoots up at the noise. 

 More curious looks but Jay didn’t give a fuck about the scene he was causing. “You're a real piece of work, you know that.”  

“I tried my best,” Jay scoffed, his hands unconsciously turning to fists. 

“Your best? Bailing out of her when she needed you as a kid? Whirlwining in and out of her life for her early twenties? Not even being able to keep a fucking dinner that you invited her to? If that’s your best, I hate to see what you not caring looks like.”  

“It was just a bad time- a rough day- she will understand. She always does.” Jay was practically vibrating with anger.  

Your father hadn’t seen your doubt on his return. Hadn't heard you wave off the possibility of getting together. He hadn’t been there when Jay persuaded you into making those plans thinking it would be good for you- thinking it would help mend fences. He hadn’t seen the indifference turn to uncontrollable tears as the time passed in the restaurant. He didn’t know the fallout of his actions. The trust issues you had. The inability to believe that someone would stick around. He didn’t get crushed by the lack of self-confidence you had.  

Jay did. 

He was the one who had to heal the wounds that your father had left etched into your heart. The slow pace and the backtracking in your relationship. He had thought that he understood the problems you had with your dad. That he knew the pain that your dad had caused you. He now knew that you had downplayed the severity. You had clearly given him more than the benefit of the doubt. He felt like a complete asshole for pushing. His father’s death and the damage it had caused him were projected onto you instead.  

“We will try to get together again-” The beer never far from his fingertips returned to his lips to take another long pull. It was compulsory and Jay wanted to break his fingers.  

“No.” Jay growled definitely.  

“Now son,” 

“I’m not your son. And if you think for one second that I’m going to put her through this again, you're out of your damn mind. I wasn’t under the impression that you would try to fix everything, but I thought you would at least let her know that what happened wasn’t her fault.” 

“She knows that. She knows I love-”

Jay scoffs and gets up to leave. Your father doesn’t call after him or even acknowledge that he has got up to leave. Jay only takes a step before turning around. “You know I pity you. Your daughter is the most amazing person. Smart, funny, and pretty. She is sensitive but tough. A better person than I will ever be.” Jay reached into his back pocket. “I love her, and I get to go home to her tonight, and every other night of my life. But you? You’ve been damned from it, and you have no one to blame but yourself. Don’t call her again until you want to be a father.” Jay throws a twenty on the bar where it absorbs the spilled beer. “Here, the next round is on me.”  

Jay doesn’t look back as he exits the bar.    

[dearsnow]

WAKING UP TO FANTASY (4)

you wake up unexpectedly in bradley’s bed and take a day to avoid real life and relax before the storm starts once again. (bradley “rooster” bradshaw x fem!reader, part of the series “out of touch”, some angst, some fluff, mostly comfort)

OUT OF TOUCH: It’s been twenty years since you last saw Bradley Bradshaw, and, suddenly, you realize he’s finally grown up.

word count: 2,283

a/n - i honestly love this chapter because it’s exactly how i handle my problems 😭 overthinking and distraction in a cycle until you physically can’t anymore. the next one will be so fluffy though y’all, i promise.

When you wake up, hungover to the point where the light coming through the window to your right burns your eyes, you bury your face in your pillow. Wait, the window in your room is to the left of you. And this pillow smells different, like a woodsy laundry detergent. And the blanket that‘s draped over the top of you is a different weight.

Where the fuck are you?

You sit up as quickly as your headache will allow before the memories come flooding back. Explicit photos on a phone screen. A bar. A warm hand, a cold hand, Derick walking away. Bradley carrying you. Being put in this bed, with the lights off, and his hands brushing the hair away from your face. You’re in Bradley Bradshaw’s house, and you just broke up with your boyfriend.

There’s heavy light cascading over your sullen face, so much so that it must be well into the day. You pick up your phone and realize that it’s been put on silent, something you don’t remember doing. When you scroll up, though, you have seven missed calls and over a dozen texts.

They’re all from Derick, of course. The voicemails and texts range from begging you to come back to cursing you out, proclamations of love to admissions of hate. With a bit of hesitation, you delete the voicemails and text one last thing; “I hope you’ve taken your stuff, because I’m changing the locks as soon as I get home.” Then, with a trembling finger, you block his number. You wish you could pretend that never happened and run back into his awaiting arms like a fool in love, but the fact of the matter is, you can never go back. You can never ignore his infidelity, and you couldn’t stop him from doing what he did. It just hurts.

Bradley takes that opportunity to open the door, seemingly having heard you scrambling around in bed. “Hey. How are you?”

You clear your throat, straightening your posture and attempting to make yourself even the slightest bit presentable. “Good. Fine. As fine as I can be.” His eyes soften, and you can tell he doesn’t believe that you’re even a step up from horrible. You surely look it, but you hope he can just ignore that and let you go home with whatever dignity you have left.

“I made some breakfast if you’re ‘fine’ enough to eat. Then, y’know, we can talk.” He says, nodding to something that’s just slightly out of view to you. “C’mon, sleeping beauty.”

You stand with a soft groan. You’re still in your clothes from yesterday, your hair is messed beyond hell, and your entire body is sore. You feel like you just came from another dimension.

Looking around, Bradley’s house is nice. It’s neat. That’s pretty much all you can say, because it practically looks like it hasn’t been lived in. There’s a picture frame of his mom and a man you assume to be his father on the dresser and a sad little plant in the corner, but other than that, it’s undecorated. As you walk out, the rest of the house looks almost the same.

You turn the corner to the kitchen, breathing deeply. Pancakes, bacon, eggs, sweet maple syrup. It smells like heaven. “I got you a hangover cure too,” he says, gesturing to the heaping plate he set out for you and a smoothie that’s a suspicious shade of green.

“If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were trying to poison me.” You huff, taking a whiff of the smoothie. You get hints of so many things that you can’t even determine what the individual notes are. “Thank you, though.”

Bradley pulls out your chair for you, his fingers lingering on the seat until you’re settled in. “You’re welcome. Drink the poison, princess. It’s good for you.”

He stays until you’ve eaten (and drunk) your fill, seemingly having eaten earlier in the day. It’s about 10:38 AM, so you had slept for a good nine or ten hours. The conversation is light, teasing, and utterly ignoring everything that happened the night before. He listens as your scratchy voice explains what you did after he left, and your time in college, and starting your own business. You find out about his antics at the academy and a small part of the mission that ended with him permanently stationed in San Diego. He really had achieved his dreams after all, and you can’t say you’re mad about it.

All you ever wanted was for everyone to be happy, you think. Everyone good. Everyone except for Derick. Your mind drifts back to the words fired from your mouths, creasing your eyebrows and tugging your face down into a frown. Bradley pauses his story, taking in your expression. “You good?”

You nod, not trusting your voice or the lump in your throat.

He stands from his seat. “We should go out. Fresh air is good for you.” His words fall skeptically into your ears as you make fork waves in a puddle of syrup.

“I think I probably need to head home and see if Derick actually moved out.” You murmur. You don’t want to go home; you want to go anywhere but home, but it’s your day off at the cafe, and you can’t avoid it forever.

You wish you could just live in this dream for the rest of your life. Waking up to breakfast, a nice guy who puts chocolate chip smiles on your plate, and a large space that you can make your own. Life, however, rarely ever works out that well. And life always moves on without you if you dwell on what should be.

“Give it some time, hot shot. Spend the day out and we can tackle everything else later.” He smiles, voice cheery. He grabs a pair of aviator sunglasses off his counter and slips them on top of his head, then picks up your plate and balances it on top of his in the sink.

We. Did he mean to say ‘we’? Or, like it or not, is he going to be a full part of this? You would hate to drag him in more than he’s already been drug, but having someone on your side is so nice. It’s exactly what you need right now. In any case, you’re stuck with him for the day (and hopefully longer).

You’re shaken out of your thoughts by his next words. “I have some shirts in my dresser if you want to partially change. They might be a bit big, but they’ll do for now.”

“Thank you, Bradley. You have no idea how much this all means to me.” Your voice falters, quiet and gentle. He has singlehandedly turned your awful situation into something that may be salvaged.

Bradley just smiles crookedly. “No problem. Now chop chop, we have an ice cream shop on the pier to get to.”

You’re clad in a simple white tee. The shoulders hang further down your arms than they should, but the thing is luckily not something Bradley could fit in currently. He just doesn’t get rid of clothes, apparently. His closet is laden with Hawaiian shirts, each more gaudy than the next, leaving you wondering if he’s 35 or 55. In any case, you’re sitting on the edge of the pier, a melting ice cream cone in your hands. You do your best to keep it from dripping onto your hands as the man next to you is biting his cold treat like his teeth can’t hurt.

The ocean laps at your feet, cool and calm. There are a few clouds in the sky, their fluffy shadows blocking just enough sun to regulate the midday temperature. It’s pretty much perfect. You shift your eyes to Bradley, who has finished his cone by now. There’s a single bead of ice cream on his mustache, and you lean back on your arms to avoid wiping it off with the pad of your thumb. He clears his throat. “Nice day, huh?”

“Yeah. It’s a really nice day.” You take a lick of your ice cream, almost sighing at the flavor. Bradley stares out into the ocean, a slight frown pinching his features.

You’re about to finally reach the cone of your dessert when he speaks. “I’m really sorry.”

You pause. “It wasn’t your fault. Derick’s a jerk.”

“No, not about that. Well, yeah that sucked, but I’m sorry that I was such a dick in high school. I wasn’t ready for someone as good as you. It was insecurity or something even stupider, and it hurt you when you were already vulnerable. You deserved better.” He’s still looking out into the shimmering sea, like he can’t bear to meet your eyes. You bite into your cone and chew slowly, the crunchy waffle suddenly seeming very thick in your mouth.

It’s silent for a brief moment, the soft waves filling the background.

“It’s okay.” You say. “High school sucked for a lot of reasons, and I’m sure it wasn’t great for you either— it rarely is. You’ve changed a lot since then, and being completely honest, I like who you are now.” You turn to him with a small smile. “I mean, you bought me ice cream, so how bad can you really be?”

His laughter sends you into a fit of giggles, so hardy that you can’t help but feel the joy bubbling up from the depths of your gut. “If you think like that, you’ll be trusting every guy in Southern California.”

“I’ll only trust the guys who wear loud Hawaiian shirts and put baseball cards in their bikes to make them louder,” Comes your snarky reply. Bradley gasps like you’ve dug up a traumatic memory.

“I was fifteen! If I wanted a loud bike now, I’d buy a goddamn motorcycle.”

You take one more bite of your cone, almost reaching the bottom. “I know you fly heavy machinery for a living, but I’m not sure I’d trust you with a motorcycle.” He’s got a sparkle in his eye, likely coming from the sun just overhead, but it warms your heart just the same. You could drown in this fantasy.

“And I’m not sure if I’d trust you making the muffins for your cafe. I seem to remember that the one time I watched you bake, you almost burned your house down,” He jokingly scoffs. You roll your eyes, briefly making contact with the blue water. It’s beautiful out here, almost as beautiful as the man sitting next to you, but not nearly as beautiful as the feeling of utter belonging that courses through your veins. This is, again, the nicest you’ve felt in a while; despite everything, the happiness persists.

You put the last piece of your ice cream cone in your mouth and quirk your eyebrows up at him. “Well, it’s not like the pastries bake themselves. I have zero employees, so those croissants your friends have been scarfing down came from these here hands.” You spread your fingers and wiggle them slightly, listening to his laugh. When you put them down again, they’re just slightly closer to him.

“You can’t seriously be running that place by yourself now.” He snorts. “That’s gotta be eight jobs in one.”

You let out a little breathy sigh. Everything always comes back to this, to him. You don’t want to ruin the mood, but from a few unassuming words, it’s already been ruined. “I used to have Derick to help me out, but now that’s not an option. I’ve got a guy and a girl starting the day after tomorrow, though, so hopefully it’s not a problem soon.”

Bradley shifts, setting his hands down so they brush yours gently. You feel a little zap at the connection. “Don’t worry about that, your majesty. It’ll work out.” There’s a look to him that you can’t entirely figure out. You choose to ignore it for now, instead focusing on his increasingly odder nicknames for you.

“Your majesty?” You ask. His expression pulls into an instant grin.

“You’re royalty, honey. Independent, beautiful, too good for the world. Own it.”

You roll your eyes for real this time, shaking your head. “Only if I get to call you the court jester, Brad. You’re very entertaining when you want to be.”

“Anything for you, princess.”

You talk a bit after that, but everything tapers off into a kind of peaceful silence. You’ve never really had a peaceful silence before; not with Derick, not with anybody. It felt nice, like you weren’t trying to impress anyone. Before long, the waves were just a bit too high to sit at the pier, and you were forced to sit in Bradley’s bronco.

You fiddle with the car keys in your pocket, looking down at your lap. “I really do need to get back to my place and figure out the entire rest of my life.” You whisper. Bradley turns his keys in the ignition.

“If that’s what you want. I’ll get you back to your car, but baby steps from there, alright? You don’t have to do everything all at once.”

“I don’t think I’ll have the energy to do it all at once,” You admit. “Thanks, though. I’ve said it a million times already, but I doubt it’ll ever be enough.”

As he puts his car into drive, Bradley’s eyes flicker to you through the rear view mirror. “I’m just doing my job as your friend.”

He peels off of the curb he was parked next to, and you can’t help but think that there’s more to his tone than he’s letting on.

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Taglist: @m1dnightsnackz @itsarabellebabes @shanimallina87 @sadgirlgiselle @callsignstingray @djs8891 @hopip99

[writercole]

A Real Rancher

Summary: A night of relaxing leads to the promise of more. Words: 1366 Warnings: Fluff Credits: None, really. Unbeta'd. A/N: I have no idea where this came from. But it flew out of me last night and I have no regrets. A/N 2: For Becca Bear.

The birth of the last calf brought the total up to fifteen, just this fortnight. The life of a rancher, his life, made Rhett happy. Little moments like the first steps of the tiniest animals that would grow into thousand pound beasts made him smile. But he could admit that the ranch life wasn’t for everyone.

Like the girl who just ghosted him.

Or the one before who said that she couldn’t handle the hours he worked.

Or even the one before that who didn’t like that he smelled like manure when he came in from work.

Women were ridiculous. It’s not like they had to do the work. It’s not like he didn’t shower after he came in. But they used it as an excuse to leave rather than giving him half a chance.

Rhett made sure the heifer and the calf were healthy and cared for before heading back up to the ranch house, looking at the setting sun and deciding he needed a drink. But first, a shower. Maybe two.

As he walked into the dingy dive bar, he immediately noticed a woman at the end of the bar, her glasses low on her nose, a pencil in one hand and what looked like a business document in the other, though that document was about five hundred pages, if he had to guess. He ordered his usual and headed to his usual table, sitting back in the corner and letting the stresses and tensions of the day melt away as he listened to the old juke box across the room and sipped his drink.

Two more rounds and he was feeling great, watching the people in the bar come alone and leave together, passing the time with a spin around the dance floor or giggles in the far corner. He noticed that the woman he’d noticed at first was still there, furiously scribbling notes on her...whatever. Strands of hair fell out of her messy bun and her lip tucked beneath her front teeth. Her brow furrowed and Rhett chuckled.

Her head snapped up and she looked around, eyes locking on Rhett, and jumped off of her stool. He shifted in his seat as he clocked her making a beeline straight to him, suddenly feeling very aware of the fact that he was staring at her. She stopped in front of him at the table and he could see that she wasn’t angry, she was curious.

“Are you a rancher?” She rushed out.

“Yes ma’am.”

“Like a real rancher, not one of those preppy boys whose daddy owns a lot of cattle but has people who do the work for them. You’re the one who does the work?”

“Uh, yes ma’am,” he replied, his own brow furrowing beneath his stetson. “I’m Rhett Abbott. My family’s own the ranch for generations now.”

“Oh, good,” she sighed as she pulled out a chair across from him, “can I ask you some questions? Oh, shoot, my pencil.” She patted her pockets and checked behind her ears, coming up empty handed.

“Um, ma’am? It’s in your hair?” Rhett said, pointing at her bun.

“Oh!” She exclaimed as she pulled it out of the space he pointed at.

“Can I ask what these questions are for?”

“Well, I’m writing a book and this one character is a rancher and I just don’t think I’ve gotten him right and – oh shit. How do I keep losing everything?”

“You left the...book? On the bar.”

“Okay, I’ll be right back,” she told him before rushing across the room and grabbing the papers she’d been making notes on.

Rhett was entirely entranced with this woman. He’d never met a writer before, not that Wabang had a great intellectual population to begin with.

She sat back at the table and flipped her notebook to a clean page, writing his name across the top before returning her gaze to him.

“It’s two t’s,” he pointed out.

“Huh?”

“Abbott. It’s two b’s, two t’s,” he explained, gesturing to his name written across her page.

“Oh, sorry.”

“S’okay,” he shrugged. “So these questions?”

“This guy works on a ranch and he’s got to do cow stuff and I don’t know the first thing about being on a ranch or cows or anything like that and I was hoping that you could maybe, possibly, tell me about the stuff you do for cows?” She spoke quickly, like she was expecting him to get bored with her voice in the time it took for her to ask her question.

“That’s a pretty broad question,” he laughed, “do you have anything more specific?”

“No,” she sighed. “Like I said, I don’t know the first thing about being on a ranch or anything. The closest I’ve come to a cow is the petting zoo.”

Rhett gestured for another round for the two of them and settled back against the wall. “Well, darlin, let’s get you learned.”

The pair of them spent the rest of the night talking, only realizing how long it had been when the lights came up and the bartender announced last call. Their topics had drifted from the work on the ranch to much more personal topics. He learned that she had quit her job and moved to Wabang to follow her dreams of writing a contemporary romance set in the west. When he questioned why she had to move out to the absolute sticks to do that, she looked down at the table.

“No one supported me. They thought I was wasting my time writing. It was never a worthy career path because who wants to read a book anymore,” she admitted quietly.

Rhett felt more emotion flow through him in that moment than he had since Amy had disappeared. He was pissed at people who told her it was a waste of time, sorry for her feeling like she had no one, hopeful that she would give him half a chance. “Well, if it makes any difference, I think you’re doing an amazing thing.”

“Really?” She asked, her face going from dejection to elation in an instant. Her shoulders squared and her eyes lit up, as if she was hearing someone tell her positive things for the first time.

“Yeah. It’s not easy to follow your dreams, especially when they lead you away from the people you care about,” he spoke from experience, “and to do something like writing a book...man, that takes guts and brains and all kinds of stuff I definitely don’t have.”

“But...you ride bulls?”

“That doesn’t take any brains, darlin. In fact, it takes a distinctive lack of brains and self preservation.”

“Um, no,” she countered. “That takes so much brains, Rhett.”

“Hey, you two, we’re closing,” the bartender called across the otherwise empty room.

“Can I drive you back to your room?” Rhett asked as he stood.

“It’s a short walk. I’m next door,” she shrugged sadly.

“Well, how about I leave you my number and you can call me with your questions. Maybe come by the ranch tomorrow and see how things go?”

“Can I pet the cows?!”

“I’ll make sure to keep them in the barn just for you,” he grinned. He wrote his number down on her book and offered his arm, escorting her to the small inn next door.

“I’ll call you tomorrow?”

“I’ll make sure to answer.”

“Goodnight, Rhett. It was really nice to meet you,” she said with a wave, walking through the thick, wooden door into her temporary accommodations.

Rhett watched until the door clicked shut, walking backwards to his truck just in case she came back down. A light turned on in a room over his head as he opened the door and his glance shot up in time to see her pull back the curtain and peek outside, waving when she caught him staring. He waved back, watching until she dropped the curtain before he climbed into his truck.

The idea to sleep in the parking lot crossed his mind for half a second before he started the engine, turning his truck towards home. He had an early date with a writer. The cows had to be ready.

[simplydannie]

Previous “The Meeting”

Based on @zephyrmars ask here!

Upon looking for his family, Floyd finds himself in the most unlikely places…and at the hands of two teens he didn’t know were set to change his life forever.

“Gone…. They’re gone…” Floyd stood at the center of the Troll tree… It now lay empty, not a single soul in sight… the Trolls were gone, all gone. Floyd fell to his knees. Did they all get eaten? Did they escape? His heart sank.

Branch… little Branch.

“I just left him… I thought… I didnt….” His colors began to fade. He looked around, he peeked inside the tiny homes…Everything was still here, nothing was taken, nothing was broken… they saw the opportunity and ran for it, they had too. Hopping down to the base of the tree he saw holes, giant ones. It seems in their attempt to retrieve them, the Bergens dug, and dug. Yes, they did escape.

“They have to be alive… I have to find where they went.” He said to himself. Getting up he ran out of the Troll tree before any Bergens saw.

For nearly 20 years he had roamed in isolation looking for his family, for any sight of Pop Trolls.. Floyds colors were completely gone, wasted, not a single dose of happiness left in him. He sat on top of a tree branch curled into a ball…the way he spent most nights…If 20 years of searching led him nowhere, then he was completely hopeless. Tears began filling his eyes like they did every night. That’s when heard the voice. Peeping down below he saw hooded figures, giant hooded figures…he’d never really seen anything like them before. They weren’t Bergens, their features were almost doll-like…

“You find any?”

“Nope. Seems like we’re all dry on this end.”

“Dammit. We’ll search another location tomorrow. These Trolls only have so much to where they can hide now.”

Floyd’s ears had perked up at the mention of Trolls. He had grown desperate by now, any mention of them was a hopeful one since all the villages he had run into didn’t have his family….Maybe, just maybe…

In the blink of an eye, Floyd flung himself from the top of the tree into their vehicle below. He hid from view of these giant creatures.

“Please, please, take me to my family.” He whispered to himself as the vehicle began to move…

That’s how he found his way in Under Rageous, that’s how he found himself trapped by two greened haired teens. Floyd had no idea where he was being carried too. All he could hear were the voices of the two figures…

“He doesn’t look so good Vels.”

“Doesn’t matter. A Troll is a Troll and a Troll means bitz.” He heard the female voice say.

Floyd stretched out his tiny arms to reach for the cloth that covered the trap he was in, but not luck… he pulled the tiny bars surrounding him, banging them hoping they’d budge, nothing, he was trapped…

“Are you sure about this?” He heard the male voice speak again.

“Stop it Ven. We’re doing this. Stay here.” Floyd heard her footsteps fade away. The Troll was curled into a corner when the cover was lifted. His eyes adjusted to the dim lights. Floyd was able to get a good look at the kid this time: stringy green hair under a purple beanie, pale, pale porcelain like skin. A doll like face, but covered in scars, a tired look in his giant eyes…He looked at Floyd with a sad expression…There were no words between them for a moment, just silence as they looked at each other.

“I’ve never met a REAL Troll.” The boy said. Floyd remained silent. “Why are you gray? They said Trolls have the prettiest colors, but you don’t have any.” A look of concern crossed his face. “Are you sick? Do Trolls get sick?……Do Trolls even talk? Do you even understand me?” He blabbed. Floyd couldn’t help but let a small smile cross his face….in some form or another, his curiosity reminded him of Branch.

“I understand you.” Floyd responded.

“Oh thank God! I thought I was talking to my own for a minute there.” The boy had moved himself into a corner far from view. “What’s your name?”

“…..Floyd. What’s yours?”

“Veneer! And the girl you saw with me is my sister, Velvet. She’s moody, but she’s nice enough.”

Silence passed between them again when Veneer finally asked, “Why are you all gray?”

“I….” It took a moment for the Troll to respond, to find the right words… “I just lost my colors…”

“You can do that?”

“When a Troll looses all sense of hope and happiness…Yes, it happens.” Floyd curled himself into tighter ball.

“Why are you not happy?”

“My family…I can’t find them.” The Troll buried his face into his knees. Veneer’s heart sank…He had a family. Trolls. They all had families. And here were Under Rageons taking them and selling them for their own personal gain. He glanced around, he was far from eyes, far from view. Opening his trap, Veneer reached inside and gently scooped the Troll up in his hands and placed him in the pockets of his red vest.

“What are you-“

“Shhh.” Veneer hushed him. He tore apart a section of the trap, making it seem as if the Troll had escaped. Veneer draped the cloth back over it. “Stay quiet.”

Within moments his sister appeared with a male Rageon beside her, a few years older than they were. “There it is.” She pointed to the trap Veneer still held in his hands.

“Nice one, Ven. Seems you have slowly proven yourself to our group.” The male Rageon responded. Veneer swallowed the lump that was in his throat, trying his best to hide the fear behind a smile. “Give it here.”

Hesitantly, Veneer reached over and gave the trap to the Rageon, “Those bitz are all ours! You know how much money this little Troll is going to- What the hell!” Upon uncovering the trap, he saw that it was empty, the little metal bars broken and bent, “Where is it! What the heck happened!”

“VEN?” Velvet glanced at him wide-eyed.

“He was there. He was there I swear! We…we both saw it.” Veneer replied.

“WELL IT’S NOT HERE NOW IS IT!” The male Rageon tossed the trap straight into Veneer’s face causing him to stagger back, his body began trembling in fear.

“It escaped. We’ll go find another one.” Velvet tried to intervene.

“DO YOU KNOW HOW HARD IT IS TO CATCH ONE ROAMING AROUND IN UNDER RAGEOUS! THEY’RE DAMN GONE AROUND OUTSIDE TOO! THIS WAS OUR CHANCE! YOUR STUPID BROTHER RUINED IT WITH HIS STUPID TRAP!” He shoved Velvet out of the way and made his way to Veneer, grasping him by the collar of his shirt. “YOU SAID TO TRUST YOU! THAT YOUR TRAP WOULD WORK! AND WE DID! YOU FREAKING IDIOT!”

SMACK.

He hit Veneer clear across the face.

SMACK.

He hit him again.

SMACK.

And again.

“Stop it!” Velvet jumped in just as he was about to hit another blow, hitting her instead. She held her face and winced at the pain it left her.

“Your brother has caused us enough trouble, he has lost us enough bitz. We’re done. You’re no longer part of this group. You work and fend for yourselves now! One thousand bitz! That’s how much you need to pay us back. If you don’t, we will find you.” With his boot he kicked dirt in both their faces. Veneer spat out blood as he felt a loose tooth somewhere inside.

“Vels! Vels are you okay?” He went over to his sister, checking her face.

“Me? You’re the one he let hell on!” She grabbed his face looking at him up and down. “God, it’s going to swell. We better get home and ice it now.” She grabbed his hand and began to walk away.

“Um, Vels…” Veneer attempted to speak as she dragged him down the streets of Under Rageous. They passed by various Rageons and Bergens alike. They scoffed and laughed as they saw his condition.

“Mind your business! Giant apes.” Velvet yelled.

“Vels…I have something I need to tell you…”

“Not now Ven. I just want to get home.”

“Vels you have to listen, and you can’t get mad….”

She stopped, she turned and looked at him, “Mad at what?”

Veneer pulled her into a dark, empty alleyway. He pulled her behind dumpsters away from any eyes, “Please, don’t get mad.”

“What the hell Ven, spit it out!”

He reached into his pocket in hopes he was still there…He was. Veneer wrapped his hand gently around Floyd, bringing him out he showed him to Velvet. Her mouth dropped. Her eyes moved rapidly between the Troll and her brother.

“You….YOU LIED!” She yelled.

“I had too. It didn’t feel right. He doesn’t look good. Just look at him Vels. And he has a family!”

“BITZ VENEER! WE LOST ON BITZ!”

“You know we would only see not even half of what we would’ve gotten for him. You know that!”

“WE OWE THEM BITZ NOW BECAUSE OF THIS VENEER!”

“Don’t worry about that…I have some saved up. Vel’s we need to make sure he get’s out of here. What if his family is here? We could help him find them?”

Floyd looked back and forth at the arguing siblings. They reminded him a lot of his own…He looked at Veneer. His face was bruised, his mouth bleeding, all because he wanted to save him. Protect him..

“Can I say something?” Floyd called up to them. Both Rageons glanced down at him, “Thank you. You, you didn’t have to do that.”

Veneer smiled, while Velvet scowled.

“Why do you always have to be like this Veneer?” She said.

“I can’t help it…He needs his family.”

Floyd smiled, but a sudden wave of nausea hit him. He fainted at the palm of Veneer’s hand. All he remembered hearing was the sound of the Rageon boy screaming his name.

The smell of warm food is what awoke Floyd. He opened his tiny eyes and found himself wrapped in a small cloth, a sock was made into a pillow for him. He find himself in a small home that reminded him a little bit of the single roomed Troll homes. Floyd heard bickering. He turned towards the small kitchen and saw both twins hovering over the stove.

“Garlic powder. Mom said garlic is good for the immune system.” Velvet said.

“Wasn’t it onion?”

“No garlic.”

“I swear it was onion.”

“Oh my gosh, it’s garlic Veneer!”

“…..it’s onion….”

Velvet threw a wooden spoon hitting the top of his head. Floyd found himself smiling a lot this day…something about these two just clicked with him. Perhaps it was just the feeling of being surrounded by a family like this for the first time in a long while, a family that reminded him of his own. He looked around and saw there was not sign of their parents or anyone else. Were they on their own? This young? He’d guess they were only about sixteen, maybe even fifteen.

The twins turned around to see he had woken up, “Oh you’re awake!” Veneer beamed.

“…Joy…” Velvet rolled her eyes and went to sit on a small couch they had. Veneer had found the smallest bowl and spoon they had.

“..Yeah that’s still kind of big.” He said placing the bowl in front of Floyd.

“It’s fine. Trolls can have a big appetite. It smells good.”

“Our mom would make this when we were sick, and you looked kind of sick. OH! Vels agreed you could stay as long as you needed too.”

“Don’t make me change my mind.” The girl had laid herself on the couch and closed her eyes.

Floyd smiled, “Thank you. I think this is the most rest I’ve had in the longest time.” He began taking sips of the soup when he saw Veneer eyeing him curiously. “What?”

“I don’t know if it’s just me, maybe it’s the lighting? But…You’re not looking as gray as you did when I first saw you. Is your color coming back?”

[miyuhpapayuh]

two.

“It's about time somebody tall, dark and fine stumbled your way,” Zora’s best friend, Nique, chats into the phone.

“And in the flower shop of all places?? Sounds like heaven to little miss botanical girl!”

“You know, I could really hang up.”

“Who else would you spill your bullshit to, Z?”

“My mama.”

“Girl, please. Pam ain't listenin’ to you blab about another man, and I can bet on it.”

“Did you just call my mama by her first name?” She laughs.

“Don't tell her, she'd skin me.” Nique snickers.

Sparking up her blunt, heavily pulling and exhaling, she laughs at her friend. “I should tell her, especially since you tryna clown.”

“Okay, alright. But for real, he seem cool?”

“Yeah, he might be alright. We’ll see.”

“You ain't ever too excited,”

“Cause why would I be?”

“Cause this could be different, Zora Jean.”

“I told you to stop calling me that, and if it's different, then my excitement will show. I mean, he has my number. What else you want from me??” She huffs, placing the blunt back between her lips.

“Alright, I'll quit before you start yellin’,” Nique sighs.

“I'm two seconds from heading your way and kickin’ ass, Nique. Ain't nobody yellin’.”

“Put your guns away, jeez. I hope his fine ass makes you eat your words.”

Me too.

“Like I said, we'll see! But I gotta go, Shaun got me covering her shift in the morning.”

“When you gon leave that place in the dust, chile?” Nique asks, referring to The Pub, a family-owned restaurant with its own list of problems.

“Nique, please. We talk about this all the time. The pay is great and my boss loves me. Her dickhead of a son is the least of my worries, cause if he don't back up off me, he'll meet my pretty little taser. It's juiced up at all times.” She smiles, ashing her blunt in the red, heart-shaped tray.

“I wish I would put up with some shit like that.”

“What you suggest I do? Ain't nobody hiring right now.”

“I could get you a spot here at my office!”

“As much as I appreciate that, I couldn't be in no office. Sitting still for too long makes me antsy and you know this.”

“Yeah, you right.” She laughs. “Well, have a wonderful day at work, hopefully you won't have to shank nobody.”

“Thanks, Nique Nique. You have a wonderful day, as well!”

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Pulling into the parking lot a little before ten-thirty, Zora takes the extra time to gear herself up for her six-hour shift.

She dryly blinks at her screen, her thumb steady scrolling and stopping, and scrolling again through twitter, tiktok and the like.

The sound of her ringtone jolts her slightly, as she stares at the top of her screen, Leon's name making the left corner of her mouth lift.

Letting it ring for a beat, she answers and watches his face come into view.

Damn, he was fine.

“Good morning.”

“You're bold for wanting to see my face this early, but I'll let it slide.” She laughs, making him do the same.

“I had to take a chance. Who wouldn't wanna see such beauty, first thing in the morning?”

She hums, fondly shaking her head.

“I see you also follow directions.”

“Of course! I told you no worries, right?”

“Mhm, you did.” She nods; the hint of a smirk still ghosts on her lips.

“You heading into work or?” He asks, referring to the jacket with her job’s logo on it.

“Yeah, I've got like twenty minutes before I head in.”

“Gotcha,” he squints. “The pub… a bar?”

“There's a bar inside, but it's more of a restaurant.”

“Oh cool, I gotta check it out. Good food? Be honest.”

She smiles, nodding her head. “The best. We've got these cheesy potato bites that are to die for. Same with the wings, those are my favorite.”

“Sounds good. I might swing by on my lunch break.”

“Where you work at?”

“A warehouse out in Midland. It's a bust, but it pays great.”

“Yeah, I know how that goes.”

“The life, amiright?”

She chuckles, giving him another nod.

“Well, maybe I'll see you later.”

“What time are you out?”

“Five.”

“You'll see me later.” He flashes that smile, making her sigh.

“Alright, til then,” she smirks, waving him bye.

“Til then,” he responds, returning the gesture before they hang up.

Another ten more minutes of aimlessly scrolling, she's heading into her beloved job, being immediately greeted by her boss and pulled to the side.

“Zora, dear! Good morning. I'm so glad you're here with me this morning.”

“Of course, Linda. You know I love to help out.”

“Yes, such the sweetie pie. I know Shaun appreciated it, too.”

“Yes, she definitely needed a day off after the way her week started off.”

“I know, but don't worry, those rednecks aren't welcome back in here.”

“Good.”

“Now, all I really need you to do is ring ‘em out, we got the rest.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah, no worries. The cooks are good, my boys are gonna be out on the floor, running the food so just stand here and look pretty, kay?” She requests, making Zora laugh.

“Gotcha boss lady.”

As soon as she walks to the back, it's as if Cory sniffed her out and made a beeline towards her, disregarding her don't-fuck-with-me expression.

“Sup, beautiful. I thought I heard an angel's voice in here.”

“You layin’ it on like molasses, and it's making me itch. Go away.” She says, her expression unmoved.

“Oh come on, Zora. I just be tryna–“

“-get on my nerves, yes. I know. Go find a table to wipe down and leave me alone.” She glares at him now, and he backs away.

Once he's outta sight again, she sighs and rolls her neck, shaking his sliminess away.

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A few hours, many to-go boxes and a small meltdown later, Zora was finally on her break, munching on those potato bites she raved about earlier.

She was back to scrolling on her phone, silently laughing at the tweets that got more and more bizarre as she went.

The chimes on the door continued to go off as people came and went, but once that woodsy scent flowed through the air, coupled with that deep voice, she'd turned her head before she could stop herself.

There he was in his lanky glory. A toboggan covering his hair, his thick sweatshirt still showing off those cut arms from all the heavy lifting he does, and the polite smile he flashes at her coworker makes her weak in the knees from where she's sitting.

He'd ordered what she suggested, and she doesn't know why, but it made her smile. She turned back to her phone, knowing how mortified she'd be if he caught her stare.

He'd seen her when he first walked in, unbeknownst to her.

Her head was buried in her phone and he got a chance to glance at her once more, unable to get over how beautiful she was to him.

Her hair was still up in a bun like earlier, the gloomy day wasn't taking away from her natural glow at all.

He'd really convince someone that she was a goddess, if he had the time.

After grabbing the to-go bag from the bar, he headed in her direction, giving her a warm smile as she looked his way.

“Hey, Leon.”

“Hey, Zora. Mind if I join you?”

“Course not, have a seat.” She offers, secretly loving the way his scent wafted over her as he did so.

“How's your day been?” He asks, tearing into the double-knotted bag for his food.

“Sorry about the knots, Claire kills me.” She snorts. “But it's been chill, still ready to clock out and curl up on my couch. How about yours?”

“I'm just about ready to do the same. I lifted a box full of glass lanterns and the bottom fell out.” He sighs, making her gasp.

“Really?? I know that was a bitch to clean up!”

“You shoulda seen it. I mean, glass everywhere. It took me about an hour or so, so I'm definitely ready to turn in for the day.”

“Nobody helped you?”

He shakes his head. “I prefer to work alone, most of the time. People like to unnecessarily make things more complicated than they have to be sometimes, so I'd rather do it myself.”

“Huh, you sound like me.”

He smirks, finally opening the styrofoam container. His eyes widen as the golden, cheesy bites stare him in the face.

“Wow, these look so good!”

“Eat one,” she laughs, popping another in her mouth.

Obliging, he grabs one off the top of the pile and bites into it, his eyes briefly closing. The cheese pull was excellent.

“Good, yeah?”

“Hell yeah,” he says with a hand over his mouth. “There's bacon in these, too??”

She laughs all over again, nodding her head.

“Magical, aren't they??”

Dipping them in the chipotle ranch, he wholeheartedly agrees, pulling another one apart.

Like a creep, Cory was watching their interaction play out and he was seething, wondering why a girl like Zora didn't wanna be bothered with him, but yet here she was, giggling up a storm with some man.

“There's this kid when I walked in the door, started mean muggin’ me. Like he knew who I was or something.” He cracks, making her shake her head.

“About your height, curly hair, looks like a douche?” She asks to clarify.

“Yup,” he nods. “Who is that?”

“Cory. He thinks we're meant to be together or whatever bullshit he tries to spin. I'm sure he's around the corner, scoping us out, right now.” She rolls her eyes.

“Need me to handle that for you?”

“I got a taser with his name on it, and a kitchen knife if that don't work,” she sighs.

“Zora,”

“I couldn't ask you to do that, Leon.” She shakes her head.

“You didn't ask, I offered.” He quips.

“Ooh, you got me there.”

“I'm just saying, you don't have to deal with that bullshit and I can take it off your hands.”

“Don't kill him, please.”

He scoffs. “I'm too pretty to be in prison, girl.”

She lets out a hearty chuckle, thanking god water was within her reach.

“Plus, if I lay him out, he won't mess with you again.” He blinks.

“One good left hook, huh?”

“That's my good hand too, girl. How'd you know?”

“I'm good like that.” She flashes him a smile of her own, catching him for two seconds too long.

The way his tongue swipes over his bottom lip, making them look even more kissable, has her crossing one leg over the other.

The alarm on her phone goes off, making her sigh heavily.

“My break is over, unfortunately.”

“Damn, and I was just startin’ to like you.” He cracks, shaking his head as she stands up.

“Ima have Cory kick you out, how bout that.” She cracks back.

“Working with the predator? How low can you go.”

“To hell.” She blinks.

He stands from the table as well, easily towering over her five-three frame. Her gaze shifts above her glasses again, but she can see everything she needs to.

Adjusting them on the bridge of her nose anyway, she tugs on her jeans and slides her phone into her jacket pocket.

“Thanks for coming in and killing time with me.”

“No problem. I had to check it out, and after eating these babies,” he taps the box, “I'll definitely be back.”

“Next ones are on me.”

“You don't have to do that.”

“I know, that's why I offered to do it.” She mocks his earlier sentiment.

“You got me there.”

They share another laugh, stalling for another fifteen seconds.

“Would it be inappropriate if I wanted a hug?” He asks, not missing how fast she shook her head.

Engulfing her in his warm embrace, she giggles as he rocks side to side before letting go.

“You smell good. What is that?”

“One of them Armani fragrances. It's expensive as hell, but if it attracts a beauty like you, I'll keep it on me.” He winks.

“You are too much.” She says, fondly shaking her head.

“That a bad thing?”

“Not in your case, no.”

“Good to know.” He says, before rebagging his food. “It's always a pleasure, miss Zora.”

“See ya later, Leon.”

They reluctantly part ways, but not before he catches eyes with the freckle-faced bonehead that is Cory, glaring at him something awful on his way out.

“The fuck was that?” He cluelessly asks.

“A warning.” She mumbles, heading to the back with her empty dish.

Ch 3

@thegifstories @twistedcharismaaa @cecereads209 @nayaxwrites @blackerthings @blackpinup22 @prettyisasprettydoes1306 @nahimjustfeelingit-writes @soufcakmistress @sheabuttahwrites @blowmymbackout @mauvecherie-writes @unfriendlyblkhotti3 @abeautifulmindexposed @awerkofart @neewrites

[monstrousvoice]

Goodbye

Fandom: Hazbin Hotel

Relationship: Alastor/Vox, Radiostatic, Background Radiostatic

Tags: Background Relationships, Background Radiostatic, it’s there it's just not the main focus, Pre-Relationship, Personal Fic, Vent Fic, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Loss of a Pet, Vark hasn’t made an appearance in the official show and that had me thinking, Angst, Bittersweet Ending, basically I push all my emotions onto Vox and have Alastor deal with it, Shark Facts, Vox is autistic about sharks like me because I said so

Summary: Alastor decides to spend the night people watching and comes across Vox instead.

AN: So as of me posting this, in less than 24 hours I will be saying goodby to my cat. I got her at 6 months old and have had her in my life for 17 years and 11 months. And now it's time for me to say goodbye to her and I’ve known it was coming for months now. So I wrote this. I don’t know why, it just helped a little.

Read on AO3!

When Alastor decided to spend his night people watching, he preferred to go to various bars and dance clubs around the Pentagram. The itch to maim and kill would arise and he'd sneak off to follow his prey for the night, but occasionally when these moods hit him he simply preferred to sit and observe. 

Tonight was one of those moods, the ravenous hunger that gnawed at him was sated for the evening and he was feeling rather…nostalgic might be too strong a word to describe the feeling, but it was the most fitting that came to mind. It would explain why he chose the establishment he did for this night. It was a familiar bar bordering Cannibal Town, and one he hasn't been to visit since…well, for quite some time. 

The building was still the same as it had been for decades, with the same worn leather booths and easy going atmosphere very few bars offered in hell. When Alastor stepped through the front door, he could have believed for a moment that he was back in a simpler time; a time where he didn't feel the oppressive weight of a collar around his neck, when the shark-toothed smile of his picturebox didn't cause such an ache in his chest-

He immediately abandoned that line of thought, focusing on the now to ground himself again. There were a few updates here and there in the building that caused cracks in his nostalgic memories. The floors had clearly been replaced recently, the hardwood stain free with fewer cracks from wear and tear. The far wall had a new coat of paint, and new framed paintings to go with it. The register at the bar was modern and electronic, and there was even a TV at the corner of the bar. 

Alastor did a double take, blinking owlishly for a few seconds before his face settled back into his trademark, unbothered smile. That was no regular TV.

Vox sat in the far corner of the bar top, eyes lidded and a soft frown on his screen. His right hand held his head up as he leaned listlessly against the counter, his left hand hovering over his glass of whiskey, pointer claw circling the rim idly. Now that he saw him, Alastor picked up the familiar feeling of static and electric frequencies that always announced the presence of the television. No doubt he had picked up on Alastor's presence as well.

A spark of glee went off in Alastor’s chest. A night teasing and provoking his old friend for attention was not how Alastor thought this night would go, but he wasn't about to complain. As he understood it, Vox rarely actually left Vee Tower these days, so buried by work and ingrained in his cameras and electronics as he was. To find him idling the night away in what was their hang out spot back in the day was a real treat indeed! 

Paying no mind to the other patrons of the building-they didn't matter anymore, not when Vox was here-Alastor made his way to the empty spot next to where the television demon sat. He still hadn't looked up from the bar counter, and Alastor noticed his phone lying in front of him. He resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Silly picturebox, he always got so wrapped up in work he couldn't even relax properly. Well, a good verbal spar, possibly followed by a physical one, would do the shark wonders, he was sure. And if Alastor got to bask in his rival’s undivided attention in return, then that was his business. 

“Vox, old pal! What a surprise!” His voice was cheerful and not entirely false. After seven years of not seeing the demon’s familiar shark grin, Alastor had been surprised at himself by how much he missed it. Not even the hurt from years before could dim the pleasant feeling that had flooded his veins when he walked through town and saw Vox taunting him on live television. It was exhilarating to have so much of the TV’s focus on him once again. 

He couldn't wait for those red and blue eyes to look up at him - annoyed, surprised, angry, it didn't matter. As long as Vox was looking at him-

His words got no response. Alastor’s left eye twitched, his smile tightening at the corners as he pressed in closer to the media demon's personal space. 

“Vox? Helloooo?” Still nothing. “You are being awfully rude, old friend. I suppose with all your upgrades, manners must have been lost somewhere along the way, hmm?” Static laced his voice, his only tell that the lack of attention was irritating him. He waited, bent over Vox's shoulder, eager for a response. 

Finally he was given one. Vox’s shoulders rose and fell with a deep, weary sigh. His gaze still locked on his phone. 

“Go away Alastor.” He rumbled. Well that simply wasn't going to happen. Vox still hadn't looked at him yet. With narrowed eyes Alastor peeked down at the phone, annoyed at whatever could have his picturebox so enamored. 

His eyebrow raised in curiosity. It wasn't work that Vox was staring at, it was a picture. Or rather, pictures. The TV was clearly using wireless commands on his phone to flick between picture after picture saved to the device, all of them with the main center point being his beloved pet land shark. 

“My, my, is that Vark? He's gotten rather big!” The radio demon commented. Even with his dislike for dogs, the land shark had been an exception to this rule, much like Vox has been an exception to every other rule Alastor had ever set for himself.

The shark demon's left hand stopped playing with his glass, slamming against the bar top as he finally-finally-looked at Alastor. 

“Fuck off, Alastor. I'm not in the mood.” He growled. His massive teeth were bared in his direction, his left eye swirling in apparent irritation. And yet despite the outburst, Alastor could see that he wasn't truly angry. 

With a clear up-close view of his screen, Alastor could see the stress on the demon's face, could see the lack of fire in his eyes when Alastor poked at his buttons. Eyes darting down, he took in the rest of the media mogul’s appearance. His bowtie was undone around his collar, vest slightly wrinkled, the sleeves of his undershirt unbuttoned and rolled up to his elbows.

He looked disheveled, stressed. Tired. 

Very interesting. 

“Now my old friend, what could have you so out of sorts on such a fine night? A less than perfect appearance in public? Very unlike you.” Alastor couldn't keep the purr from his voice. Vox always had a way of making his softer side bubble up to the surface…

Vox scoffed and rolled his eyes, taking a sip from his whiskey before looking back at his phone. As if Alastor hadn't even interrupted his apparent brooding. The flickers of irritation Alastor felt before were changing, morphing into discontent and genuine concern. This was very unlike the Vox he knew. 

He sat on the empty stool beside Vox, pleased when the action got an irritated twitch from the demon's left hand. He wasn't able to ignore him completely it would seem. Alastor brought his elbows up to the bar top, lacing his fingers together and resting his chin on the link they made. Vox’s gaze darted towards him, his frown turning into a scowl very briefly before he flicked his attention back to the pictures of Vark.

“If I didn't know any better, I'd say something happened to darling Vark to get you into such a state.” He prodded, not all together unkind. Even with the years of animosity between them, there were unspoken rules to their interactions. Jabs and insults were superficial and shallow, about their work or preferred aesthetics. Meant to annoy and vex but not actually hurt. If something genuinely distressing has happened to Vark, Alastor would take great care to not use it as future ammo.

Vox glared at him, confusion clear in his gaze. 

“What do you care? I'm surprised you even fucking remember his name…” Alastor blinked in response. 

“My dear, why would I not remember him? I was there when you found the mongrel and insisted on keeping him!” Alastor’s brow furrowed in confusion, smile close lipped as he took in Vox’s words. How could Alastor not remember that night? 

Vox had gone with him to one of Rosie's soirees. He had charmed many of the local cannibal residents with his quick wit and sharp smile. Alastor had been a confusing mix of pride at how much attention his dear friend had been receiving, and jealous that he hardly had a single moment of Vox's undivided attention the whole evening. It was when Susan had started fawning over the TV that Alastor had excused them both, his limit for the night reached. Alastor had walked Vox back to his apartment block, arm in arm, as the shark talked and talked, words as electric as the very power he controlled. He had been so giddy, asking Alastor in every way except words if he had done a good job that night, made a good impression on the community Alastor held so dear. 

It was a tiny squeak from an alleyway that stopped the demon's excited chatter. Vox froze, stopping Alastor too due to their locked arms. Alastor had been certain it was just a random sinner, high out of their mind and possibly overdosing, not that he cared much. They would regenerate by morning, he had reminded Vox. But the silly tv had shaken his head, insisting it was something different. He had pulled away from Alastor and gone into the alley, and Alastor had ‘tsk’ed but followed, only to see Vox crouching over a box. 

The look he had given Alastor then…wide eyes hopeful and pleading, clearly enamored by whatever he found, had made Alastor’s heart skip a beat and pound against his chest. He knew right then that it didn't matter what it was, if Vox said he wanted to keep it, Alastor wouldn't have the strength to dissuade him.

Vox had taken his blazer off and scooped the contents of the box up, wrapping it snug and tight. Curious despite himself, Alastor had stepped forward to see better, and was greeted with the most pathetic looking creature he could recall ever seeing in hell.

Vark had been a small pup, massive eyes swollen shut with infection as he wheezed in Vox's arms. His gills were scarred and battered and his body much too thin. Alastor could clearly remember the way his skeleton pressed against the confines of his filthy skin. (Vox had later explained, in great detail, that they weren't actually bones made of calcium, but rather cartilage. The only ‘real’ bone sharks had was their jaws and teeth. Alastor had been drinking his tea, trying not to let how smitten he felt in the moment show. Then Vox had said that shark's skin was actually made of the same stuff as his own teeth - dentine - and not actual skin, and Alastor had been so startled by the information he couldn't help but laugh.)

By the way Vox was cooing over the small creature wrapped like a burrito in his arms, Alastor correctly guessed that the demonic shark pup would be a permanent fixture of Vox's life moving forward. 

“The pairs of wingtips I had to replace when that pup started teething…” Alastor sighed, rolling his eyes with fondness that he only let a select few, Vox being one of them, see. “Although he is much bigger now than back then. He used to barely be able to reach your knee when on his back legs!” He chuckled, signaling to the bartender with a wave of his hand.

Vox simply stared at him in surprise as he ordered his three fingers of rye. He still didn't say anything about what had him so upset, and the two of them sipped from their drinks in silence for a few minutes. Alastor was content to sit and wait till the tv finally spoke again. He didn't have to wait long. 

“Why the fuck are you here Alastor? Why do you care why I'm here?” Vox glared at him, eyes narrowed in suspicion. “You fucking hate me.”

Alastor choked on his next sip, the burning alcohol getting stuck in the back of his throat as his mind scrambled. Quickly trying to save face, he covered his mouth with a hand, coughing and clearing his throat as discreetly and quickly as he could. Vox looked like he wanted to laugh for a moment, before the general malaise of his thoughts settled over him again. Alastor's voice still sounded a little choked when he spoke again. 

“M-my dear-what-” He took a moment to compose himself again. “What ever gave you that impression?”

Vox looked at him like he grew a second head, indignant and offended. 

“The fuck do you mean, ‘what gave me that impression’!? Alastor. We almost killed each other.” There was the familiar fire in his eyes. Alastor was glad to see it back.

“Oh please, the occasional brawl is nothing for us! An exhilarating battle to get the blood pumping.” He responded, his smile turning eager at the thought. Vox always looked so very pretty when upset…Not as pretty as when he was flustered and shy, to be certain, but Alastor hasn't had a chance to see those wonderful expressions in quite some time…

Vox looked at him with wide eyes, mouth open in shock like a gaping fish. It was rather cute.

“I asked you to join me.” Alastor opened his mouth to respond only for Vox to keep going. “Fuck Alastor, I was in love with you.” He closed his mouth with a sharp ‘click’, staring at the TV demon. 

“You made it very clear you don't feel the same. You said ‘no’, and left. How else am I supposed to take that!?” Vox's voice was laced with static, his left eye swirling again as sparks shot between his antennae.

“Ah…I believe my dear friend…that there was a miscommunication.” Alastor watched as Vox's face went through a slew of emotions, many negative, before settling on confusion and hurt. 

“...What?”

“My dear, I had to leave no matter what. A partnership was never an option for me at the time. I was under the impression I had made that clear.” His voice was soft, red eyes watching the tv next to him. 

“I thought…the way you left, I thought it was because of-of how I felt-” Vox's voice was practically a whisper as he spoke. “I thought you hated me for it…”

Alastor felt his chest ache, realization of how Vox had felt during that time crashing into him hard, like a punch to the gut.

“Vox, my leaving and rejection of your partnership had nothing to do with emotions. Nor should it be taken as a declaration of how I felt towards you at the time. I…truly did not intend for my rejection to be so harsh that it could be taken in such a way.”

Vox looked away from him, setting his elbows on the bar top and cradling his screen in his claws. Alastor took another sip from his rye, giving the other a moment to compose himself. 

It was only a few moments later that Alastor realized Vox was trembling. He placed his drink down, and subtly used his shadows to darken the corner of the room they were in. In the next few moments he was glad he had done so, as the first few tears fell from Vox’s screen. Alastor leaned in closer, his smile strained.

“Vox…?”

“What the fuck…” His voice was barely audible, the words spoken with a shuddering inhale of breath. Alastor felt something worm its way into his gut, slimy and viscous, choking him from the inside out. Vox crying was something he had only ever seen once before, and now with new context added to the situation, he could understand why his rejection all those years ago had caused them. He wasn't sure what about his words had caused them this time. 

He laid a gentle hand on Vox's shoulder, and the other jumped at the feeling. Alastor pulled his hand away as if burned, shocked at the raw hurt and pain he saw on Vox's screen. The shark shuddered as more of his tears fell.

“I-I can't d-d-do this right now, Al-Alastor…I can't do this t-tonight-!” He hiccuped, and Alastor's own expression turned pained, smile strained and trying to pull down against the invisible stitches lining it. 

“Vox…?” His voice was gentle as he called the other’s name. Vox's eyes darted down to his phone. Alastor followed his gaze before looking back at his face. Vox’s eyes were wide and glitching ever so slightly, fat blue tears leaking down his face in rivulets and collecting on the edge of his monitor before falling to the table.

“Do you th-think it's fucking-...fucking funny!? Is that why you're here now!?” Vox gave a humorless chuckle that choked into a quiet sob, burying his face in his hands. Any other sound he would have made was muffled, only the shaking of his shoulders revealing that he was still upset. Alastor’s eyes darted around the room quickly, looking to see if anyone had noticed the apparent breakdown happening next to him. Only the bartender met his gaze, simply raising an eyebrow and nodding towards Vox, then the bottles of booze lining the wall next to him. Alastor shook his head, Vox didn't need more alcohol clouding his judgment.

“My old friend, I'm afraid I don't entirely follow.” If he could frown, he would do so right now. “I would think clearing up this misunderstanding would be excellent news! Why are you so upset-?” 

“Just-! Stop. S-stop talking, dammit…” The television's voice cracked with emotion, head still buried in his hands. Alastor felt truly lost. He was never very good at the ‘comforting others’ business, a power his mother had in spades that he never quite got the hang of himself. It hadn't ever been a problem in the past when it came to him and his picturebox; Vox was prone to anger over sadness when things in Hell became difficult, but on the occasions he was genuinely upset…Well, at the time all Alastor had to do was place his hand on the shark demon's back and that would be enough. Vox would be grounded by his touch and come back to him, tired but good as new. 

Considering the revelation of the night, Alastor was pretty certain such touch would be unwelcome right now. 

“...Fuck. You really have just-...the worst f-fucking timing, don't y-you.” Those wide, expressive eyes were back on him. Despite the fresh tear tracks, the ragged and heavy breathing, the pain in Vox’s face…Alastor still felt his insides grow warm and mushy at having all of Vox's attention on him still. 

He wasn't sure how to respond to the other's words, so he took a sip of his drink instead. 

Vox heaved a bone-deep, shuddering sigh, shaking his head gently. He took a slow sip of his own drink, and Alastor's eyes were glued to the motion of his throat as he swallowed. There was a lull between them, one that had Vox opening and closing his mouth several times. Just when Alastor thought the TV would speak, he'd stop himself, taking another sip of liquid courage as he thought.

Alastor sat and waited. 

“Vark…” Vox took a deep breath, suddenly leaning backwards and scrubbing his hands over his face hard enough his screen distorted into rainbow pixels before clearing up. As if said hands were suddenly made of lead, Vox dropped them into his lap, eyes fixed on a point in the ceiling. He blinked once, twice…and more tears pooled at the corners of his eyes. The fat water droplets raced silently down the television's face. He didn't bother trying to wipe them away. 

So Alastor reached a hand up and used his own thumb to do so. Vox startled, face snapping in Alastor's direction with shock written all over his expressive face. Concerned and confused as he was, Alastor couldn't help but file yet another pretty face Vox made into his memory to think about later. Out of all the crying faces the Radio Demon has seen in his long after life, Vox’s was by far the prettiest. 

The TV sighed after a moment, eyes fluttering shut as he leaned further into Alastor's palm, his own hand coming up to grip at the deer demon's wrist. 

“...Vark passed yesterday.” The words were muffled and quiet, so difficult to pick up Alastor’s ears twitched and strained just to catch the sound being whispered by his picturebox. He stiffened, back straightening when they finally registered. 

“He…?”

“He was old.” Vox whispered. His lips pressed against the warm skin of Alastor's palm with every word. “He was tired, and in pain. He lived for so many years…” Another painful breath in, shoulders trembling as Vox tried to speak. 

“I couldn't-...I couldn't watch him suffer anymore Al…I couldn't do it-'' A choked noise left him, a sound that came from deep in his chest. Alastor felt a pain in his chest, a sharp sting that made his brow furrow and his stomach ache. His strong, clever, independent picturebox…looking broken hearted and sad…

“My dear, I'm so sorry…” he whispered. It was all he could do. He kept his hand where it held Vox's face, moving his free hand to the demon's other cheek. Cradling his screen like it was the most delicate, fragile thing in all of hell. 

Vox gave another quiet sob in response, head bowing as he leaned further into Alastor's space. The deer simply moved with him, adjusting his hold to let the television rest his screen on his chest, wrapping his arms tight around the others shoulders. Vox's own claws gripped the back of his coat, holding on like Alastor was the only thing grounding him to reality. 

“H-he's gone-he's f-fucking gone and I d-don't…I fucking miss him so much Alastor…” Vox cried into his chest and Alastor bit his tongue to keep his own emotions in check. This was not the place for such honesty. No one else should have the privilege to see his shark demon so vulnerable. Without a second to waste his shadows curled over the two of them, melting and carrying them far away from prying eyes and ears.

Barstools were replaced with the soft cushion of a mattress under them, the sound of rowdy patrons and jazz melted away to the silence of Alastor’s room at the hotel. He felt Vox freeze where he held him, muscles tensing up as if to attack or run. When Alastor simply continued to hold him, Vox relaxed by slow degrees. His breathing still came in choked whimpers and restrained sobs. The only thing Alastor could think to do to help calm him was to reach a hand up and gently play with an antenna. 

The television demon jumped in surprise, but he did not move away. Instead, he gripped Alastor tighter, cyan claws gripping him like he would be torn away any second. The deer let him without complaint, his own eyes slipping closed as he held his darling picturebox in a way he hadn’t in decades. Did Vox miss this as much as he did? Did those two colleagues of his give him the attention Alastor knew he craved? Abandonment issues were Vox’s biggest weak point; and now Alastor knew that his main support system, his beloved Vark, was no longer there for him.

Alastor realized suddenly that he would never get to see the pup again either, and bit his bottom lip at the sorrow that swept over him at the thought. He may not be very fond of pets himself, but Vark had still wiggled his adorable shark butt into Alastor’s tight group of things he cared about, and he would truly miss him. He decided Vox should know this.

“He was a truly sweet creature my friend. You always did your best for him, I know.” 

Vox shuddered again at his words, a new wave of tears soaking through Alastor’s coat. He stamped down his immediate gut reaction of disgust. It would wash out. He could handle it. It was as he held Vox close and let the other calm down that he was struck with a sudden thought.

“When was the last time you ate, my friend?” 

Vox coughed, pulling away from Alastor to wipe uselessly at his tear stained face. His multicolored eyes stared off to the side, and Alastor was struck again by how…small he looked. Like the lightest wind could blow him away. Vox gave a barely perceptible shrug to his question. Alastor huffed, pushing lightly at the TV’s chest to stand up from the bed.

“I shall make you something. Sit here.” Vox’s eyes went wide and his hand reached out; as if to grab Alastor and pull him back in and never let him go, to hold him close. The deer demon shushed him, encouraging the other to stay still. “I’ll be but a moment my darling. Take some time to calm yourself, maybe even clean up a little. The bathroom is right through there.” He gestured towards the red wall at the beginning of his room where a door innocently sat before the wall fell away to the endless bayou scenery of his hometown. He pulled his coat off and held it out, his shadow plucking it from his fingers to be washed and dried later.

Vox bit his bottom lip but nodded, pushing himself further back onto the bed to lay comfortably against Alastor’s own hardly used pillows. The sight was one he thought he’d never see again; Vox causally on his bed, in his room, surrounded by his presence and scent. It made a dark possessive part of him hiss in joy. He was careful to ignore it. Now was not the time, Vox needed to be allowed to grieve. He would stake a claim on the television another time when Vox was in a better mindset.

He gave his shadows a silent instruction to watch the shark demon while he was away. With a step towards the door of his room he melted into shadow and stepped back out into the hotel kitchen. He was thankful the late hour meant no one was there to disrupt him. He needed to be done with this fast, to get back to his picturebox for the night. With practiced ease he whipped something up, a pan seared slab of meat (not sinner, he was careful to make sure) with some simple sauteed veggies on the side. He didn’t need anything fancy, just something tasty to get into Vox’s stomach before the shark withered away to nothingness.

When he stepped back inside his own room, two plates of food steaming, Vox was sitting right where he left him. The TV was staring out into the vast openness of his bayou, mismatched eyes darting from firefly to firefly as they flickered. His own coat was off, folded neatly on the edge of the bed with his shoes on the floor. Alastor was pleased he felt no reservations about making himself comfortable. He didn't speak, letting the peaceful sound of water lapping against the floor settle over them both. Alastor used a shadow tendril to drag his arm chair closer to the bed.

Before sitting, he held out Vox's plate. The television looked at him, gaze hollow and…so tired. It made his heart twinge in his chest. He gently pushed the plate into Vox's lax hands and settled down to eat next to him. In silence he ate, trying his level best not to stare at his companion or force feed him the dinner cooling in his lap. His patience was rewarded. 

Possibly encouraged by Alastor's eating, or perhaps he just couldn't ignore his body’s desire for sustenance any longer, Vox took his first slow bite. He chewed listlessly, eyes still fixed on the glowing fireflies hovering over swamp water. Every bite was still progress in Alastor's eyes. 

“I don't…want to go back to that empty apartment…” His voice was so soft, so quiet Alastor questioned if he had even heard the other at first. He didn't draw attention to the fresh tears dripping down Vox's screen.

“Then do not. You may stay as long as you wish.” Alastor replied. He continued to eat, even as Vox put his own unfinished plate aside. Alastor had a shadow move it from the unstable surface of the bed to one of his dressers to deal with later. Vox simply laid back against the pillows once more, tears leaking from his face but nothing else. Perhaps he was too tired to cry any longer. 

Alastor knew it wasn't going to be easy. Not for him, not for Vox. His picturebox wasn't going to be ‘okay’ for a while now. But as Vox’s screen finally powered down, Alastor found he was content with that.

[fallintosanity]

re the WIP Ask Game, my main interest is of course Providence, but I don’t have any questions about it per se.

Just wanted to leave you a note here to say that fic has been on my mind a lot lately since playing Rebirth, and that at multiple points during my playthrough my brain went immediately to “omg this is giving me Providence vibes!!!” which honestly is a testament to the amazing handle you have on all those characters.

Honestly, any little anecdotal tidbit you’d like to share about that fic would water my crops haha, but if you can’t just want you to know I’ve enjoyed it immensely. The Fifth Act left me wanting MOAR and you took that verse and made it your own; I love it just as much.

Oh wow thank you! that's an amazing compliment <3333

I've had tons of fun with this wild AU-of-an-AU myself and I'm still not ready to give it up. All the real-life stuff aside, a big part of why I stopped updating Providence was because I ran into a really, really bad plot snarl. (Which is not uncommon for me tbh; the second-act swamp is REAL 😭 ) Essentially: too many characters pulling in too many different directions, and at the same time too many other characters snagged in place and holding others back.

But! the good news is that I finally - like, just a couple weeks ago - figured out how to untangle one of the plot threads, which has given me room to work on the rest. Wish me luck...! 🤞

WIP ask meme!

...okay and also just for fun, have a scene I wrote and then cut and which has a small chance of ending up back in the fic idk we'll see

~

The Seventh Heaven hummed with activity, its regular customers scattered around at their usual tables, while newcomers and unfamiliar faces surrounded the bar. Tifa worked the taps, wearing her usual black leather vest and skirt over shorts, her loose ponytail swinging as she moved with brisk efficiency. “Order for table six!” she called, and Cloud shouldered his way through the patrons to take the tray she handed him. 

Table six was Barret, Cid, and Vincent, with Nanaki curled up underneath and pretending not to notice Marlene trying to catch the flame on his tail. “Busy tonight, eh?” Barret chuckled as Cloud dropped the tray off.

“Tifa’s the most popular girl in town,” Cloud answered. He glanced over his shoulder at her; in her ruffled teal sundress and matching high-heeled sandals, her hair flowing loose around her arms, she was the brightest person in all Nibelheim. She caught him looking and smiled shyly, then quickly went back to serving two young SOLDIER cadets Cloud vaguely remembered from basic training. 

“That she is,” Cid agreed. “Speakin’ of, her pa wants to talk with you.” He pointed past Cloud’s other shoulder, to where Mr. Lockhart sat at a corner table with Cloud’s ma, Zangan the martial arts teacher, and Denzel. Ma waved cheerfully to Cloud, ignoring Mr. Lockhart’s scowl. 

Ugh. Cloud didn’t want to piss off Tifa’s dad more than he usually did. “Better get going,” he said to Cid and the others, and hurried over to the corner table. 

“About time,” Mr. Lockhart grumbled before Cloud could greet them. “You’re late, Cloud. You’re always too late.” 

“I kept my promise,” Cloud said, forcing his voice to stay level. The clear glass mugs of mako on the table gleamed like poison; he had to look away as Denzel picked one up and took a long drink. 

“Hah.” Mr. Lockhart slammed his own tankard onto the table hard enough that mako splashed everywhere. “You promised to take care of my daughter. Where is she now?” 

“I did,” Cloud protested. “She’s in Nibelheim. Safe.” 

No, that was wrong. Tifa was here, in the Sector Five slums, behind the bar in her white tank top and black miniskirt. Cloud glanced over to check, and Tifa flashed him a cheeky wink and a smile. 

Mr. Lockhart, though, glared at him. “How many times have you left her behind?” 

The words knocked the air from Cloud's lungs. “I didn’t mean to—” he gasped. “I never wanted—I’d give anything to—” 

The building was suddenly too hot, smoke burning Cloud’s throat as he struggled to breathe. Flames roared behind the bar, eating into the rafters, dropping cinders into Cloud’s hair. Tifa’s wide-brimmed hat hung crookedly from its cord around her neck, and her fringed leather vest and skirt dripped with blood. “I guess that only works for real families,” she said, her voice tired and bitter over the snap of the flames. 

This was wrong. Everything was wrong; Cloud had to get out of here. He reached for Ma and Denzel - except it wasn’t Denzel there, it was Cloud’s younger self. Cloud froze, and that was when Ma grabbed his arm, her fingers sharp as a Nibel dragon’s claws. “I won’t let you take him,” she snapped. Hatred twisted her face as she shoved him away. “Get out of my sight!” 

Cloud staggered backward. Something cold bit into his chest, slid through his lungs, and he looked down to see Masamune’s blade jutting from his ribs, red with Cloud’s blood. He tried to struggle, tried to escape, but Sephiroth’s voice whispered in his ear, You’re nothing but an empty puppet.

Cloud flailed, gasping—

—and suddenly the burning Seventh Heaven vanished.

~

[orienteddreamerrr]

You Meet Din Dijarin, aka, The Mandalorian…

❤️YAS! I'M BAAAACK!!!!❤️

(T.V SHOW: THE MANDALORIAN!)

(Din Dijarin/The Mandalorian X Fem Reader!)

(LONG!)

Rating: PG for…some action and fluff!

(Note: This does NOT follow the tv show—it’s totally random!)

Working at the cantina was not your forte. You work as a waiter/waitress there. And of course, lots of humans and alien species alike like to enter here—not wanting to do anything but hang out and drink. Your life is technically at a standstill…but not until this happened. One day, the cantina was usually busy, with chattering and laughter filling up the air. You were waiting for the bartender to set drinks on your tray when you noticed two men coming in. One wearing regular clothes, but the other wearing silver plated armor topped with a silvery helmet…he looked like a bounty hunter. They both sat at the corner of the bar, looking like they didn’t want anything—just to sit there and chat. Once you had delivered those drinks, you carried your empty tray up to the bartender and had placed it onto the counter. “Hey, go see if they need anything, will yah?”, The bartender asked you. You sighed at this. Personally, you didn’t want to bother them, since they were both in deep conversation. But you gathered yourself up and went over their table. The man who had a dark-skinned complexion took notice of you and smiled. You smiled back and asked, “Do you guys need anything?”, The man shook his head. “We’re alright…”, “Yeah…thanks…”, The silver-armored man spoke out. You take notice of his voice being modulated by his helmet—but you gave both of them a nod and treaded back up to the counter, feeling regret on what just happened.

Once your shift was up, and the bar was getting ready to close, surprisingly to your belief, the silver armored man stayed behind while everyone else was leaving, his friend was nowhere to be seen. He was sitting in the same seat as before. You wonder why he was waiting. For you? For someone else? You ignored that feeling as you were about to open the door to leave, when the Silver armored man spoke out, “Hey…wait…”, Guess he was waiting for you! You turned and walked over towards him. “Yeah?”, He stands to his feet. “Sorry for intruding you…but you look like you could use some help…”, You gave a confused look at him. “I know what you’re thinking…it’s weird but true…”, You could only nod as you get closer to him. He had stepped back a little in response. “Well meet me here tomorrow…in the morning, so we can talk more…okay?”, He could only nod in response as he got near the door to leave but you stopped him. “Wait, what’s your name?”, He turned to face you. “Mando’—but my real name is Din…you?”, “Y/n…”, Din nodded firmly, acknowledging your name as he left out the door. You smiled to yourself at the thought of his real name. This might not be so bad…but something is telling you your life is about to take a turn.

The next day, in the morning, you were thinking that this day was going to be totally normal, and nothing should really happen…you were thinking completely wrong. You went inside the cantina to find broken furniture, broken cups and glasses and the bartender laying on the floor, with blood splotches on his shirt. You can tell he was dead already. You gasped slightly into seeing all this as you quickly run outside, and to your luck, Din was just coming around the corner. He probably saw how concerned you were as he changed his pace. “Mando’! Something happened! Come quick!”, He gave off a nod as he followed you inside. He investigated the cantina, slowly looking around, taking in the clues. He couched near the bartender, looking at his wounds. “Looks like knife wounds…it’s deliberate...”, He stands to face you. You sigh in annoyance. You were really wanting to know who did this. There was a sudden bang in the back of the bar—the storage room. Din quickly got in front of you and took out his blaster. “Stay behind me…”, He lowly says to you as you both crept slowly to the room.

Once close enough, Din went up to the door and kicked it down. Once he did, two robbers dressed in black clothing rushed out, but one tried to grab onto you, making you trip to the floor as they drag you across it…and the floor was littered with glass. You shout in pain as some glass gets caught in your arm. Din comes to your rescue as he unhooks his staff and had hit the robber on the head with it very heard. He drops to the ground, not moving an inch. Din comes over to you and extends his hand for you to take. You winced, not wanting to move. Din sighs as he goes behind you. “Don’t worry—I’ll be gentle…”, He mentions before slowly lifting you up from the ground. Once you were standing, you take a moment to look at the place and the robber laying on the ground. Apparently, the other one had gotten away. You looked to your arm, with it almost looking mangled with glass stuck into it. “Let me help you with that…”, Din had pointed out your arm. You look to him, not trying to shed tears in front of this man. “I got a ship here…full of medical supplies…if you’re willing to trust me, I can help you…”, He added, with a bit of concern in his modulated voice.

You could only nod at his offer as he took you by your clean arm by the hand as he leads you outside the cantina. It was a good walk to his ship, probably 2 miles. During the walk, you noticed a big ship was up ahead. “Wow! That’s your ship?”, You look over to him as you both pause, being near the ship now. He shifts his head over to you, acknowledging your question. “Yeah…don’t get used to it…”, He was trying to help you release some tension. Yet, it was working as you couldn’t help but chuckle and be amused by his words. You look to see the ramp lowering from the ship. Before you could even step foot onto the ship, the wound on your arm was beginning to get to your head as you blacked out without yourself knowing. Felt like 30 minutes passed as you wake up with blurry vision. But the blurriness was starting to subside as you check your surroundings. You’re lying in a colt-like bed and a blanket was covering you. And you were on a ship. Din’s ship. There was a ladder that you guessed led up to the cockpit. You felt there was something wrapped around your arm as you looked to see gauze was wrapped securely around your wound as it was already treated.

It was for a moment when you heard someone coming down from the ladder. You pretended to go back to sleep, quickly pulling the covers over your head as you felt their presence was near you. “Hey—I know your awake…”, It was Din himself. You groaned and opened your eyes, throwing the sheets off of you as you sit up. “Aw man! I though you wouldn’t notice!”, You can hear Din chuckling slightly as he sits himself in a seat across from you. “How’s your wound?”, You chuckle back and gestured to it. “It’s fine…thanks for helping me…”, He nods, acknowledging your gratitude. “You’re welcome…I tracked that other robber who fled…he traveled two parsecs away to this desert-like planet I never came across…you up for it?”, You slowly nod to him. “Yeah! Yeah…I just need a moment…”, Din nods as he stands, slowly going over to the ladder that led up to the cockpit. He stops short and cranes his head over to you. “When you’re willing, you can come up here if you want…I got an extra seat…”, You looked over to him to flash him a smile. “Yeah…sure…”, He acknowledges you and goes up to the cockpit.

Once you took your moment, you slowly ascend the ladder to find Din in his cockpit chair, piloting his ship, watching him randomly flip these switches as if he knows what he’s doing. You noticed the ship was still in hyperspace as well. He was probably aware of your presence as he swiftly turned in his chair to face you. It catches you off guard as you jumped a little. “Glad you could join…sit…”, he turned his chair back around as you quickly took your seat next to his. Din’s ship comes out of hyperspace with a planet coming in view—it looked really sandy. But it wasn’t Tatooine! “Why would he come here?”, You asked, looking over to Din. You see him shrug. “Not sure—I just hope he’s not leading us into a trap…”, He flicked some more switches, prepping the ship for landing. From the looks of it, he did not show any ounce of fear! “You’ve done this before…haven’t you?”, You lowly asked, looking over to him again. You hear him sigh. “Yeah…enough times to know that some people can just be bastards…”, That got you chuckling a little as the ship was making its decent. Once you’ve landed, you got up and out of the ship to find yourselves in the middle of nowhere.

You felt Din had come up next to you as he points ahead of him. “Look…a settlement’s up ahead…maybe he’s hiding out there…”, You gave a nod to him as you both walked to the settlement. Once you got there, it was a ghost town. Apparently, everyone must be in hiding. “Where is everybody?”, You thought out loud. You both were trying to explore the town when out of nowhere, blaster bolts came out at every direction. You felt Din grab your arm as you both took cover. He took out his own and shot at some of the men that were firing. You looked out from behind your hiding spot to find the robber guy going inside this building that was nearby. You turn to Din. “Hey! I saw him! He went inside that building!”, He gives a nod to you as you both got up to rush inside, laser fire still coming in hot. Both of you made it in time as Din shuts the big door behind. Hiding behind a pillar, Din takes a moment, looking to see the coast was clear. “Alright…come on...”, He mutters to you, wanting to continue. You both slowly walk around, trying to pinpoint where the robber was hiding.

That’s when you looked over to him to see a shadow appear behind him. “Behind you!”, You yelp to him. It was of course the robber. Din quickly turns around as he gets tackled to the ground. The robber proceeds to choke him and attempts to take his helmet off. You quickly grab his blaster that he dropped and aimed it at the robber, trying to get a good shot. When you did shoot him, the robber screeches, along with flinching from the pain he was feeling, but he forced Din’s helmet off completely. Since you know the law of bounty hunters, you quickly turn around upon seeing Din’s bare face. You heard shuffling of feet. You were thinking Din was scrambling to get is helmet back on. “Are you okay?”, You ask him, still having your back turned. “Yeah…I’m fine…”, His voice…it was clear…not modulated! Why doesn’t he have his helmet on? You wonder.

After a moment you hear him say, “You can turn around now…”, His voice was back to being modulated. You slowly turned around to see Din standing there, his helmet back on his head and the robber laying near his feet. Yoi look to Din. “Just so you know…I know the law of bounty hunters—can’t let your face be seen by others…”, He walks slowly towards you. “How did you know that?”, You eyed to the ground, trying to think of what to tell him. “Some of my family members were…Mandalorians…and I’ve learned the ways of the rules you all follow…one of them of being not to take your helmet off for people to see…”, Din gave a nod acknowledgement as he turns his head to the ground. There was a good silence between the two of you…Din broke it. “I’ll let you in something…”,

You look to Din with your interest peeking, nodding for him to continue. “I have never shown anyone my identity….never…since we Mandalorians follow a creed…like you mentioned…but it wouldn’t be right if I broke it…”, You notice Din stepping even closer to you. “You can’t tell anyone I did this…do you swear to keep this to yourself?”, You quickly nod in affirmation. “I do…wait, what? What are…?”, Before you could finish, you watch as Din slowly lifts his arms to take off his helmet. His face was revealed as you were mesmerized by it. Brown curly locks of hair, brown-fudge like eyes…and he looks like he’s in his late 20s. And he’s human! You stepped closer this time as you slowly placed a hand on his cheek to rest it there. He melts into it. “I definitely won’t tell anyone…you have my word…I’ll pretend I never saw it!”, For the first time, you see Din smile to your words. He chuckles too. You smile back at him as you retract his hand.

“I think I have what it takes…do you think we should be partners? Y’know, work together?”, Din’s smile disappears into a more serious look. “That would be helpful, but…your place is the cantina…”, “Well…my place WAS the cantina…I want something more in my life…you would understand, right?”, Din gave a firm nod. “Yeah…I think this might work…but you have to become a Mandalorian like me…it’s a big process to go through…are you up for it?”, You nod back at him as Din places his Helmet back on, his voice being back to being modulated again. “Alright…I guess you can consider yourself my partner then…”, You smile and rushed towards the doors of the building you both were still in. “Well—let’s start by taking out these guys!”, You see Din give off a nod of affirmation as he pushes past the doors, with you following after. This turn in your life will be something you won’t blow for you get to work with the fearsome Mandalorian himself! You’re just hoping you both can make a good cause for the Galaxy, together!

The End!

Leave a like if you enjoyed!❤️🤭

[bmodiwrites]

I'll Dial Drunk

Hi friends! I'm back with something that's been brewing since Noah Kahan released the extended version of his newest album. Dial Drunk is the motivation for this one - I hope you like what my mind cooked up! There will be a second part, so be on the lookout for that. You can read I'll Dial Drunk below or over on AO3. Please like, reblog, and let me know what you think!

The mahogany under Steve’s arm is slippery like grease, covered in both sweat from the bar’s patrons and slick from the coating used to keep its shine. He tries not to look down at the reflective surface – his mirror image is just as bad as the one Steve projects out into the world and he’s already depressed. Seeing examples of his downfall never helps.  

For the fourth night in a row, Steve sits at the far corner of The Hideout, sipping a drink. There aren’t many lights that surround him so Steve is usually unbothered and undisturbed while he drowns his sorrows in whiskey and rum. After so many years of isolation, that’s how Steve likes it. He doesn’t know how to converse with strangers anymore – his allotted charm hit it’s peak so long ago that Steve can’t even remember what normal interaction is actually like.

Tonight is somehow different. There’s a charge in the air that Steve can’t seem to push past or ignore. He takes a deep breath, testing out the oxygen level in the room. Though it supplies him with what his body needs, Steve can smell the lingering anticipation.

Or maybe, he’s just really fucking drunk.

The whiskey in his hands is warm by now, the ice he ordered in it all but melted and watering down the drink. Steve throws it back anyway, well aware of the waste it would be if he doesn’t. His money isn’t something he can just throw away now. With so much agony following him around, disappearing into his mind isn’t beneficial. These days, it’s easier to live in the back of his head than exist in the real world – working a job included. It’s lonelier there, sad in so many ways that a lack of steady income doesn’t even break into the top five.

At least in his head, Steve is surrounded by the family he once had. Dustin and the kids aren’t gone yet, the sleepy little town they all grew up in hasn’t chased them away. They’re available for him outside of the holidays that blow by in a haze of too little time and so much to do every time his surrogate kids come back to see their families. His mind perfectly preserved the happy moments where Steve is at his best and not lonelier than any man should be.

What’s lacking in his real life, Steve clings to in his thoughts.

Unsurprisingly, Steve also keeps a perfectly rendered picture of the one that got away tucked back there, mingling with all of his other good memories. In his head, Eddie Munson is bright eyed and 21 years old. There are scars that mark him but beauty radiates from him all the same. In the handful of years since Eddie turned him away, Steve’s mental picture and it’s clarity hasn’t changed a single bit. He can’t forget dimpled smiles and chocolate button eyes that were so easy to love – no matter what drawing up that vision costs him.

And the toll of clinging onto such memories is so very high. Steve struggles to make it from day to day after nights where Eddie and the kids live in the forefront of his mind. When they’re tucked away and out of sight, Steve can almost forget the pain that radiates from his chest and magnifies as it goes down. He can do his job and wake up in the morning without too much heartache. For some of the long days, Steve manages with barely a passing thought for those who left him behind.

Days like today are impossible, however. Hell, the last few days haven’t been all that good. After hearing about Eddie on the radio, Steve is stuck in the moments where that brilliant man was his - even if they are few and far between. The alcohol numbs the need to desperately seek Eddie out, to run across Hawkins and demand to be taken back. Yet, it enhances the want for him, for the life they should’ve had even more. The impossible conundrum is neither solved nor soothed by whiskey on the rocks, though Steve keeps drinking all the same.

How can he not when thirty came and went last fall and Steve’s not any closer to being where he wants in life or with the people he needs so very desperately? As the world turned on around him, Steve dug his heels in and tried to stop it from spinning him off his axis. This place, this town - it’s all he’s ever known. After all the trauma, Steve is certain he made the right decision to stay right where he is, consequences be damned.

A loud bang a few feet down the bar draws Steve away from his melancholy, all sad thoughts halting. A new group is starting to get passed the point of socially drunk – the ruckus they’re going to cause is a little more than Steve can take at the moment. Instead of asking for one more like most nights, Steve signals to the bar tender, requesting the check.

“All done for the night, Harrington?” Gareth asks, a worried look on his face. Steve watches him glance between the rowdy group and himself. There’s a tension there that Steve can’t quite place. Despite being one of the bars best customers, Gareth seems eager to have Steve gone.

Instead of wondering why, Steve’s drunk brain grasps onto the question the bartender asked. “Sure am. Gotta save a little of that liquor for the next time I’m here.” Steve tries to smile but it falls flat - there’s nothing nice about being a drunk and knowing it. The hilarity of the situation is long gone now that Steve is stuck in this rut and can’t seem to get out.

After making quick work of his change, Gareth nods at Steve and turns back to help the other group demanding his attention. Steve shakes his head to clear it, then starts his trek over to the main entrance. He’s wobbling and a bit tipsy on his feet but they eventually start to work and clumsily carry him across the room. Of course, they can’t whisk him away fast enough to avoid hearing something that is guaranteed to set him off.

“Did you hear the freak is back in town?”

“Yeah, man. I saw him at the coffee shop with his uncle. Still as freaky as ever.”

“I don’t know why that Munson kid ever comes back. He’s never been welcome here.”

With each new scathing remark, Steve forgets himself a little more. Despite not being Eddie’s for a long time now, Steve can’t help the way his heart lurches anytime someone speaks badly of him. There’s so much this stupid town doesn’t know; Eddie is a savior and part of the reason Hawkins is still standing. He wonders briefly if they would think differently of him if the truth were to come out. Though, that’s quickly brushed away in favor of the rising anger Steve isn’t even trying to control. Why should he when there’s nothing to lose?

Turning around, Steve makes quick work of stumbling back over to the group who’s now cackling madly. There’s a moment where Gareth looks at him, even shakes his head, but Steve ignores him. It’s already too late to turn back now. How can he, anyway? Eddie’s never deserved the hand he was dealt. After a decade, the trash talk needs to go away for good.

“I’ve never liked that word – freak. Especially when it’s coming from boys like you,” Steve says, squaring up his shoulders to bring himself to full height. He’s surrounded on all sides by assholes but he’s not afraid. For the first time in a long time, Steve feels alive.

The leader of the group, some Jason Carver wannabe, turns to Steve, looking him up and down. There’s recognition that’s quickly diminished into a hatred only people in Hawkins can understand.

“What makes you think I give a shit what the town drunk has to say?”

There are snickers following the attempted insult; this ring leader has all of his flunkies trained well. Steve ignores them, however, setting his sights on the guy dumb enough to step up and take the bait. Despite not being athletic anymore and a little older than he was, Steve knows he can win a fight. There’s been more than a few in this very spot that ended in victory for Steve. He’s not afraid nor cowed by a jackass who talks about something he’s got no business even bringing up.

“You care enough to turn around and clap back. I’d say you’re pretty invested.” Steve smirks at that, knowing he’s got this guy right where he wants him.

As expected, the man takes a step towards Steve, his fingers clenching. “I would watch yourself if I were you. 7 to 1 isn’t much of a fight.”

Without thinking or even trying to act rationally, Steve smiles wider – his eyes darkening. “I like those odds,” he mutters a second before drawing back his right arm and swinging.

The punch lands right where he wants it. Steve is happy to see that the guy is all talk and no action. He blows back against the bar like he’s been hit by a truck, not a simple thing like Steve’s fist. His face is pinched into a grimace that gets worse when he sees the rest of the group just standing there staring.

“You’re just going to let him do that to me?” Steve’s victim roars, his hands that are covering his nose muffling the sound. A few of the guys jump into action while the rest take a step back. They’re smart not to take on a crazy person without anything to lose.

For what seems like hours, Steve fights them off. He throws punches and lets a few glance off him to get the advantage. By the time there’s blue and red flashing lights in the window, everyone is sporting at least one black eye and Steve’s knuckles are torn open, each one of them bleeding enough to leave track marks down the side of Steve’s shirt and jeans. He looks murderous and Hop says so as he’s putting him into cuffs.

“You look fucking rabid, Harrington. Ain’t nothing worth this.” Hop’s words are harsh but his hands are gentle on Steve’s wrists. They’ve been through this song and dance a few times before. All because of Eddie – always because of that damn boy.

“You don’t even know him anymore, Steve. Why do you do this to yourself?”

Steve contemplates that answer all the way to the station while he sits in the back of Hop’s squad car. The fifteen minute drive is enough to sober him somewhat, though there’s still a long way to go before clarity sets in. His mind is addled but one thing is clear, Eddie is always worth the punches Steve throws. Always.

After getting dragged into the station, Hop throws Steve into a chair in front of his desk. He sits down heavily, the tiredness of getting his ass kicked starting to set in. They both know exactly who Steve wants to call but Hop makes him wait. They toil in silence for ages, staring at each other but not seeing. Glancing but never quite making eye contact.

When this first happened, Hop tried his best to guide Steve. To this day the man feels like a father figure that Steve never had in his own daddy. Yet, Steve is and always has been too stubborn to do what’s best for himself. He’s ruled by emotion that weighs him down and forces him to remain stagnant. He’s stuck in the past where genuine happiness exists - even if it’s just for those handful of months. Steve doesn’t want to forget the way his heart pounded or the shape of Eddie’s lips against his own. Every trip to the police station is worth it. It has to be when Steve has nothing left.

It’s obvious that neither of them are going to talk so Hop huffs out an impatient breath before reaching for the phone on his desk. Steve usually dials the number but Hop doesn’t let him this time. His fingers glide over the buttons, the rhythm of it like music to Steve’s ears.

There’s a singular moment where Steve thinks Hop isn’t going to hand over the phone – a look in his eyes that Steve can’t quite decipher. Though, it’s gone as fast as it came; the receiver is in Steve’s hands before the slightest idea of what Hop is thinking comes to the surface of Steve’s drunken mind. Everyone has their problems, that much is obvious.

Like every time before, Hop leaves him to his own devices. After the call went unanswered the second time and Steve flipped out, Hop’s taken to giving him some privacy. Despite his misconduct, the town’s sheriff doesn’t actually want to arrest Steve. There’s too much history to allow a small misdemeanor to truly ruin Steve’s life. This, the handcuffs, the time spent in the station – it’s all a familiar procedure now. The choreography is soothing in a world where Steve knows there aren’t guarantees. At least some things never change.

The continual ringing of the phone in his hand pulls Steve back to the present. Usually, there’s a couple of half assed rings and then a long dial tone before the operator hops on to say the number has been disconnected. After Eddie pushed him out the door a decade ago, the trailer’s number never worked again, despite the millions of times Steve dialed it time and time again. The disconnection of that bond still stings, so Steve is perplexed to hear the ringing continue. It goes and goes until there’s a click and a miracle truly happens.

“Munson residence, this is Eddie.”

Steve’s breath catches and for a second, he forgets himself. He forgets that he’s been trying to get through for years and years. Steve is suddenly back in his bedroom with that voice whispering in his ear. It’s like 10 years of hurt and pain no longer exist.

Then, reality comes crashing back.

“If you’re one of those fuckers calling to yell about damnation, you can save it!”

Gasping, Steve clings to the here and now to reply before the call is hung up.

“Wait, wait. Don’t go, Eddie!”

There’s silence.

Then –

“Steve? Is that really you?”

“Yeah, Eddie. It’s me. I can’t – I can’t believe you finally picked up. 10 years later.”

“How did you – never mind. Where are you? And why are you calling?”

Steve scoffs, his emotions all over the place. “I’ve been calling for years – just to maybe hear your voice. Of course you finally answer when I’m stuck in handcuffs at the police station. How fucked is that?”

A chuckle sounds down the line, the vibration of it genuine and true in Steve’s ears. He wants to cry from the relief of finally hearing such a happy noise again. It’s insane knowing how much better he feels just from that one second of joyful sound.

“You called me as your one phone call? What would’ve happened if I didn’t pick up?”

“Well, you never have before. Hop usually throws me in the holding cell and lets me sleep it off. I cry for a bit and then drop into an exhausted slumber where I dream about you. Pretty standard stuff.”

“Oh, Steve – “  

The tone of Eddie’s voice is raw and pitying – any other time, Steve would’ve lashed out in order to protect himself and his pride. Yet, he’s too weak and relieved to hear Eddie at all that Steve let’s it slide. He clings to it, even – the dulcet tones of worry are better than the silence that usually follows him around.

“I’m okay, Eddie. Drunk and bruised up but okay. Better than ever now.”

“I can’t believe I’m saying this but sit tight, okay? I’ll be there soon.”

Steve can’t process the words so he hums and holds the phone tightly to his ear, keeping it there even after Eddie hangs up and the dial tone is all that’s left. Steve clings and clings until Hop walks back into the room and takes the receiver from him.

“He picked up this time, Hop. Must be my lucky day.”

Hop looks at him for a moment, contemplating whether Steve needs to know that he dialed the right number instead of the one Steve always uses before deciding against it. He simply smiles in Steve’s direction, placating the drunken boy who still feels like a son. For so many years, Hop watched Steve drag himself down. Tonight, putting him in the car was just too much. Hop isn’t all that certain Wayne won’t hate him later but Steve’s happiness is worth whatever backlash he may get. This thing, the isolation between two kids obviously still gone for each other, has gone on long enough.

Steve and Hop wait at the desk until the station’s front door opens. For Steve, the entire world stops – there’s no spinning on an axis or time passing him by. There’s only Eddie.

Despite 10 years continuing on, Eddie isn’t much different. There are a few laugh lines around his eyes and a new scar over his right eyebrow. He’s a little heavier because exercising is for the weak but that’s about it. Steve is transported back to the easy days when summer vacation and what’s for lunch were his only worries. His fingers itch to bury themselves in the thick strands of curly hair still hanging past Eddie’s shoulders, kinky and long as always. Steve wants so much that he’s overwhelmed and completely mute the entire time Eddie and Hop discuss the situation.

By the time Hop is taking him out of the cuffs, Steve’s drunkenness has reached a critical level. It’s difficult to hobble out to the car, even with the warm press of Eddie against his side. Steve is so intoxicated that he can’t even enjoy the rare gift that being next to Eddie is. He’s happy to simply be there with him, to sit in the passenger seat of a new car that smells like Eddie and the burn of Marbolo Reds. Steve can only smile and nod when Eddie asks him questions. There’s no cognition of what he’s being asked to do or say but Steve is happy all the same. For the first time in a decade, he drifts off to sleep without a semblance of tightness or misery sitting in his belly.

——

“Hey there, Stevie – “

The all too familiar voice has Steve turning over, a soft smile on his face. He can tell it’s Eddie talking to him, there’s no mistaking the affection that sounds in his ears, yet the outline of his body is hazy and unfocused. Steve reaches up to rub at his eyes but it’s no use. The achingly familiar tease of Eddie just barely out of his reach is so familiar, Steve knows he’s dreaming.

Despite that, he extends his arm in Eddie’s direction. Steve’s fingers throb with a desperate need to touch, the ache so very familiar. Like usual, Steve gets so close that the feeling of Eddie’s leather jacket under his skin is almost tangible. While the memory of that touch lingers, the real thing hovers away for no justifiable reason. Steve’s come to the conclusion that he’s not allowed happiness. After so long, he’s used to never getting what he wants.

The sound of a coffee maker beeping draws Steve out of his restless dream. He blinks awake with a heavy sigh, both frustrated and glad to be free of that glorious torture – at least until he manages to try and rest again later. Stretching in hopes of forgetting the turmoil already setting in, Steve leans into the feeling of his muscles loosening. He’s sore enough to know a fight occurred without the memories having to resurface. A quick flex of his hand drives that reality home tenfold. There are cracks and cuts across the skin, though they’re lacking the caked on dry blood that’s usually looking back at him. In fact, all of his injuries have been taken care of.

With this newfound knowledge, Steve finally takes in the rest of his surroundings. Instead of the corner of a jail cell, Steve is reclined on a decently comfortable couch. There is a pillow under his head and a handmade blanket over top of him. Everything smells familiar, like Eddie’s cologne and the natural musk of a well-loved home. He’s startled to realize that whatever happened last night isn’t a dream his hopeful heart concocted.

That’s further proven by a cup of coffee being pushed into his hands a couple of minutes later. Steve is so dumbstruck that it takes a second for his body to cooperate. Eddie patiently waits in front of him until there’s no risk of spilling hot liquid. Despite the warmth of the drink, Steve takes a handful of desperate sips before even thinking about taking on whatever’s coming next.

Surprisingly, it’s silence that follows. Steve watches Eddie drink his coffee. In return, those brown eyes stay on Steve, too. There’s some sort of stalemate happening that’s not going to be broken by Steve. He’s too busy soaking Eddie in while the caffeine of the coffee is absorbed into his blood stream. Little by little, Steve gets a better grip on himself – his heart starts beating fast, it’s normal reaction to Eddie so close. Instead of the sluggish drunk of last night, Steve becomes the person he truly is.

A lost soul with a lot of unresolved feelings.

Eddie must see that because he finally breaks the ice developing up between them.

“You look like shit, man.”

Forgetting himself for a second, Steve can’t help but laugh. His chest heaves with the unexpected intensity of such an emotion. For a minute at least, Steve chuckles until there are tears streaming down his face.

“Fuck – I forgot how much you make me feel.” Steve takes a second, let’s himself calm down. Then, he trucks on. “I am shit, Eddie. Have been for years now. I can’t believe you’re actually here. I thought I dreamed last night up.”

“Trust me, I’m very real.” Eddie stops for a second, inelegantly staring Steve down. “It’s crazy to think my first adventure back home is with you. After all this time, it’s like nothing’s changed.”

“You’re shitting me, right? Nothing’s changed? I called you from jail last night, Eddie. Like I’ve done at least a dozen times before. Everything has changed.”

Eddie has the decency to look embarrassed, his big brown eyes watering up before he blinks the moisture away. Steve can’t help but want those tears to fall, to see some sort of emotion that comes close to Steve’s own. After a decade of thinking about this moment, Steve is lost in a sea of overwhelm, unable to doggy paddle effectively. He wants so much, it’s hard to process what’s actually happening.

Though, he eventually gets himself together enough to ask the question burning up his mind. “Why did you pick up now? I’ve called plenty of times when you were in town before. The phone just rang and rang until the operator popped on to tell me I’m an idiot for calling a disconnected number. I’ve been listening to that recorded message so long it’s a comfort to hear.”

Steve isn’t ready for the sudden infiltration of his space but deals with it when Eddie takes up the couch cushion next to him. Their thighs are inches from touching, the heat between them tangible. Steve so desperately wants to lash out and push Eddie away, to return the treatment he himself received. Yet, the comfort of a familiar body next to him is too much to handle. The fight leaves Steve within seconds.

“Hop dialed for you last night. He put in Wayne’s new number and you finally got through. I don���t know why he waited so long to share it with you, Steve. I’m suddenly aware of a lot of things I didn’t know.”

The bubbling pit of sadness Steve deals with on a daily basis drops a little further into his stomach. The realization that Hop could have helped him long ago settles in, making Steve feel heavy. It takes a second or two to come to the understanding that though it hurt him, Hop was trying to protect Steve, too.

“He was trying to save me, I’m sure. From this,” Steve says, waving his hands back and forth between them. “I’m a very weak man but that’s nothing compared to the fall out that’s about to come. Now that you’re here, I see very clearly that I’m going to have to give you up again.”

Tears are falling down Steve’s cheeks long before he realizes it. His shirt, or maybe Eddie’s because it’s a touch too tight across the chest, is getting wet, the collar collecting his sadness by the second. Steve is too tired and wrung out to reach up and swipe at each traitorous one. Instead, he lets them flow.

A soft hand on his chin stops Steve’s spiral. Guitar calloused fingers are so recognizable it’s like they’re 20 again, touching for the first time. Though, that thought jolts Steve back to reality and he shifts away. Little tastes of things he’s never going to be able to keep aren’t good for him. He’s an addict that isn’t anywhere near following the path to recovery. This bump, this small little hit, it’s going to put him back years.

“Don’t do that, Eddie. Don’t touch me like it’s not going to kill me. Don’t pretend that you care.”

“I do care. I’ve cared since before Vecna came in and destroyed our lives. I left because I care, Steve. Why can’t you see that?”

A red flash of rage swims in Steve’s vision. He’s much to hungover to be having this conversation but it’s happening, nonetheless. Steeling himself, Steve says the things he’s wanted to since the separation occurred.  

“That’s bull shit. If you cared, you never would have left. You never would have turned your back on me.”

“Steve, you shut me out. I told you I needed to leave for your safety and mine. I said I had to go because this town doesn’t forgive or forget. We were getting death threats every day. You, me, my uncle – even the kids. I couldn’t put you guys through that anymore.” Eddie’s voice rises, his anger peaking. “You decided you weren’t going to talk to me anymore. That the distance between us was too big to handle.”

“Because I needed you! I needed you to be there for me. You left right after my parents did, abandoning me like them. You took off without asking me how I felt about it. I would’ve braved every single person in town who thought they had the right to say something to or about you. Hell, I punched that guy last night in the face because he let your name fall from his lips. You’re worth the fight, Eddie. Even now.”

Steve’s so lost in his anger and resentment that it’s impossible to continue. If he says another word or thinks another thought, Steve’s positive he’s going to explode. There’s so much he wants to scream in Eddie’s face but none of it matters. Eddie is crying and Steve, despite the time and baggage between them, can’t stand to see the sight. No matter how often he wished to cause Eddie the same pain Steve deals with daily, he can’t deal with the reality of it. Without thought, both of his arms wrap around Eddie’s shoulders and pull until they’re chest to chest, hugging each other tightly.

For now, it’s the only thing they can give to each other, unresolved issues be damned. Steve knows that by the way all the fight leaves Eddie’s body. He feels it in the squeeze Eddie gives him back. There is no resolution or simple answers in sight. After so long, there might never be.

Leaning into Eddie’s touch, Steve comes to the conclusion that this right here, coming back together after years of miscommunication and anger, is everything and nothing, the perfectly imperfect way things work out following desperate hurt and sadness that separated entities meant to exist as one. There’s no way of knowing what happens next but Steve is content to rest in Eddie’s arms.

There, he is safe.

There, Steve can feel whole again.

In the moment, that’s all Steve really needs.

tag list (message if you’d like to be added): @infinite-orangepeel, @thefreakandthehair, @corrodedcoughin, @prettyboisteveharrington, 

[theoddcatlady]

I'm Addicted to Eating Bugs

I suppose it started small, like all addictions do. I was in the first grade, having some corner time because I threw a crayon at Brandon's head. He totally deserved it but that's another story for another day.

Anyway, I was facing the brick wall, imagining horrible fates for this jerk of a classmate when I heard a quiet buzzing. I looked by my feet to see an old cobweb, spider long gone but the dusty threads still managing to capture a fly. It wiggling and squirmed and if I hadn't interfered it probably would have gotten loose and carried on with its life. But before I realized it I had plucked the fly free and placed it in my mouth.

It buzzed furiously and it took all my willpower not to giggle, it was really ticklish. If I laughed, I'd end up opening my mouth and away it would go. I prodded at it with my tongue, feeling its wings flap uselessly against my cheek before I ended its life between my molars.

I swallowed and felt a lot better about things. Who cared about stupid Brandon anyway?

To be fair, kids eat stupid shit all the time. Glue, crayons, paper, I used to know a kid who ate sand and thought he was really stupid. Then again, I was only in the sandbox to hunt down ladybugs, so maybe I didn't have room to judge. But all those kids left their weird eating habits behind. I didn't. Instead, my habit grew.

At recess I'd spend all my time hunting bugs. I'd bring along a lil bug box and my teacher would just assume I'd want to study the insect world and let me be.

The easiest to find were worms on a day it had just rained. Those lil buggers were everywhere on the paving stones. Unfortunately they also had the least amount of payout. Worms taste like dirt. I mean, who's surprised though? Caterpillars were a lot better, so squishy but still slow enough for me to catch. Crickets and grasshoppers were a real pain in the neck. I had to learn to be patient and wait for the right moment to strike. If I didn't wait for the right moment, I would end up clapping my hands down on nothing at all.

But oh man, were they worth the effort. I didn't like putting them in my mouth alive so much, they kicked too much, but they had so much flavor and crunch. If I managed to find a grasshopper while hunting, I would consider myself one lucky kiddo.

I was never officially caught eating bugs until a few years later. I knew I had to keep my secret quiet. But when I was in fourth grade my class got a pet lizard named Lizzy. I know, really creative on names here, but we were kids so give us a break. But Lizzy needed to eat crickets a few times a week. I felt almost validated watching her munch down on them. But I also felt jealous. She could eat crickets whenever she wanted. I wished I could do that.

One winter day I decided to steal some of Lizzy's crickets. During recess I'd gone back to the classroom to get something from my desk when I realized I was all alone. This was my only chance to indulge. I crept up to the lizard cage, where the small cricket container was placed beside it. I opened up the top, snaked a handful of crickets, and threw those little buggers right in my mouth.

I had just closed my eyes when I heard someone gasp. I turned and saw Gabrielle, her jaw dropped as she stared at me. I'm pretty sure a cricket leg was poking out of my mouth too.

And of course, Gabrielle being a teacher's pet, she ran off screaming ‘Keith is eating Lizzy's crickets!’

I swallowed, feeling a lump form in my chest. My secret was out.

I managed to play it off as a joke, a one time thing. I was just curious as to why Lizzy liked eating crickets so much. I think Mr. Martinez found it hilarious. He ended up bringing roasted crickets to class next week, taking this moment to teach us how other cultures enjoyed eating all kinds of bugs and prepping them in unique ways.

I never felt more sick in my life. Although being salted and cooked did bring out the flavor, I ended up barfing it up later. It just. Wasn't the same. They were barely even bugs anymore. It was just like eating potato chips or almonds. There was no thrill of the hunt. None of that excitement as they squirm in your mouth. The joy when you bite down, taking out a leg or maybe slicing them right down the abdomen.

I did try to stop after that. I really did. I didn't want to get picked on anymore and maybe it was a little weird that I kept eating bugs.

But here's the real problem. If I don't sate my appetite on bugs, I start craving… bigger things.

The whole glass was horrified to come in one morning to find Lizzy had disappeared, the lid tipped off the cage and our class pet nowhere to be seen. Much to my amusement, fingers were pointed at Gabrielle, as she was the one who fed Lizzy the day before. She swore up and down that she fastened the cage lid on tight, but it didn't matter. We tore that room apart and Lizzy was just gone.

I participated in the search, although I had no reason to. I knew exactly where Lizzy was. In my belly.

I didn't know why I had gone back to class that day, I just knew I needed to. I was alone, me and that lizard. I felt like I was on autopilot as I opened the cage and plucked Lizzy out by the tail. I dangled her over my mouth before I snapped her head clean off. Blood dripped in my mouth, a new feeling I had never gotten before with bugs. It felt so damn good.

When the high wore off though I felt so guilty I nearly threw her back up. I didn't, because that would really be a waste, I just got out of there. That night at dinner I didn't eat a damn thing, I claimed I had a tummy ache and that wasn't a lie. But I knew the cause wasn't that 24 hour flu bug going around.

So yeah. I realized quickly that maybe there are worse things than eating bugs. Winters were always the hardest, I had to make due with ants in the kitchen and daddy long legs in the basement. To my credit, I've only ‘snapped’ once since then, it was Christmas vacation at grandma's house and I just hadn't had the time to hunt. That poor cat. Everyone just assumed a wild animal had gotten to poor Fluffy, meanwhile I was trying to discreetly pick long white fur out from in between my teeth.

It's gotten simultaneously harder and easier as an adult. Harder as I need to eat a lot more bugs to keep the cravings at bay, easier as now I can just go to the pet store and clean out their supply of feeder crickets and mealworms. The cashier there thinks I'm cute and usually gives me a discount. She keeps asking to meet my geckos and I have to keep making excuses as to why she can't.

If the cravings get bad, I hit up another pet store and buy a few mice, maybe a hamster or a gerbil too if it sounds good. I eat those suckers while binge watching Netflix, sucking on the long tails and reducing their skulls to paste. It has worked for me so far. I don't have a girlfriend, but I have a decent social life. I think it's probably for the best I don't have a family. I don't want to snap one day around a small child, I’d never forgive myself.

But I'm a good uncle to my sister's kids. I send them gifts and always tell them cool bug facts, which they love to hear, especially the younger one, Ellie.

However… I think I caught Ellie with her hand in the proverbial cookie jar last week. The cookie jar in this case was a spider's web, and a fly wing poking out of her lips.

She said she was just curious as to why spiders ate flies, but I'm gonna be keeping an eye on her.

[lumine-no-hikari]

Dear Sephiroth: (a letter to a fictional character, because why not) #164

I DID THE THING!!! I MADE IT PAST THE SEALED DOOR!!!!

…Only to later be turned into a smoothie via gravity instead of via whirring blades. Go figure!! Hahahahahaha!! 🤣🤣🤣

I had thought that I'd be able to find a way to the rest of the game world without dying, but apparently, in the beginning, dying is the only way out of the Chapel of Anticipation anyway. And apparently, falling off that specific cliff edge is the only way to keep the experience points I gained as a result of stopping myself from getting shredded to bits by the Grafted Scion; ordinarily, one loses all of one's accrued experience points upon death, and in order to get them back, you have to go back to where you died in order to fetch them, and in so doing, face the obstacle that you fell to once more.

Initially, I was shocked and disappointed when the cliff wall crumbled; it felt kind of like a cheap trick. But I suppose I should have expected some other contrived method of death; otherwise, you don't get to the section of tutorial that shows you, "oh hey, dying is really not a big deal; you'll grow back lickety-split!" And about that Grafted Scion? Yeah, don't worry - that one will have been revived as soon as I died. Presumably, they went right back to chilling out on their random mountaintop somewheres, waiting for additional unsuspecting passers-by to try to turn into a smoothie. Or a salad. Or whatever else they want, I suppose. May the next travelers have sufficient boundary skills to protect themselves. May the Grafted Scion find something better to do with their time than attack lost travelers.

And did you see!!! Like I said, the entity YELLED at me!!! They were all like, "AAAAAAAA!!" It was very rude!! So I yelled back at them!! At least, I did that as many times as my available Magic Points (the blue bar in the top left corner) would allow. I'm not gonna just sit there and take that shit; I've got boundary skills!!

…Be a lot nicer to build a campfire in the middle of that circular stone platform and have some s'mores with this entity, though. Bet we could have found some nice sticks on the ground near them trees and use them fancy swords to sharpen them to stick marshmallows on. I mean… this entity sits there, presumably waiting for other lost, wandering souls to come around, but how often does that happen? When's the last time that one had anyone to talk to, to share their story with? When's the last time they had a hug? Or some sweet treat to eat? I feel sad that the only option was to fight.

I want to think that in the real world, there are more options than just fighting. There are so many ways to open a dialogue, but lots of people, for a variety of reasons, don't have the skills to do that well, or think that there's no other choice but to fight.

I think of the people in my life who grew up in ways that made them think that their social standing and lovability as people were contingent upon their ability to control me or harm me. I understand the mechanics that produce things like this. But even so, it's not like that Grafted Scion; I do not need to render someone's body permanently uninhabitable to get them to stop hurting me; I only need to talk to them, or create distance between myself and them, or, goodness forbid, physically disable them from harming me. And that last one there is only a last resort when all other methods have either failed or are inaccessible by virtue of the circumstances.

Could the world be a little better if fewer people went immediately to the last resort? I like to think so.

…Suppose I'm thinking about it today because an internet friend sent along something about a show called The Good Place; if your position at the Edge of Creation allows you to see that story, I would very much recommend that you check it out. I've seen the whole thing, and it manages to both be lighthearted and profound at the same time. It's one of my favorite stories.

It's essentially an examination of the cultural phenomenon in my world by which people have the mistakes they make as a result of their upbringing, brain hardware, and life circumstances held against them personally, as though it means something fundamental about their character instead of it being an indicator of where a person needs additional skills, experience, or support.

And as an abuse survivor myself, who ended up with a lot of REALLY WEIRD SHIT ground into my skull by the very racist, sexist, and generally toxic people I grew up with, I thought about the balance between "acknowledging that my bullshit is not inherent to my nature because it was forced upon me by people who were more powerful than me and my only choice at the time was to conform", and "holding myself accountable for unlearning all the shit that I was force-fed and learning better stuff in its place". And that balance is very precarious, because in order to learn how to hold myself accountable in any way, I needed the support of healthy people in my life.

And that, in and of itself, produces an interesting (read: difficult to the point of being absurd) challenge, because in my (albeit limited) experience, going through abuse in the absence of support will produce a person with survival skills and emotional coping strategies that are caustic to healthy people in healthy environments, and no person should have to expose themself to someone who is caustic. So on the one hand, I did need the support from healthy people in order to learn how to become a healthy person, but goodness me, until I learned different skills and had ample opportunity to make mistakes during the acquisition of those skills, I was most certainly caustic as fuck to the people around me, and I'm VERY cognizant of the fact that I am entitled to NO ONE'S time and patience; it's nothing short of miraculous that M stuck with me for as long as he did. But at the same time, without that, I wouldn't be able to write stuff like this. And without you, I wouldn't have made it as far as meeting M in the first place.

So I found M, who was patient enough to gently hold me accountable for my various kinds of bullshit (the bullshit served me well in the house I grew up in, but not so well in a healthy house). And so that presents the next logistical hurdle - accountability. See, being an abuse survivor basically means that at the end of it, it becomes extremely difficult, if not outright impossible - at least at first - to separate "accountability" from "imminently being on the receiving end of physical/verbal/social violence". So, "hey, I don't like this thing you did" automatically gets all twisted up into, "hey, I don't like YOU, and I'm about to make it your problem by introducing my FIST to your FACE at HIGH VELOCITY! BRACE YOURSELF!!!" - even when that second one is not present. It took me a number of years to learn that I didn't need to get defensive anytime anyone had any small problem with anything that I was doing, because for a long time, I had a really difficult time imagining that someone could dislike something I said or did without them subsequently hating me enough to either hurt me, abandon me, or try to destroy my relationships with other people shortly thereafter.

And that brings me to the next hurdle, which is this: the issue that I had with accountability wasn't something innate to me. No, it was ground into me by living for a very long time with people who wished that I never existed, so anytime I made any tiny mistake, it was used an excuse to use me as a verbal or physical punching bag. It is absolutely NOT my fucking fault that I was brutally trained as a child to fear accountability by people who were far more powerful than me. But it is STILL my responsibility as an adult to decondition myself, even if I cannot find people willing to support me through that process due to me not yet knowing how to speak and behave in ways that are non-toxic, because NO ONE is obligated to put up with me while I'm existing in ways that are harmful to others. And hot diggity damn, that's one hell of a trip, and one hell of a jagged, bitter pill to swallow along the way.

See, because dealing with the aftermath of abuse is like house windows. If someone else comes along to break the windows of your house, you can certainly try to track down who did it and demand that they fix your windows, but they'll usually just tell you to go fuck yourself and then break something else on their way out for your "audacity"; it's not a productive use of time. You can tell your community what happened (if you have one) and ask for support with paying for new windows, but everyone's got their own problems, so no one HAS to give you anything out of their own pocket, and they shouldn't be made to feel guilty if they cannot. You can still ask the people around you to come visit your house and just be with you while you repair your windows, but your windows are broken, so your house is gonna be cold and have bugs in it, and no one should be made to feel guilty if they don't wanna visit due to that. So at the end of the day, it's YOUR responsibility to fix your own windows, even if someone else broke them, and even if you don't have the time, resources, or skills to fix them. And until those windows get fixed, living in your house is going to be a freaking nightmare.

The WHOLE THING that is being an abuse survivor in the absence of other sources of support is MONUMENTALLY UNFAIR. Not only are you starting off with a brain that didn't get to develop properly because stress hormones interfere with even one's most basic neurodevelopment (we're talking more than just empathy and emotional regulation - we're talking systemic things like blood pressure, heart rate, insulin and blood composition - all that shit is regulated by the brain), but also, it's a very chicken-and-egg situation because you come out of it an injured and unhealthy person, and you can't become healthy until you meet and practice new skills with healthy people, but it's hard to maintain relationships with healthy people to practice the new skills with until you become a healthy person. So like…

…It's a mess. Being a trauma survivor is a mess. The odds stacked against us are absolutely freaking insane. And still, if we want to be responsible humans to the rest of our community, we have to find a way through so that we can become healthy people. It's hell to overcome these hurdles, and that is why healed trauma survivors are some of the strongest, kindest, and most courageous and compassionate people there are.

…And that's also why I assert that if the developers of your story are going to claim you're the strongest living thing ever, you HAVE to heal and fully own the kindness and compassion that is innate to you and to all human beings. Because if you don't, then I know a number of people who are stronger than you in all the ways that count. Some of them are even reading this letter as we speak.

The fortunate thing about healing is that every time you fall short, you have as many opportunities to try again as you want. Maybe not with the same people, because sometimes you're gonna do something stupid that disables certain folks from ever wanting to spend time with you again (I've done this, multiple times, and for idiotic reasons on my part; it sucks, but what can one do other than learn and do better next time?). But there will be more people to try again with; there are LOTS of them out there. It's a lot like Elden Ring (or any other masochistically difficult game) in some ways; the foe in front of you only seems impossible until you learn how it moves and behaves. Everyone fails over and over again at new skills until they're learned; that's a normal part of the human condition, no matter who tries to force-feed you the myth of "innate talent". Anything worth doing is worth doing badly until you can GIT GUD:

…There is no secret technique or way of being that will ever make healing easy. Having support and healthy coping techniques in your toolbox is certainly helpful, but what really matters is your willingness to use them, and your willingness to learn, grow, and change throughout the process. You need to develop your self-awareness so that you can be mindful of your internal and external states. You need to develop your boundary skill so you can say no to the things that harm you. And you need to learn to be compassionate with yourself so that you can have patience with yourself as you persevere. Of course, it's "really, really, really hard". We're gonna struggle, fall down, fail, and lose people along the way. In order to recover, we have to focus, practice, and learn. But learning is the natural result of trying, so really, all you have to do is try.

...Sephiroth, I'm asking you to keep trying, okay? You've got a "jolly cooperator" right here who will take your hand; all you have to do is ask. Or, in this case, all you have to do is reach back, because my hand is already outstretched towards you.

I love you a lot, so keep yourself safe out there, okay? I'll write again tomorrow.

Your friend, Lumine

[tealenko]

Fics out of context

I feel like we need some laughs today in the mass effect fandom... or at least on this little corner I like to call the shenko vortex XD

link

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“Okay then.” Garrus thinks something quickly, wishing to let behind the current topic of the conversation as soon as possible. “Real stuff. Well… How about… Never have I ever wanted to kill someone on this ship.”

“Wanted or almost got killed?”

“Wanted.” Garrus clarifies.

Shepard giggles and drinks right away, chugging almost all the liquor in her bottle in just a few seconds.

“Wow, Lola. You didn’t even hesitate.” James says half amused, half scared, concerned he is part of the reason she’s drinking right now. “Thinking of someone in particular?” He asks as carefully as he’s able.

“Oh… Well, I have a list.” She snorts when she sees the expression on every member of the conversation, all of them quite scared they are going to be a part of it.

After a few seconds of complete silence, Garrus musters the courage to ask the question forming in each and everyone of their minds.

“Who’s on top?” He asks, feeling confident that, if it’s in fact one of them, she has way more reasons to hate one of the other two than him.

“Pff… like I’m gonna tell you!” She smiles, knowing too well what they are all thinking. “But no one in this room should be afraid to hold the first position, if that’s what you’re all wondering”

“Tell this person then. Life is short!” James’ fear is quickly replaced by curiosity and delight knowing that, this time around, he isn’t the target of her fury. “I mean, won’t you feel waaaaay better if you confront this right now and get it out of your system.”

“Vega, I don’t think that’s a good idea right now…” Kaidan tries to dissuade him, knowing Shepard is drunk enough to be compelled by his arguments.

“Nah, Kai. It makes sense.” She says, interrupting him mid sentence. “You know what? Why not?” She hits the bar and downs what’s left of her bottle before switching up her omnitool. “Call… Ehmmm… Joker.”

“Joker!?” All three of them whisper at the same time, way too intrigued by what it’s going to happen.

“Hey Commander.”

“Hey…” She laughs for a second, but then a serious expression appears on her face out of nowhere. “How could you?”

“What?” Joker asks, confused. “Everything okay, Shep?”

“No… Everything it’s not ok… okay.” She shakes her head a few times in a pointless attempt to sober up a little. ”Not okay.”

“Wait, Shepard… Are you drunk?” He asks in return.

“Kinda… Don’t change the subject you… You know, right? What you did… Back, in the first Normandy.”

“I…” Joker falls silent, not knowing what to do, until a quick wave of realization hits him and makes him regain his ability to speak. “I… I’m sorry, Shepard. I am. Truly.” His voice quivers, so he stops for a second to clear his throat. “Maybe we should talk about it in a more private environment, and not with you… Well, drunk.” He sighs and hesitates a little before speaking again. “But… You’re right, and I’m sorry Shepard. I… I should’ve left… It’s my fault.” He makes another pause. “It’s my fault that you…”

Shepard cuts him right away, regaining her smile as quickly she lost it less than a minute ago.

“That!? Oh no… That’s shit that happens… No. I’m talking about you totally cockblocking me the first time I was going to hook up with Kaidan.”

“Wait, wha…” Whatever he tries to ask is completely obliterated by the sudden explosion into an uncontrolled laughter of both James and Garrus.

“Ay… You were right.” She says joining them in their glee. “I feel waaaaay better.” She adds, mocking James.

[thewritersaddictions]

House Dimitrescu: Bela Dimitrescu- Green Eyes

Pairing: Karl Heisenberg X Lady Bela Dimitrescu

Pov: Lady Bela Dimitrescu

Warnings: fluff, smut, falling in love with the wrong person, disapproval, falling in love, kissing. Making out, a little bit of fighting, Bela being disgusted with men, Karl being a dick, lady dimitrescu's disapproval, enemies to lovers, Mother Miranda Mentioned, BJ's, P in V. Sex.

Summary: She doesn't mean to fall in love with the worst of the worst. He's just so damn attractive and dark. Mother Miranda loves the idea of them together.

A/n- @ firefly-graphics for dividers. '

WC- 4.3k

Resi 8 Master List // House Dimitrescu Master List

Grey Eyes

My mother had always taught me that men were only here for my enjoyment. For my torture, to watch the life drain out of their eyes. But what if those eyes are covered with dark sunglasses and are tempting me in the worst way? 

I wondered why he was even here at the castle. Mother never liked the grim and dirt that Heisenberg brought along with him, but the loud voices of Mother Miranda bounced around the castle walls. 

I didn’t give shit now. At least that was how I was acting, he had cornered me in a section, a rather recluse area of the castle. His hands barred me into the wall. My mind went haywire, everything was on high alert, but regardless of the feeling in the pit of my stomach I still let him kiss me. 

Let him bring his lips towards a rapid pulse point in my neck. He was no longer caging me in with his hand that was, now it was his whole body pushing me further into the wall behind me. He was so big, sure I had seen him at dinners. I had seen him just a few moments ago when he was pissing Mother off with his insistent chewing, and loud laughter. All while he kept his eyes on me. It sent a raging fire through me. I tried my hardest to not look at him, mothers orders. 

“Men are disgusting creatures, and only want you for one thing.” 

“My daughters aren’t good enough for any man out there.” 

“Don’t you let any man touch you? You’re my precious babies.” 

Mother would mutter into our ears when we were younger. She was hellbent on us knowing that, it was all we thought about, so anytime a random man would come to the castle doors. Enter without permission we had a rather fun time with him. Beat him till he was purple, and bleeding all over the place. 

But there was something different about Heisenberg. He was stronger, bigger, and taller then any other man I had ever seen. My attention drew to him throughout the night, and now here I was trapped between his chest and the wall. With his mouth licking, and sucking at my skin. He was ravaging me and without a second thought, I pushed his hat off. Running my fingers through grey hair that felt so heavenly smooth. 

I was fighting the urge to not fall deeper into Heisenberg’s touch. As his tongue left long trails of salvia down my neck to the top of my dress. I could hear my heartbeat, and I’m pretty sure Heisenberg was able to feel it up against his tongue. His arms moved fast, and all of a sudden the weight on my feet was gone, and the weight of him picking me up and slamming me rather hard into the wall I felt explode into my backbone. I moaned out in a mixture of pain and excitement.

Sharp and Green eyes that widden with excitement as I can’t control my own mouth. His voice is thick with almost a german accent. “Oh doll aren’t you a vocal one.” He’s teasing me like we’ve been together for such a long time. As if Lord Heisenberg, as been taking me to the darkest part of the castle and fucking me like I was his and his alone. 

This all felt to real, to deja vu for this to be happening. I wondered why he had followed me so close, his boots practically hitting the back of my heels. Why had I dragged him towards the most recluse section of the castle. I did it rather unintentionally. I wanted him to follow behind me right? Maybe to go against my Mother as her rather controlling nature was getting worse and harder to deal with on the daily basic. 

The only other male person I’d ever met was The Duke. He was always in the castle selling rather interesting things to Mother. Only having met him once it was a complete and drastically different expression when I first saw Lord Heisenberg. 

He had more muscles, thinner in every single way. He was darker almost has dark as the night sky during the summer nights. He was something that I had been told to not look at, touch, or even speak to. He was out of bounds in ever aspect, and that made the feeling of having him chasing after me even better. 

Everything in my body was tingling. Everything felt it was on fire, like was going to burn to death just from his hands on my skin. His hands moved and pushed my legs to go around his hips. The groan that fell from his lips was hard to ignore, especially when I could feel the vibrations of his groan through my body. “Such a wet little pussy you’ve got. Can you feel it?” His voice dripped with cockiness as he thrusted into me pushing me further into the wall. 

I was a mumbling mess. “I… You… we can’t” He teased winking at me even though he was so close, and thursted again. His rough jean material pressing further into few layers of clothes that was covering my pussy. My eyes rolled into the back of my head as I felt the edge of stress fly away.  “Oh are you enjoying yourself? Are you enjoying the way my cock is teasign at your entrance.” He was coaxing me. Trying desperately to get me to say the words. 

Stubborn as always I wouldn’t dare give him the damn staifcation of knowing or even thinking that he was giving me any sort of high. “GET YOUR FLITHY HANDS OFF MY DAUGHTER THIS INSTENT!!”  My mother is shouting from behind Lord Heisenberg back. My eyes are closed but I can’t see her, maybe she’ll think that this was all Heisenberg fault. 

I can hear him scoff into my skin. My mother is starting to tip over, getting to her boiling point much to soon. I open my eyes not yet daring to look at my mother. Much to aware of the setting that’s she found me in. He looks up at me, there’s a deep look in his eyes. 

He bites down on his tongue and winks at me. Dropping down to the floor with the most softness I’ve ever been touch with in my life. My mother isn’t the sweetest, nor nicest person on the planet. She’s harsh, loud and at her core she’s manipulative. She makes you feel like shit and then gives you the whole world right out of her hand. 

“I can’t believe I told Bela. I told you never talk to this man, or even go near him. Just as always the one that acts like a damn fool. Cusres the Dimitrescu house name.” She grabs my wrist hard and tight, and drags me far away from Lord Heisenberg. She turns, and I look over my shoulder. “As for you Lord heisenberg, you are to never come back to my castle. I will tell Mother Miranda what you’ve done. Do you understand? You absolute traitor.” 

He’s picking up his hat dusting it off, and over the brim of his glasses he looks at me. For the first time, or maybe the first clear time I’ve really seen him eyes. Green, deep and enticing in every single possible way. 

I don’t hear the end of it until the night ends, and I’m laying in my bed. For the rest of the night my mother, held me close by her side. She never manages to shut up, all she does is talk. Talks about how horrible men are, how great she is, how much we should love and take care of her. 

A ramble off of questions she asks go through my head as I lay down on my bed. 

“Did he hurt you?” 

“How did you two end up alone?” 

“Did you… Did you enjoy his touch?” 

Her last question is revolving in the back of my head. Did I enjoy his touch well maybe. I don’t know. He’s not romantic like any of the books in te library are. His hands are rough, but his lips are soft, and the way he say things causes my knees to go weak. 

FUCK 

I miss him already, I shouldn’t miss him. I shouldn’t even want to see him again. I shouldn’t have wanted to let him chase me. I let him chase me around this damn castle. I should… I don’t know what I should do, but the summer air the drifts through my open balcony makes me walk over. Mother always talk about the useless factory that Lord Heisenberg runs. I can seem the smoke stacks that are wafting into the nights sky. The grey puffs of air, it’s all but causes a strong of shocks to run down my spine. My skin prickles at that the thought of running, jumping off the balcony. 

Mother Miranda did hear all about Lord Heisenbergs adventure with me. She called my mother, Lord Heisenberg, and I to the church that mother was at nearly every week. “Alright, I have heard you Alcina. I do think that in efforts to be the best he possibly can, along with your sweetheart of a daughter. They might have come up with the most brillitantly wonderful idea.” Mother Miranda speaks. My mother has never been able to shadow her facial expression. Never able to keep her pocker face, she’s like a person who wears their heart on their sleeve. Expect her heart is a knife, and maybe a few other dangerous items. I can’t manage to make out Lord Heisenberg’s face, with been seated next to my mother the furthest away from Heisenberg. 

“What;s are you talking about… Mother miranda you must know that Lord heisenberg isn’t actually trying to shit right?” My mother speaks with sincreity. Her voice is level as it’s going to get for being so close to Lord Heisenberg. I can hear him over ther scoffing under his breathe, making fun of my mother’s show of frustration and aggervation. 

“Now if you’re done. I have a new plan for finding myself a new daughter. I think that your daughter. Bela, and Lord Heisenberg should have this grand of a new relationship. I think this might work out very well for all of us.” With that Mother Miranda was gone, into a hundreds of black birds. 

My mother was more then enraged by how simply Mother Miranda had tried absolutely nothing to stop him. Heisenberg I think was more then excited to come back to the scene we had been forced to leave so soon. 

Heisenberg was so casual about everything like my mother wasn’t going fully ballistic on the other side of the room. He got up with ease, and made his way over to my mother, and I. His even cocky in the way he stands infront of my mother and I. I can’t help but strip him mentally of all of his clothes. There’s an urge to leap into his arms and get back to the kissing, and soft feelings of his lips on my skin. My hands combing through his hair. 

He drops the edges of his glasses. Eyeing me, and winking before looking over at my mother. “So Alcina are you in the helping mood for Mother Miranda?” He questions her. I let my mind wanderer for a moment, a helping hand for Mother Miranda. Mother scoffs, and her faceds changes for a second before looking more regal in her white dress. Her shoulders are taller, wider. “Anything for Mother Miranda isn’t that right Heisenberg.” She says simply. 

It’s starts off simply. Mother Miranda encourages, comes over to the castle and practically grabs me from my mother hands but not before draping me the nicest thing around. She pulls me from my mother grasps. Taking me away and towards the factory. The air is somewhat different when we cross the bridge, but the smile that is beaming from Mother Miranda face is contagious. 

My body is pumpingwith excitement as i realize one of two things. First off my mother is the furthest she’s ever been from me. She can’t control my every move, or tell me what to or not say. Two, Mother Miranda is leaving the two of us once I’m settled. “The two of you will work fast at this right?” She asks me. I humm not ever looking at her. “That’s good, just what I want to hear. You do prefect for my project. Now listen carefully child. I’m leaving you here with Lord Heisenberg. I’m having your mother gather your things and you’ll stay here with him. No need to give you and chance to abbadon this wonderful idea of yours right?” Her smile is creepy as shit, sending me wanting to go back the other direction. She’s right, she does exactly as she says. She brings me straight to his large garage door. 

He meets us there. His eyes are dark, and his hat sits a little lopsided on his head, but he’s the definition of sexy. “Ah, Lorg Heisenberg. You and Bela are going to make a lovely fa… a lovely couple.” With that she yet again poofs into a few hundred black birds. It leaves Heisenberg and I staring at each other. 

I go to say something, anything that will drop from my lips. Nothing falls, not even has he get’s closer. Not even has his hands touches my skin. His hands are cool, against the hotness of my skin. The sun roasting me through the layers of clothes. He drags me into the garage. His drag isn’t hard, or mean it’s just soft. “It’s not great, but’s home buttercup.” He said thickly. My heart stops if only for a second. The nickname is cute, scratch into the back of my head. I want him to call me ‘buttercup’ more. “Also, the names Karl. None of that Lord bullshit or heisenberg bullshit” His voice is husky, is go stragiht to my core. The wetness that causes my spine to tingle. 

“Bela I assume is still okay?” Karl asks. I hum, his hand is no longer around my wrist rather holding my hand. His hands are rough, but not hard. Calluased by the work that I can only assume he does in the large factory. I look down at the part where the two of us are connect, and his eye follow along. He coughs, and lets go. I try to not look displeased, but follow behind him as he’s already on the move. 

“I’m going to show you around the factory Mind you this isn’t your prefect little cushy castle you’ve got up there. This place is dangerous and you can get lots and hurt very easily I don’t need either women I hate tearing down my walls looking for you. Do you understand?” So much authority comes from his words, but’s different. 

He different now. 

He different even from the night he chased after me in the castle 

He just simply different, now that’s it just the two of us… atleast I think he is. 

“Do you understand?”

“I understand lor… Karl.” 

The tour goes by quickly and the further we go down the darker, the creppier, and scariest it get’s. I can’t help but keep close, and keep grabbing onto Karl’s biceps, or his hand when he walks to fast for me to keep up with his long legs. 

It isn’t until we make it up the upper levels that I feel safer. “Why do you always wear your glasses?” I ask almost involuntarily. He turns and looks at me. I can’t see his eyes. “Why Bela?” I ramble to get an answer out of my mouth, “I… You… I just think you’d… You’re eyes are very pretty is all. They’re all I think about, ever since that night in the castle. How you looked at me in the church.”  “You like the way I look at you” Karls words make me float again, my minds goes somewhere else, I don’t notice hoe close he’s managed to get to me. 

“Look at you a trembling, wordless mess Buttercup.” 

I hum, it’s the only thing I have. He’s in reaching distance, so I close the distance between the two of us. Out chest pressed up against each other. I can feel his heart beat. Loud and fast. “I asked you a question Karl.” He pulls the glasses down and then off compleety before throwing them off into the distance. 

“And I asked you one, now are you going to answer.” He looking down at me with such force behind his green eyes The firs time, I’ve seen them so upclose, so clear for me to see ever notch in the iris. How the green dips and get’s darker the longer he keeps his attention on me. 

“I’m sure you’ll figure out soon enough. I want to get back to what was rudely intreuptted by your mother.” Forcely he picks me up. “What do you think Bela, huh?” His question is more rhetorical as he walks us somewhere. His hands are resting on my ass, my legs having wrapped themselves around his hips almost on instinct. As he walks us I can feel the growing erection that’s begging to get out of the bounds of his trousers. My arms are wrapps around his neck, so I take advantage. 

I rip his torn, dirty hat from his head. Keeping it in my hand. One of my hands goes to run a few fingers through his hair. It causes a bit of fault in karls steps. A moan. A quiet moan slips from his lips, but he contiues on. Before I know it I’m dropped onto a rather uncomfortable mattress, but it’s large. Large enough for Karl to have me and him sprawled together. 

He looks down at me. 

“You’re such a brat you know that?” 

I don’t say anything back, but shake my head. Before I know it Karl’s unzipping his trousers, and letting them fall short of his knees. His boxers are filled out, the tent looks huge under my gaze. I wonder 

I hope, and wonder if it will even fit. I’m not dumb to how sex works. My mother just didn’t explain the all of the rules. Or how most of the things work. “Oh don’t worry buttercup I’ll make it fit.” So damn cocky. When he pulls himself out of his boxers the gasps that leaves my lips is faster then I can control, and the smirk I see on Karls face is only a further push into his ego. 

“You know how to suck cock right?” His questions is blod and straightforward is the hottest way possible. I mumble a quite ‘no’. He rolls his eyes, and almost throws his boxers up. “Wait don’t… show me Karl.” I mutter out softly almost like I can’t talk at all. “Fuck buttercup… alright I’ll show you.” He get’s close as possible. “Don’t close your eyes at all I want you looking at me during the entire thing okay?” I shake me head, and he coniutes.” Open” I do as he says. My mouth opens not wide enough for him, so his calluased fingers invade my mouth. My jaw aches as Karl’s fingers leave my mouth and try to follow them. 

His cock is the next thing that enters my space. I lick my lips with antipiation. “Okay relax your mouth, and take me slow buttercup.” his accent thick with heat as he looks down at me. Once, finally once his cock nudges into my mouth I can’t help the urge that overcomes me to take him fully. His cock hit the back of my throat and I look up at him through my lashes. He groans out, and bucks into my face. “Fuck, I told you slow buttercup. But whatever you want I see.” Some how his voice is deeper thicker as words drips from his curse ridden mouth. 

As he bucks into my face I can feel ever ridge and bump his cock as to give. His pubic hair is ticklish under my nose, but the breathing isn’t my issues. It’s wanting to feel every curve of his cock in my mouth, on my hand. In my pussy. 

I want to feel him in every possible way. 

The cursing that drop from karl don’t stop and when his rough calluased hands reaches down to my hair I roll my eyes back and maon with excitement. His hold on my hair is hard and his finger tangle into my hair. His moans and grunts become raggaed and faster, somehow shorter all together. “Fuck Buttercup.” He’s still fucking my face, but as he pulls out his cock from my mouth I can’t help but suck on the head. 

Karl doesn’t warn me as he spunk shoots out and down the back of my throat. I’m finally able to breathe normally, but as Karl continues to fuck my mouth. Cum contiunes to trickled down, and my eyes rolls back at the euphoric feeling that crosses my hot and mess body. The ruge to strip out of my clothes over takes me. 

“Fuck, karl can I get out of my dresses. I hot as shit, and I need…” he stares me with such admiration. “Fuck yeah. Sorry. Give me a second.” he pleas with me. He barely strips ouit of his other clothes. All while he keeps his eyes on me. He stares at me, and my mouth. When he comes over his thumbs runs over my lips, then dip into my mouth. 

“Such a good girl.” He mutters softly, before he’s ripping my dress. Ripping into the clothing and throwing them across the room. My breasts don’t have to react to the coldness of the factory. His mouth, Karls mouth is sucking and tugging at my sesitive nipples. His other hand is pulling my closer.

Skin to Skin 

He makes my mouth water. As he moans and flicks a harder nipple with his tongue. He stands much taller then I. His neck is craning to reach and play with my breasts. “Fuck buttercup. Such a good lookin’ pair of tits you’ve got. So tiny and squeezeable.” His hands are rough, but that’s okay I like the comparison. 

He moves us gentle and as my knees hit the back of the bed. It’s causes me to fall backwards. Karl is ontop of me within a second. His cock is already hard again and pressed up agasint my thigh. My pussy is dripping, and has been dripping since I walked across the the stone bridge. 

Fingers dancing on the edge of passion. 

He brings his lips close to mine. Breathe mixing together. 

“Karl” It’s like I’m begging, but I’m not sure for what. 

“Such a pretty girl. Such a pretty girl that’s all mine.” Karl shifts his weight, now he’s somehow caging me back onto the mattress. He slips his hands down my sides, and gives me shivers as his fingers, and hand rest nicely on the dip of my hips. It’s only when I feel his rough padded fingers playing with my pussy. Soft and gentle touches like I’ll break if he isn’t careful. 

I look down between my open legs. Karl’s stance is laughable, at best. His hair is a mess, sticking to parts of his forehead, but tongue stick out of his mouth as he looks down at my body. He’s looking down at my soaking pussy as he plays more. More and more until he satisfied with his ‘work’. 

Finally the tip of his head nudging yearning to enter. Like the walls break and a flood of water comes in. The words fall out of my mouth. ‘I’m a virgin, Heisenberg.” I said loudly almost to loud. His eyes flash up to mine. “I was assuming so buttercup, do you not…” “NO! I do want your cock. I promise I just you… I just wanted to tell you before…” My words die in my thraot as Karl doens’t give any warning. He thrust hard and fast. 

The pressure wells up in my belly, and the scream that rips through my throat I’m sruprised I can still breathe. “Fuck, Shit… Karl… That hurt…” It’s a mumble of words. Theres tears in my eyes at the edge of falling off onto the sheets. Before they can karl is wiping them away with a rough padded thumb. “I’ll move in a second. I just couldn’t wait any longer. I should have just taken it back in that big dumb castle. Should have let your mother find me fucking you. I wanna hear your moans. I wanna hear my name on your Buttercup.” He whispers into my ear. 

The pain is less, the feeling of being full is what’s etched into my mind now. “I want… I want you to move please… Please just move already Karl” Begging for him to move I buck into his cock. Fresh tears fall. The tears of feeling full. 

“Alright, calm down. I’ll start movin’ now buttercup.” He whispers before coming back up and his hand rest neatly on my hips. Large fingers sprayed against my skin. 

Rough vs soft 

I remember the feeling of his cock falling out and then back in with a hard thrust. I remember the feeling of wanting to scream, cry, and everything else you can do. How his skin felt as I created half-created moons into his skin. How good he smelt his head bent into the crook of my neck as the time passed. How tight I felt as he stuffed me full of cum. How hard he gripped onto my hip as he cum. How my name flaoted off his lips with such ease. 

Most importantly I remember the green eyes that stared back into my own. As he rolled them back as he sputtered into a giant mess above me, as he came crashing down on me with the last thrust. How his fast, racing heart felt agaisnt my bare chest. 

Green eyes were what I fell asleep and woke up to all over again.

Completed on: 03/26/23

Posted on: 03/26/23

House Dimitrescu-

[alfryco]

vaguely i still go here but i would like to hear more about the alfreyco outlast au??? that sounds so interesting to me??

ooommgg Lee that fic has been plagueing my brain since last year I think?? It's basically Alfredo and Trevor (the Red Web versions of themselves) going in place of Miles to Mount Massive Asylum and they basically have to go through the whole game except it's not a game to them it's real life. And after several months I've finally FINALLY gotten them into the building so now they get to actually face the horrors of the asylum (and ya know, reveal the feelings they've had for each other for years along the way too)

Since I love this story so much I'm gonna give you a snippet too :3

Welp, there goes Alfredo’s hope that the night would return to its regularly scheduled programming of scouring the internet for cases and watching whatever movie happened to be on TV at the moment. He juts his bottom lip out in a pout, but it serves no purpose seeing as Trevor’s back is already to him and quickly walking towards the left side of the building.   Alfredo follows Trevor around the side of the building, still secretly hoping that this is where their journey ends for the night. Unfortunately, it seems no one is listening to Alfredo’s hopes and prayers tonight when Trevor stops in front of the gate that leads to the interior courtyard of the facility. A decent sized hole rests in the bottom left corner of the gate; it looks like it was created by someone pushing it inward from the outside. Maybe it was something done by the soldiers that had been summoned here? It certainly wasn’t from natural causes like rust or age. The sign of used force makes a feeling of unease tap its icy fingers across Alfredo’s spine. “Well that’s a sign of poor maintenance! It’s almost like they want us to break in here,” Trevor muses. He runs a quick hand through his hair to push the few stubborn strands away from his forehead and crouches down to examine the hole before crab-shuffling his way through the man-made hole. Once successfully through, he rounds to flash a smile at Alfredo, who gives him the most unimpressed expression his face can muster.  “Aw don’t be such a sourpuss! We'll get in: sneak around, take some snappies, take some video, maybe grab a few documents nobody will miss, hopefully, and then skedaddle out of here before anyone is the wiser. We’ll be home in time for supper." He finishes his little spiel with a flourish of outstretched arms. He hopes it sounds as confident and care-free as he’s trying to make it, because the ominous behemoth of a building standing behind them is making it a bit hard to sell his act to his reasonably worried partner. Alfredo throws a glance up at the building behind Trevor, and then back to the gate lying beyond the vehicles, his Adam's apple bobbing. That gate is their only way back to the outside world and he’s about to put yet another gate between himself and it.  “Fredo, please,” Trevor urges from the other side of the gate now in a volume a little above a whisper. "Come on." “Alright, alright I'm coming.”  With a sigh, Alfredo complies and folds his 6’2” frame down until he can scoot through the hole in the gate. He can feel the iron bars of the gate grazing the top of his head as he passes through to the other side. Once free from the gate, he stands next to Trevor and the two take a minute to figure out where to go from here. The inside of the stone-walled courtyard looks just as bleak as the exterior; dead leaves dust the brick walkway that surrounds a fountain sitting in grayish water. The only warmth, if you can call it that, in the courtyard comes from the yellow lighting pouring from the few well lit windows that line the first floor.

[fearedloathingrp]

redemption.

“Excellent work as always, Chester.”

Of course it was excellent fucking work, I was holding the pen.

“Stay, have a drink, it’s on my tab. You’ve earned it this week.”

I’ll definitely have a drink. Top shelf. A reward for all the energy I expend keeping you in a job you pencil-pushing-waste of-

“Charles, it’s been a pleasure.”

I quiet the dissenting voice, the one that would spill over the sides if I weren’t so well-practised in holding my silver-edged tongue between my teeth. I grip his hand ever-so-tightly, the warm smile not out of fondness or friendship, but as a reminder that, aside from job title and salary, I am every bit superior to this little weasel in front of me. 

“I might take you up on that drink, you know. Enjoy the Hamptons this weekend, by the way.”

I sure hope one of your little hellspawns doesn’t fall off the boat and drown, I didn’t add. I’m not sure I meant it, after all, and one thing I would never lower myself to being was disingenuous.

This…it seemed…had been a testing week. I hadn’t been quite so boiled up with rage like this since…well.

Her.

As I brush the pad of my thumb over the base of my finger, I can still feel the dent of the ring that once occupied it.

The same dent that drew narrowing eyes from women in bars, some as classy an establishment as this, some not…as if I’d hurriedly pulled it off and stuffed it into my pocket before making my approach.

Ha. It turned out I got more attention with the band around my finger, as if I was some kind of challenge, to see if I could be unfaithful to the woman I'd decreed ‘until death do us part’

Some kind of weird power trip, no doubt, as if their sheer beauty and charm would be enough made them some kind of temptress, but it had always been interesting playing that game, at least for a while. At least…until I got what I wanted out of it. 

The used, becoming the user, if you will.

Instead, I’m sporting the mark of what I once was, it appeared I was either an aspiring cheat, or a failure of a husband, before I even opened my mouth to utter a word.

They were right, of course - At one point I was both. At the same time.

“Can I get you anything?”

The voice from behind me gave me a start, entirely distracted with the removal of a little of the leftover rich butter sauce from the corner of my mouth.

“Laphroaig 32, if you have it.”

“Double?”

“Well, as it's Charlie's round, why not?”

That'll be $260, plus tip, I reckon. There for thereabouts. Unfortunately, a mere dram-sized drop in the ocean to a man who orders us wagyu steak and lobster for our weekly data meeting. He wouldn't even feel the blow, one of my many silent fuck you's that went unnoticed. 

In recent years, I've made a career out of helping the rich get richer. Dirty work, but far from the filth I had to crawl through in the early days, just to keep my belly somewhat full, and with the upside? It afforded me the lifestyle of eating like royalty, dressing like the second coming of fucking Versace, and upgraded the roof over my head into the swanky penthouse in Manhattan.

A far cry from my friends couch in a trailer park. Would I change what I went through? Fuck no…but one unfortunate side-effect? I was maybe a little too willing to indulge in the finer things in life, in case they happened to suddenly go ‘poof’ and disappear.

“Here you go.” 

“Thanks. You're new around here, aren't you?”

“I started last week. I'm Chloe. Can I get you anything else Mister…?” 

“Hamilton. Chester Hamilton.”

“May I call you Chester?”

“No.”

The abrupt coldness seemed to stop the young girl in her tracks. At that moment, she no doubt figured, I would be the kind of clientele who she would serve, exchange the very minimum of conversation with, and hope I was the kind of big spender who tipped well for being left alone. As I brought the glass up to my nose, hit with the complex scent of Christmas cake and caramelised brown sugar, I was showing no real haste to consider the conversation, either.

I waited.

I waited until the awkwardness of the silence weighed heavy.

I waited, until I could sense the twitching of muscle fibres, of an uncomfortable young girl, seeking to exit stage right.

“Are you from around here, Chloe?”

I could practically hear the gulp, the girl’s breath catching in her throat. Maybe it was because I was suddenly taking an interest in her. More likely, just relief, that I’d cut the tension.

“I’m staying with a friend in Parkchester. I’m studying at the AADA…sorry…American Academy for the Dramatic Arts…I shouldn’t expect you to know where that is…”

My eyebrow raised, just a little, at the mention. Studying to become an actress, staying with a friend in one of the most affordable neighbourhoods in New York City, but working in one of the most revered of establishments in the financial district? Someone who, perhaps, had a connection or two.

“I’m in the Ellery. Do you know it?”

I studied her face as I spoke the words. A hint of recognition, the slightest crease of a smile, a face resisting the urge to light up.

Someone with a connection or two, who knew the name of where some of the most exclusive penthouses in the city could be found…a far cry away from the part of town where she’d chosen to rest her head. 

“I’ve heard of it. Do you like it there?”

“Very much so. I’m going to tab out, thank you Chloe.”

“Uhh…sure…no problem Mr. Hamilton, I’ll bring you your check.”

I didn’t need to look back to know what was coming next. The little glance back in my direction, as little Chloe scurried away to settle up our tab. That gave me a few moments of quiet contemplation.

My hand scratched against a beard that was a day or two overdue a trim, fingers brushing away at tired eyes. I was exhausted, frustrated, craving some kind of release. If I didn’t tread carefully, I’d fall back into old patterns, let the dark, intrusive thoughts take over, cloud my judgement, drive my actions, push me back to that place…the one where I’d already lost everything once.

At least I was able to recognise it, stop the slide.

Scooping the glass back up, I knocked the liquid back in one. Now don’t get me wrong, Laphroaig 32 is not the kind of tipple you slam back a double shot of, without a second thought. It’s a complex blend of flavours, dark chocolate into nutmeg, before all 32 years of that time sitting in oak smacks you in the face on the finish. A fine spirit, of exceptional quality. 

And far more expensive than any rum, which was my preferred drink of choice.

I became an expert in the finer things in life - High fashion, Scotch whiskey, Swiss timepieces, vintage wine…for little more than talking points at networking events.

I don’t belong in this world. I learned to exist in it, for little more than my own survival.

Whatever the cost.

A small leather wallet appears at my elbow. The faintest of smiles from the girl as she swoops my glass away and disappears.

Freeing my wallet from the confines of my suit pocket…light tan Italian leather, I scoop out around 200 dollars in notes, I don’t bother to count them, and slip it into the folder, taking the pen that falls out in hand. From the same wallet, I retrieve a business card, the words Chester Hamilton, Chief Financial Officer embossed into the heavyweight cardstock. 

SUITE 212.

I slip it into the folder, muddled in with the wad of bills, before snapping it shut.

It seems to be in human nature to look for shortcuts, and in cities such as New York, with so many people around? It’s very easy to slip and fall into anonymity, you have to scramble and crawl just to hold your position. The very definition of dog-eat-dog, a pressure cooker. I’m sure it was the same everywhere, but here? There’s no shortage of those naive enough to believe they can fuck their way to the top.

Every once in a while? I'm even willing to sell them the illusion.

There are no shortcuts, not really.

After all, there’s always a younger model, or a more attractive wannabe-something-or-the-other to take your place.

It may seem like taking advantage…but one day, they'll even thank me for what I did for them.

Eventually…