#the one from overhead ohhhhhh fuck

[ledzeppelemons]

some unique angles of Mr. Page that I quite enjoy❤️

[wynnyfryd]

Trailer park Steve AU pt 66

part 1 | part 65 | ao3

cw: i don’t do drugs, dad, it’s only marijuana

“Uh,” Steve splutters, choking on his own spit. “Is that wise?”

It’s a question Eddie gives zero fucks about, apparently, because he’s already lighting a joint — cherry bright, shadows sharp, chin held aloft as he hollows his cheeks. “Extremely,” he croaks, blowing smoke out in a thick ring.

Steve’s mouth flattens to a frown. “Literally how?” he begs to know. “I thought we were supposed to be, like, fortifying our defenses. Building our mind shields or whatever the fuck.”

“Au contraire, mon frère.” Eddie takes a hit and holds it. “We are fighting a psychic wizard. Therefore…” Another toke, another trail of perfect smoke rings, ducklings lined up big to small. “It stands to reason that we should trash his battlefield.”

It stands to reason we should what?

“…Ohhhhhh,” Steve nods when he gets it. He reaches up to take the joint, tipping his chin in thanks when Eddie slots it into the V of his fingers, and squints as he sips in a quick puff; adds a French inhale at the end of a second huge hit. Eddie’s not the only one who knows how to do cool tricks. “So this is like the time we let a bunch of cows loose on Thompson’s field the night before the homecoming game.”

“Yeah, exactly— well- well, no, actually, not like that, what in the Indiana bumpkin fuck—? Never mind.” Eddie tosses his hair and rocks on his heels, and Steve can’t help but snort as he watches him shake himself clear like a little Eddie Etch-A-Sketch. “Important things only,” Eddie mumbles to himself. “Essentials,” he’s saying, “Essentials. What are essentials?”

And meanwhile Steve is saying: “Eddie-A-Sketch.”

Eddie hollers a startled cackle as he whips his head around, his face all squiggly with confusion, brows pinched, nostrils flared. “Steve, what the hell?”

Steve giggles uncontrollably. “Etch-A-Skeddie? No—”

“Holy shit.” He scrubs his hands down his face and laughs weakly at the ceiling. “How much weed did you just smoke?”

From anyone else it would sound like scolding, but Eddie just pulls out a few more joints, sticks three in his mouth at once, and mumbles good-naturedly, “Lemme catch up, I guess. Christ.”

While Eddie smokes enough weed to briefly hotbox a room with a hole in the floor, Steve watches the water ripple, spellbound by shimmering shapes in the dark for what feels like decades until he remembers all at once that it fucking sucks in here. It’s cold, and he’s starving, and his back is kinda stiff. “Hey…”

He looks over his shoulder, rolling into the stretch. Eddie’s doing some weird noodly shit in a corner, bent at the waist with his arms pretzeled overhead, swinging side to side, the ends of his hair sweeping the dusty, splintered planks. “Hey! Eddie.”

“Hmm?”

“Weren’t we supposed to be finding supplies?”

“Oh, shit.” Eddie swings himself upright; starts pacing back and forth. “Shit, yeah. What did we need?”

“Besides food and water?”

“Booze!” He steps onto a pile of boxes just to hop back down again. “Booze, music, more drugs…”

More drugs. Great idea.

Steve plucks the stubby remnant of a joint up off the floor; Eddie spins around on tiptoe to peer out the boathouse window, and when he looks back at Steve he’s got a Cheshire cat grin. “Say, Steve-o. Stevie boy. Svennie—”

“I’ll kill you,” Steve coughs around a mouthful of smoke.

“Since I’m pretty sure we’re one hundred percent going to jail for, uh. All of this…” He waves his arms around at their whole situation, then gestures invitingly to the house at the top of the hill. “Whaddaya say we add breaking and entering to the list?”

—

part 67

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[original-punks]

I couldn't fit it all in tags so ignore this post

I fucking hate some veterinarians so much, ya fucking cold hearted monsters. Monday, when I picked my cat up, the amazingly kind veterinarian reassured me that I could pick up pain medication since Cuddles wasn't able to come back until Wednesday (today). Yet when I called yesterday this fucking heartless bitch (not the veterinarian I like) was trying to gaslight and questioned my ability to take care of my animal - like I'm a fucking abusive owner. Trying to tell her that my cat isn't eating much (was just licking the gravy off her C/D meat pouch and eating her dine puree cat treat), and she fucking asks me exactly how much??? When I can't tell her the exact amount she fucking suggests that maybe my other cats are eating her food???? Like huh???? They all have microchip feeders you dickhead. Trying to tell her my cat is running away from me whenever I try and go near her (she thinks I'm taking her to the vet) and the bitch gaslights me by saying "no. I highly doubt that. Cats aren't that smart. It would be because she was still loopy from the pain meds. OHHHHHH!!! You mean the pain meds that have worn off hours ago :))

She basically said that I COULDN'T come grab the pain meds and that I needed to bring my cat over to be "pain assessed" like...???????????? Thank you so much. I appreciate your help :) xox - 1. I'm not bringing my cat over to be stressed the fuck out and pay the fucking 100 dollar consultation fee to see you when I'd like to fucking punch you in your condescending fucking face. Cunt. Cunt. Cunt. The original vet (the one who is doing her surgery and looking after her) LITERALLY told me that I could go over and grab a day and night pain relief to get her through until Wednesday (today). SO SHE DIDN'T HAVE TO BE IN ANY DISCOMFORT OR PAIN AND COULD ACTUALLY EAT AND DRINK. But, no. This fucking bitch not only had me making a formal complaint, but the veterinary assistant who clips Cuddles nails every two months for the last year or so overhead the conversation and has also complained. I love her so much (the assistant who clips her nails) as she actually understands my cat has ANXIETY.. real fucking anxiety - it's so fucking similar to mine it's not funny. So, to find someone else who respects my cat and her issues warms my fucking heart and gives me faith that not all people in the vet industry are EVIL.

A couple of years back, I was studying to become a veterinarian or an assistant, but the way I was treated by fucking people when I was paying to learn was disgusting. Absolutely revolting. Super fucking heartless. You need thick skin for that line of work, and it's not even seeing dying animals, it's the fucking humans you gotta deal with.

If you've read this far, I apologise for wasting your time, I guess? All up, it has now cost 1.7k and counting :)))))))) and I'm probably gonna have to spend another 200-300 on cremation and then another ridiculous amount of money to use some of her ashes to make jewellery - that way she's with me forever. My fucking baby. It's so fucking hard because I've had her since I was fucking 10. I haven't felt this fucking depressed since my sisters death.

I'm still processing losing my last cat, Mr. Kitty, who I got an autopsy done just to determine what happened as the neighbour told us our dead cat was in his yard. He was still warm when mum got him, and he had no wounds or anything to suggest foul play. The university that I donated him to investigate (students studying his autopsy) why he died and they concluded that it was due to anaphylactic shock and he died from a heart attack/heart failure. Like?????? I GOT ANSWERS BUT IT STILL FUCKED ME UP

[stevenbasic]

By Tuesday afternoon, I was beside myself. Seeing patients again, but distraught. The office was a hot mess - so many new girls, crowding the hallways and desks, mostly being trained by people who also didn’t know what they were doing. My schedule was a hot mess - they’d overbooked me, with all the patients I was supposed to see the day before but had been rescheduled. And my mind was a hot mess - surrounded by not only all these new women (I’d kept my head down, sneaking into my office between patients when I could, and hadn’t really introduced myself to anyone yet) but also by the din of construction and random dudes walking down the hallways from time to time...

For some reason the presence of guys - mostly strapping young men in hard hats and t-shirts - upset me more than the bustle of bimbos giggling and pointing at me as I snuck from patient to patient. Maybe I was imagining it, but they seemed to look at me funny, askance, with a condemnatory eye. In particular I’d seen that one with the shaved head and tattoos, the tall one who’d disappeared with Melissa from the parking lot this morning. He was the one hanging around the most, glaring at me snidely. It was jealousy, I knew, that was tightening my chest whenever I saw him - an unreasonable reaction, not an emotion I should be feeling; Melissa was not mine to covet. But when, right around lunchtime, I saw the door to Melissa’s office open and him get pulled inside? Well, my blood began to roil. She’d made no effort to see me all day, and now this??

What were they doing in there?? Would she be having him take more pictures of her for Instagram? Would she be changing into new outfits for her followers, bikinis and lingerie? Would he be bending her over her desk and-

I knew I was being crazy, jealous, stupid. I had no reason to suspect any of this. But still I couldn’t stand it. So, finally, I broke. Right around 3pm.

“Can you tell Melissa I need to see her in my office?” I told Aubrey. She was standing behind the front desk with Brittni and Bobbi and three new people, training. It was pretty crowded back there.

“Of course, Doctor,” said the slight, pretty girl with the dark, pixie haircut. Aubrey had always been one of my best, most loyal employees. Quiet, serious when she needed to be. Less flighty for sure than most of the women that worked for me now. Take, for example, Brittni and Bobbi and now I guess these three new ones that I recognized from their jiggly applications; they were all looking at me and quietly giggling. Aubrey - since our front desk manager had left - was trying to get everyone trained. Piles of paperwork were everywhere.

“Okay I’ll head there right away,” I said, turning on my heel and knocking over a mound of charts from the counter.

“Don’t worry Doctor I’ll get that…” Aubrey offered, as I quickly moved away. Snickers followed in my wake.

Finding the hallway that led to my office mostly quiet, I turned a corner and -

“Oh, therrrre you are!” Melissa beamed, stopping me in my tracks. I felt my eyes go wide and my heart leap into my throat. I hadn’t really seen her since Friday and I was struck again by just how tall she was. Heels, yes, but my head came just up to her upper chest, if that. She made me feel smaller, in spades, than even the biggest of the construction workers.

She took a step towards me.

“Hey, uh….m-m-my office?” I stammered, trying to direct her but unable to keep my eyes from a quick trip up and down her unbelievable figure. The red heels, the sleek, bell-cuffed black pants, the tight, high-necked top. The hair, the eyes, and those knockers.

“Why don’t we talk here?” she returned, stepping in again closer to me.

I took a backpedal in retreat, turned my back to the wall. My eyes went wide again as she planted her right hand on the wall behind me, just above my head, between me and where I’d been heading. The door to my office was just steps away to my left, but now it might have been a mile. “o-okay, sure…” I yielded.

“So happy you finally want to say hi,” she said, with her left hand now coming up at my other side, placing itself just aside my head on the right. Now I was trapped, penned in, faced with a wall of woman. “I’ve missed youuuu…”

I swallowed dryly, suddenly assaulted with a barrage of feelings and a heady cloud of her captivating perfume. “Oh? Uh, y-yeah, haha, sorry,” I started, beginning to explain my absence, “I’ve been out of it. It’s, uh...all the construction, the noise. Kept me up last night, I’m exhausted…”

“Oh you poor thing…” she cooed, her smile turning crooked, weight shifting on her feet. Her right leg had bent, knee pushing in aggressively towards my groin. “I’m sorrrry…”

I couldn’t help but feel like I’d been captured, and she was possesively trifling with me - here, out in the open, in the hallway where anyone could see. But, from my position, I also couldn’t help but notice how her bra was just visible through her too-tight top, and that her breasts looked enormous today.

“uhhhhh….” I tried, struggling to remember what I’d wanted to talk to her about in the first place. Oh yeah.  “...and now they’re all milling around here. I saw, uh...one guy go into your office, earlier?”

“AJ? Oh...yeah, Angie’s ex,” Melissa explained, eyes narrowing, “She’s one of the new girls, a friend of mine, just broke up with him. He’s pretty upset. I invited him in for lunch...”

“Oh, uh, lunch?”

“Yes,” Melissa answered, a funny tone in her voice, “He bought a salad for me.”

Of course she’d like someone like him. He’s tall, strong, pretty good looking. He’s closer to her age...

Melissa looked down at me, regarded me, watched me thinking. “What’s wrong?” she finally asked.

“I...I don’t like him,” I too quickly answered, glancing down at the safety of my feet, speaking before thinking, “He...he looks at me funny.”

“Ohhhhhh….is that it?” She sounded amused.

I couldn’t tell her that, no, that wasn’t it, really. The sideways glances from these dudes I could handle. What I was struggling with, what I couldn’t tell her, was that he made me so fucking jealous. No way I could admit that, not to her. It would be weak, sniveling, petty and unprofessional. Plus I was married, still, and needed to hide my feelings for my new Office Manager deep deep deep. I could not let Melissa know how jealous I was.

But, when I looked up into her face, and she leaned down in to bring her face closer to mine, I could tell she saw right through me...

“Do they scare you? The big scary construction workers?” she giggled, teasing me, “Do they make you feel...unsafe? They are all so much bigger than you...” Overhead, one of the fluorescent lights flickered.

“Melissa, c’mon,” I pleaded, sounding much more pathetic than I wanted. I could tell she knew how I really felt, that it was my unreasonable jealousy that was making me upset. That fact? She loved it. But that I was denying it? For that, she wanted to torture me a bit.

“Awww did you hear that ladies?” Melissa called out, to the tall forms that had just started to appear in the hallway behind her, the voices I had begun to hear, “Dr. J here doesn’t like having all the big, noisy men in the building…”

Suddenly, two other girls appeared aside Melissa, one on each side. My eyes shot from one, redhead and statuesque in a blue top, to the other, chocolate-skinned and bosomy, dressed in green. Both were tall, taller than me, I couldn’t help but realize.

“I agree, I don’t like it either,” said the girl to Melissa’s left.

“Me neither,” said the other, “We should get rid of them…”

“Then it’d be just us…” the dark skinned girl replied.

“Dr. J,” Melissa said, in introduction, “this is Bianca…”

“Hi,” said the girl in blue, inching closer.

“...and this is Shanette.”

“Hi,” said the one in green, stepping in as well.

If I had been faced by a wall of woman before, it had now been fortified. Everywhere I looked, it was boob.

One of the overhead lights flickered again.

“We don’t like tall men, do we girls?” Melissa asked.

“Big guys? Yuckie,” followed Shanette.

“Yeah, gross,” said Bianca, her voice a natural purr, “We like our men short…”

“Helpless…”  cued Shanette, biting her plump lower lip as she looked down at me.

“...weak…” smiled Bianca.

“...needy,” Shanette finished.

By now, the three girls had me all but plastered to the wall. Melissa did nothing but smile down at me, apparently enjoying every moment of my well-deserved distress as these new girls soaked me in. Finally, though, she spoke. “See? No reason to be jealous, Doctor J-“

“I wasn’t jeal-“

“...it’s like I’ve been telling you,” she continued, speaking right over me, “It’s the thing. Girls want their men vulni these days, and you…”

“You are- rrrrrrrrrrr….” Bianca...growled?

“...you’re perfect,” Shanette giggled.

“And, no reason to be scared, sweetie,” Melissa assured me, though the current situation - I felt like I was about to be squashed into a girl sandwich - gave me more than enough to be frightened about, “You don’t have to worry about the big, mean men.”

“We’ll keep you safe,” Bianca promised, her eyes gleaming with portent, “don’t you give it another thought.”

“We’re all here to take care of you,” Shanette cooed, her expression growing softer by the moment, “it’s all we want…”

Unsure of what to say, I looked from one girl, to the other, and then back to Melissa. She merely smiled, closed her eyes to take a deep breath, and then opened them again as she spoke. “You see, sweetie? You see what kind of girls I hired for you?” she said, and leaned in to whisper down into my ear, “I did such a good job…”

Her melony breasts squashed into my neck, her voice in my ear.

“...won’t you just accept that?”

===========================

Thank you to good friend and master-of-the-craft AlexGTSArtist for his newest donations to our little story.;  these renders are fantastic. Please support him where you can.

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[breakingsomething]

ethan. ohhhhhh ethan. you asked for this.

trigger warnings for, uh blood, murder. lotsa bad stuff. enjoy.

all he can smell is blood.

it is covering him, almost suffocating him. he feels sick looking at the bright red against his pale skin as he runs, tearing through the woods without caring when he rips his trouser leg on some sharp bushes or smacks his head off an overhead branch. the worst part is, most of the blood isn’t even his; he sobs as he remembers his brother on the ground in front of him, eyes blank, pools of scarlet beneath his head and chest and wherever else his own magic had viciously torn into him. he had been laughing- he had been laughing, like it was all a big joke- he had been dripping with blood and mud and magic and he had enjoyed hearing his brother whimper in pain, weakly crying out his name as he fruitlessly tried to push himself off the ground despite his many injuries. god, marvin had felt so fucking powerful. he had looked down on his brother- his sweet younger brother, who long ago he had held gently and comforted with kind words whispered softly in the dark when he knew he was upset- and kicked him without holding back, right in the wound on his chest. chase had gasped in agony, tears and blood rolling down his cheeks, barely able to move. anti had appeared behind him- anti had appeared behind him, anti wasn’t in control, marvin was doing this all himself- and had wordlessly handed him a knife with a look of smug satisfaction on his face. marvin had accepted it. he used it. he finished the job.

he didn’t make it quick.

now he is running, he had remembered himself- himself, was it even himself, who was he?- he is tearing through the trees, occasionally stumbling, things hitting him but not causing him any more pain, what could cause him more pain than what he had just done to his brother? he lets a scream tear from his throat, it hurts, it hurts so bad- not as bad as he hurt chase, pulling his throat open as the fear and betrayal left his eyes- god, his chest is so tight he can barely breathe, his breaths are rattling his whole body- what is he running from again? himself?- and his heart is pounding loudly in his ears, making his tinnitus spike.

suddenly there is a tree root and he is on the ground, the breath knocked right out of him, unable to move from the force of the blow to his whole body. get up, get up, he’s after you- who’s after me, there’s no one there- he tries to get up but he can’t breathe. he rolls his body to the side, then falls onto his back, wheezing loudly, his head full of ringing. he opens his eyes, slowly, slowly, and looks at the treetops above him. the sky is full of stars.

a face appears. it’s chase. it’s jackie. it’s henrik. it’s jamie. it’s jack. it’s anti.

it’s anti.

“well, well, well,” anti purrs, crouching down almost on top of marvin’s legs. he can barely move, he’s used so much magic. he’s never been so reckless before- he’s never killed anyone either, never tortured anyone, never hurt his own brother- and there is blood coming from his nose and eyes, he can feel it, mixed in with his salty tears and stinging his face. “you did so much better than i was expecting of you, kitty!” 

the joy in his voice makes marvin sick. he wants anti off him, but his head is spinning, his body is weak- not just his body, the rest of him is weak too- “get away,” he moans. he is shaking. his fingertips are numb.

“hey, you did good!” anti praised. he leans forwards and strokes marvin’s face, and when he moves his hand it’s covered in blood. he looks at it for a moment, then smiles at marvin warmly. “i wasn’t expecting you to actually kill him, much less torture him. i’m so proud of you. you didn’t even need my help!” 

anti’s words make a wave of fury and terror rise in marvin’s chest. he pushes himself up onto his elbows and whines in pain, the overpowering stench of copper making him retch. “i didn’t- i didn’t do it,” he whimpers. he hates the fear in his voice. “i didn’t, i didn’t, it wasn’t me-”

“oh, but it was, kitten!” anti chuckled. he gently pressed a hand to marvin’s chest and tried to push him down again, but marvin struggles- he struggles despite having accepted a knife to murder his own brother with like anti was a friend loaning him a pencil- and shoves anti off him, sitting straight up. anti falls back onto his knees, the look of satisfaction and pride never leaving his face. marvin wants to slap it off him as he summons all his energy to get to his feet, stumbling and swaying on the spot. his head pounds and he nearly blacks out from the pain.

“it wasn’t me,” marvin cried, his voice picking up in volume. anti is still sitting on the ground quietly, staring up at him. marvin wants to rip him apart, he wants to dig his nails into his face and tear it open- like he did to chase, his baby brother- and he screams, clutching at his head, fire roiling in his chest. “i didn’t do it! it wasn’t my fault! it wasn’t!”

anti still does not move. 

marvin howls, and suddenly everything inside of him that’s left is being ripped out, all his energy manifesting into pure black magic, yanking every atom in his body apart, sending it all at anti, desecrating his smug face, and he is gone, but marvin can’t stop. he is quite literally falling apart, his bones melting like acid, his skin dissolving into magic, and it’s fucking agony, he screams even as his vocals cords are torn to shreds-

and the room is dark and cold and there’s a window open letting some moonlight fall onto his cluttered desk and he is laying on something soft and he is surrounded by blankets and there is a person sitting on his bed.

“marvin the magnificent,” anti smirks. his neck wound is bright red even in the darkness. “look at you now.”

“stop it, no!” he cries. “i’ll never let you make me hurt one of them!”

marvin doesn’t stop to think. he throws out his hands and heat fills his hands, burning his skin and face and hair, nearly causing him to pass out, and he throws his magic, not caring where it lands. everything is far too hot. he’s never felt so agonisingly hot before.

when he comes to- he passed out, when did he do that?- he is on the floor and anti is wheezing in pain a foot or so away from him, unconscious but still twitching.

it’s not anti.

“chase, chase,” marvin sobs deliriously. he drags himself towards his brother, his brother who he didn’t kill, his brother who is still alive. marvin sees drops of blood fall from his nose onto his hands, his pale hands, clear of the overwhelming scarlet.

“chase, chaser, mein bruder, it’s me, it’s marvin, wake up!” he moans. chase doesn’t stir. there is blood coursing down the side of his face.

“help me!” marvin screams, sitting upright despite the pain it causes him. “help, jackie, henrik, please wake up, wake up, please!”

he hears footsteps running in his direction and he sees figures in the room, moving chase’s unmoving body, and then he is out again.

[nowitsdarkfic]

chapter seven - part two (the injun doth speak too much)

There really isn't much here in Monticello as Maya takes the first exit off the highway. But she insists on feeding me. She's the only one with money after all.

There's a cute little diner on the edge of town and she treats me there.

My headache's starting to come back, but this time I think it's from not drinking any coffee or hardly any water this time around.

Lucky for me, she guides me inside of the place and we take a seat at the little table closest to the front door.

She just asks for a glass of water with a lemon wedge while she gets me a cup of coffee and a stack of pancakes. I'm absolutely famished: that hospital food wasn't bad, but I hadn't eaten anything this morning. The stack is bigger than I imagine but I don't really mind. The cakes are fluffy and accompanied with lots of melted butter and a bit of maple syrup. I offer her a bite but she again refuses.

“Come on, Maya, you've got to eat something,” I tell her with my mouth part of the way full. But she shakes her head. I shrug my shoulders and insert the bite. I'm like a little boy eating breakfast with his auntie or his grandma: I eat everything on the plate and drink down the coffee even as our waitress pours me a second cup. I lean over the plate with my arm resting on the top of the table and my other hand holding the white mug up to my mouth. My stomach is warm and feeling soft again.

“Feel better?” she asks me: the overhead lights are illuminating the scar on her forehead to where it's pure white.

“Very much so.” I drink up the rest of the coffee, and she pays and leaves a tip for the waitress. She leads me back out to the car like she's my girlfriend. Some people are kind of looking at us like we're boyfriend and girlfriend, even though we're not. I'm the guy who saved her life. Although in a way she kind of does feel like my girlfriend because she's sharing stuff with me that she doesn't want to share with Lars or anyone else.

Rather, she's just a girl who happens to be my friend, treating me well and paying it forward back to me.

We get about ten miles up the road when she stops again, this time for a refill of fuel and a milkshake for me. I'm not even hungry but I take it because it's chocolate. No sooner had I drank it down about twenty miles outside of Syracuse when she stops again, this time it's for me to take a piss. When I return out of the men's room and back outside, I find she's gotten me a wedge and a bowl of clam chowder.

“My goodness,” I confess as I take the spoon from her and hold the little bowl right before my chest. I'm really not hungry at all, and those pancakes filled me up plenty, but I'm seduced by the warmth of the chowder and she has those little oyster crackers in her hand. She sticks one into her mouth before handing them to me.

Oh, I see now.

I crumble a couple of them over the chowder before taking a bite. The potatoes are perfect and the chowder itself is creamy and warm. It all feels like a warm hug on the inside. It's like she wants me to have my cup full at all times. As we make our way through the donut hole that is the heart of Syracuse, I'm feeling pretty full at this point. I don't think I've ever eaten this much in just a couple of hours before. Not even when I was with Anthrax did I eat this much. Come to think of it, I don't think I ate this much the other night before the accident.

We pass by that one exit I took to visit Brick in the hospital.

Oh my fucking God, Brick.

I hope he's alright. I hope the feathers sprouting out of his head have gone away. I can hope that as I set down the empty cup on the center console and rest a hand on my stomach. I'm feeling so warm and so full that I'm about ready to fall asleep right there in the seat next to her. Maya, meanwhile, seems to be completely unfazed by the fact she's barely eaten all morning, or who knows how long for that matter.

I run my fingers through my hair as I lean the seat back to ease the pressure on my stomach. It doesn't actually hurt, I'm just feeling really full.

We're not too far from home when she picks up the wedge for me and hands it to me.

“No—no—” I resist her, keeping my hands on my stomach. “I can't. Not now.”

But she doesn't let go of it as we near the outskirts of Oswego. I recognize those lush trees near the golf course and the country club when she hands it to me again.

“I still can't. I think I ate too much—”

We reach my apartment complex and she still hasn't set the damn thing down or put it out of my sight. She takes it with her as I lead her to my front door.

Now I know how Lars felt the other night when he ate and drank too much at the bar: I'm trying hard to not lose my balance as I stick the teeth into the keyhole and open the door.

I feel tipsy.

I pretty much collapse onto my couch, flat on my back and with my feet hanging over the arm. I unbutton my jeans and lay there with my shirt riding up my body. I lay there with my eyes closed for about a minute when I feel her fingers running up my bare skin towards my chest. I open my eyes to see her looming over me, still with that long wedge in her hand. She unfurls the plastic wrap and takes out the half in her right hand, and holds it over my mouth like she's going to shove it right in.

“No, Maya—please,” I beg her, pushing back the half. “I can't handle another bite.”

“Come on—you're hungry,” she insists in that breathy voice. “I can feel it. I can feel the hunger within you.”

“I'm not, though. I swear to you. I've been eating all morning long.” I push down the waistband of my jeans and pull up my shirt. “Touch me. Touch my belly.”

She sets the wedge down on the table next to the recliner, right next to the phone and the lamp, and then turns back to me.

“I am touching you—” She rests her hands on me. Her touch is uncomfortable with everything she's fed me, but then she moves her hands up towards my chest. She brings her lips closer to mine, and for a second I think she's going to kiss me. But she never does.

“I feel you—” she whispers into my face. “And I want to know what it means to love.”

I nibble on my bottom lip. She's putting too much pressure on me, but she's on me. Her hands are caressing all over my chest.

“You're so warm and so delicate—just, dare I say, skin and bones.”

Right. She's one to talk. The one thing she ate today was that little bit of oyster crackers when I had that bowl of clam chowder. My stomach is still very flat but I feel like I've just swallowed the entirety of Lake Ontario.

Maya leans in closer to my face.

“Please—” I beg to her. “Please—”

“With pleasure—” She puts her lips onto mine. She tastes like stale old bread and regret.

“Wha—whaaaaat?” I'm so full, I can't even think straight.

“Methinks the Injun doth speak too much,” she whispers into my mouth before kissing me again. I feel it within me.

I let out the biggest, hairiest belch I've done in a long time right over the crown of her head.

“Ohhhhhh, God damn,” I groan out. “I can't believe I ate that much.”

“I've got you now,” she whispers to me. “I've got you around my finger.”

“Wait, what?”

She lifts herself off of my chest and straddles my hips like she's about to ride my dick. But she doesn't. Instead she gives me these light little kisses on my belly. Oh fuck, that feels good. After the pressure she just put on me, that's such a lovely sweet feeling.

She's going down to my belly button and part of the way onto my happy trail, and then she rests her head on my lower belly. I feel like a pillow now. A fluffy soft pillow in a skinny boy's body.

She kisses me right on the belly button and then she lifts herself up so as to look at me in the face.

“Better eat that sandwich, big boy,” she whispers to me with a light tap on the tip of my nose. She then climbs off of me and rounds the end of the couch. I lay there staring up the ceiling, still feeling her lips on my skin and still tasting her. And then I realize she's not in here anymore.

I stifle another little burp in my throat before hoisting myself up on my elbows. My back twitches but that's the least of my problems at the moment.

“Maya?” I call out. Silence.

“Maya? Where'd you go?”

I swing my legs over from the arm of the couch and I sit upright, still with my shirt pulled up my belly and my pants unbuttoned. I strip off my jacket because I'm so warm.

“Maya?” I call out again. Silence.

I stand to my feet, albeit with a bit of difficulty because I'm still very full. Careful not to lose my balance, I head into the kitchen. She's not there.

I look down the hall. Nothing.

I take a peek into the bathroom. Empty.

My bedroom? No one there.

But the arrowhead pendant which I left on my nightstand is missing.

She took the pendant.

I have a hunch now.

“Looks like I'm going to have to make a trip over to Boston,” I say aloud.

[mindfulwrath]

401(k)

I wrote a real sad nearly-Jeremwood fic for NO REASON so here’s my apology for that. Pure fluff with some existential angst.

Words: 1,046 Warnings: None AO3

“Do you think—” Jeremy begins, and stops.

“Nope,” says Ryan. Jeremy whacks him in the side with an elbow and he winces.

“I wasn’t done.”

“So don’t stop in the middle of your sentences. I’m a busy guy.”

He kicks his feet, out off the edge of the building. The ground is about a thousand feet away. He takes a sip of his diet coke with the side of his mouth, watching the sun as it sets over Chiliad.

“You got nothing to do and neither do I,” says Jeremy. “At least until Gavin gets here.”

Ryan shrugs. “Eh,” he says, and that’s it.

“Like I was saying,” Jeremy says. “Do you think someday we’ll get outta this business? Y’know, like, retire from a life of crime and all.”

“Sure.”

“Wait—really? Do you have, like, plans? An exit strategy?”

“Yeah, a body bag,” Ryan says, and chuckles.

Scowling, Jeremy says, “That’s not funny.”

“Nah, I think it is. Gallows humor? C’mooon, positive nilih...nile—nih. Eh.”

“Nihilism?”

“That! Nili—God dammit, my mouth!” He laughs, frustrated.

“I guess, but ... gah, I dunno,” says Jeremy. He leans back on his hands and kicks his heels against the concrete. “I don’t like that, man. It’s depressing.”

“Only if you think of it like ugh nothing matters, why do anything,” says Ryan. “It’s more like, eyyy, nothing matters, I can do whatever I want!” 

He drains the last of his coke, tipping his head way back. The sunset paints him rose-gold. It’s a good look for him, even with the blood and gunpowder.

“Well ... yeah, I mean, that’s a thing,” says Jeremy. “But, like, there’s nothing else you’d rather be doing? Or like, you don’t wanna ... get old, or anything? Retire?”

Ryan scrunches up his face, thinking about it.

“Ehhhh, seems like kind of a hassle,” he says. He crushes the coke can and drops it off the side of the building.

“That’s gonna—”

“Sure is!”

The wind blowing up the side of the building flings the can back up, all the way up onto the helipad. Ryan chuckles, watching it fly over.

“Hey, you think if you dropped a full one, it could kill somebody when it landed?” he asks.

“Please, please don’t try that right now,” Jeremy says. “Please. Seriously, dude, the last thing we need is more cops coming after us.”

“Hey, what, we already barricaded the door!” He cocks a thumb back at the roof access. It’s very thoroughly blocked.

“Yeah, and if you bust somebody’s head open with a soda, they’re gonna start shooting from the ground!”

“Whatever, I only had one anyways. Maybe next time.”

Jeremy rolls his eyes and leans back on his hands. Sirens wail far off. The sun sinks behind Chiliad. The sky is cloudless, grading from orange to purple. The first stars are winking out overhead.

“If you did retire,” Jeremy says at last. “What would you do?”

Ryan shrugs. “Never really thought about it. Uhhhhh. I don’t know. What would you do?”

He scratches his beard, wrinkling his nose. “I was thinking, like, I’d write a book or something.”

“Yeah? You got a book in you?”

“After all the shit we’ve been through, I could be the next Tom Clancy, dude.”

“Who the fuck is Tom Clancy?”

“The Splinter Cell guy.”

“Ohhhhhh, I gotcha. Real prolif...prolific guy.”

“Yeah,” he says, shrugging. “I dunno, it’s just a thing I think about sometimes. I’m probably not gonna get to do it, anyways. Body bags, y’know.”

“If you wait,” says Ryan. “If you start writing now, maybe you can squeeze on out before you get bipped.”

“No, no,” he sighs. “Then it’d just be all tragic when I died halfway through writing one.”

“It’s gonna be tragic when you die no matter what. So fuck it, write.”

Jeremy fakes a smile and nudges him again. Ryan nudges him back. It’s getting dark around them, the city lighting up below. Gavin’s so late with the extraction chopper, Jeremy’s starting to wonder if he just forgot about them.

“You got any uhhhh ... samples?” says Ryan.

“Any what?”

“Samples. Of your writing,” says Ryan. “I kinda wanna read ‘em, y’know.”

“Oh,” says Jeremy, blushing. “I mean, like, not on me.”

“Ah, excuses,” said Ryan.

“What, you want me to narrate you some shit?”

“Yeah!”

“And then Jeremy pushed Ryan off the building, just to see if he’d kill anybody when he hit the ground,” Jeremy drawls. Ryan laughs.

“See, I’d throw you off, but you’d just fly back up like the coke can,” he says. “Because you’re short.”

“Hey, fuck you.”

“Fuck you! You’re the one who started it!”

“I didn’t start anything!”

“I’m about to start somethin’.”

“Oh, yeah? You wanna piece of this?”

“You bet I do. I’ll take you out any day, short-stack.”

Jeremy grabs him by the lapel and kisses him. Ryan squeaks and goes rigid. His lips are cold and thin and taste like diet coke, his stubble tugging on Jeremy’s beard like velcro. Jeremy shoves him back again, terrified he’s crossed a line, terrified he’s just thrown everything away.

“Uh?” says Ryan, about an octave higher than usual.

“Well, we’re both gonna die, so why the fuck not, right?” says Jeremy, defensive.

“O...okay?” Ryan guesses. “That’s ... fair? Sure?”

The silence that falls is agonizing.

“Uh,” says Jeremy. “S...sorry.”

“Mmmmmno,” says Ryan.

“What?”

“No,” he repeats, and that’s it.

While Jeremy’s floundering for what the hell he’s supposed to say to that, Ryan takes his face in both hands and kisses him again. This time it’s soft, and sweet, and warm. Jeremy braces himself with one hand, just so he won’t tumble over the edge of the building from the way his head is spinning. Ryan pulls back, and kisses his nose, and his forehead.

“Okay,” Jeremy says, glowing. “Yeah, I’m okay with this.”

“Might as well,” says Ryan.

“It’s that uh ... optimistic nihilism, right?”

“Yeah! Optimistic nili—god fucking dammit!”

Jeremy laughs, and in the distance there’s the sound of helicopter blades.

“It’s okay,” he says. “I like your dumb mouth.”

“How dare you call my mouth dumb,” says Ryan, pouting.

Jeremy sneaks in one last kiss just before Gavin comes up around back of the building with a cargobob.

[royalrastafariannaynays]

“Hey.” “Hi.”

((thank you for the prompt @notedchampagne! for this davekat soulmate/wedding/enemies to friends to lovers/fake boyfriends au!!))

Your ass was unlucky enough to be saddled with the absolute worst EVER soulmate. Fucker just had to say a normal greeting when he met you. No inflection, no tone, no punctuation, nothing. Nada. Zip. Zilch.

Embellishment? Who’s heard of it.

Originality? Ha.

Hints as to which poor and sorry fucker it could be in your life? yeah right.

The only way you would ever know which soulmate was yours, would be if you kissed them right on the mouth. Or shared some other body fluid, but it’s not like you’re gonna be drinking tears or playing blood brothers - how unsanitary.

No. You have to just wait and see, for your entire goddamn life.

And the best part?

You have to show up to Rose’s wedding.

With a literal life partner.

That you told her you have.

And you absolutely, positively, don’t.

Now, of course, is when you’re sitting at the airport, and you’re waiting on your drink to get to your little space on the bar.

It’s almost too late to find a fake soulmate. It was a stupid idea to begin with, but at least you could fake it easily since your mark was so easy to match with… literally anyone. Jesus. Just a nice fake meetcute story and bam. There it is.

And then you could break it off! One of those ‘I thought I met my soulmate but it was actually not them because I’m a dunce’ stories.

No one is going to let it go if you don’t show up with someone, though.

Your soulmate tattoo is located just below your right nipple.

It says “Hi.”

Literally.

Fucking stupid, isn’t it?

The waitress is looking like a pretty good candidate for fake-soulmate. Just a few good lines, a promise of getting her some sweet fat stacks when you get home (not like you couldn’t afford it honestly), and she’d be an Oscar-winning actress.

Or maybe the bartender? He’s pretty fine. Big, burly, redhead. Probably more hair on his chest than you would know what to do with. Pretty much your type, but bears were always more of Dirk’s thing.

You sigh into your martini. Two hours until your flight takes off.

No one even bothered to hit you up on craigslist about your ad, and that almost always worked for like. Black tie events and parties and shit. Usually, then, you were glammed up. But you’d had to leave the ad cryptic so that your sister wouldn’t immediately find it upon trying to uncover your ruse.

Fuck.

And you’re carpooling with some friend of Rose and Kanaya’s that you’e never met, to get to their nice little rented vineyard once you’re there. His name started with a K, right? The only name that comes to mind right now is Karkat. Vantas, to be specific. Your biggest critic.

But no way he’d be Kanaya’s best man of honor or whatever. No way.

The world ain’t that small.

Rose is getting married to Kanaya, her soulmate. Your whole goddamn family will be there, as well as about a billion trolls. It’s gonna be a pretty big and fancy affair. Likely in tabloids.

And you’re already going to have to be putting on a good face for the paps and the fuckin’.....

Ugh.

You really screwed the pooch this time.

Someone sits next to you.

“Can I get something strong?” he asks, and.

Ooh.

Well if you’re gonna get truly and definitively fucked this weekend, you might as well get fucked by someone with that voice. Like ayyyyy, who are you fella.

There’s a short conversation, in which you turn to examine the dude out of the side of your eye. Okay, nice, dark skin, black hair, too much bangs, strong nose, tall, thick as fuck, okay. Damn.

The Jack and Coke is making you feel adventurous, and your normal grace is totally here, which means when your eyes reach his face, he’s glaring at you like you’ve sprung eight cysts and one of them is leaking on his cashmere sweater.

Fuck.

“Hey,” you stammer out at him, and.

For a second, you swear you see him freeze.

Maybe it’s the uh. Maybe it’s the alcohol?

“Hi,” he says.

And you don’t think anything of it.

“Take a picture, it’ll last longer,” the guy growls at you, and ohhhhhh. Oh yeah. That’s a good one right there. His tone sends unruly shivers down your spine and you’re thoroughly embarrassed by how easy you are.

Like seriously, for a guy who spent his entire life like a mule in a horse courtship corral, you’re incredibly easy. Meaning that, no matter how awkward and uncomfortable you are, you will basically take anyone attractive.

Look, touching people is nice, okay?

And it’s usually only makeouts that you go for, maybe a handy or something.

Cuddling is the SHIT.

“I would, but I think a ghoul like you might break my camera,” you reply, instinctively, and. Oh god. Oh god oh god oh god what did you just say???? What???????

Luckily, he laughs instead of getting angry and throwing his fruity nonsense drink in your face. And he gives you a look that’s halfway between begrudgingly tolerant and something like a half-assed smolder.

The lemon wedge wouldn’t have felt good on your eyes.

“Okay, what’s your name, pain in the ass?” he asks, and.

Huh.

Somehow that worked.

Weird.

“Dave Strider,” you say, and wink. “Care to get a bat up in my belfry?”

…. What. You were trying for funny again.  

And apparently that was a mistake.

Okay, so it didn’t work.

His face is frozen in a mask of stone so solid you could break a diamond on it.

One of his hands is coming up to his mouth, and his eyes are widening in horror.

That’s when you look down and see his luggage tag.

[Karkat V. Vantas]

Shit.

This fuck.

Is your.

Oh my god.

“I thought she was joking,” he whispers, and you look back up at him. Your shades flip down from the top of your head and onto your nose and he.

He visibly recoils.

Ouch.

“I prayed that she was joking.”

Double ouch.

“Your movies…. They’re terrible.”

You wince, and remove your glasses.

Instant soberity.

“I know. I make them,” you say.

And he.

He gets up, chugs the rest of his drink, and.

He walks the fuck away.

You think you’ve seen the end of him.

That is, until you find your seat on the plane.

And despite it being first class, guess who’s sitting right next to you? Holding an identical invitation to yours in his left hand?

Karkat fucking Vantas.

It’s at this point that you realize that yes.

Rose’s critic friend, and Kanaya’s best man of honor, is indeed, Karkat Vantas.

The critic who hates you the most in the world is going to be a part of Rose’s wedding.

And if you didn’t know better, you would think that Rose married Kanaya just for this exact fucking moment. She orchestrated the entire soulmate thing with Kanaya.

Fuck.

He’s glaring up at you, and you’re trying not to scowl down at him, and the whole thing is so ridiculously inconvenient you could just cry.

“So you’re in this wedding, too?” you try, as you throw your carry-on up into the overhead storage.

The guy sighs so loud, you’re surprised heads don’t turn.

“Yes, idiot, I’m also in the wedding,” he says, and you try not to slump. Okay. Whole flight seated next to him. Maybe you could ignore him, and he could ignore you, and it’ll all be kosher?

“Right,” you mutter, and sink into your seat.

There’s a decent margin between the side of your chair, and his. It’s that kind of cheaper first class seating. The kind that doesn’t have like. Massive partitions, but instead has a little semi-clear divider between your chairs, and then some extra pillows and blankets, and better reclining.

It’s not your usual fare, but what can you say. You reserved the flight… a little late. Definitely not in fear of Rose’s judgey eyes.

Judgey at the fact that you’ll be arriving to her wedding, sans the soulmate you thought you had.

This is going to be a shitshow. You can imagine it now.

Rose, laughing at you per usual, saying that yes, she was correct in assuming you wouldn’t be bringing a plus one, yet again. Dirk, shaking his head very slowly at you. Jade, and Roxy all with identical blank faces destined to turn into glee the moment you turn around. And John. Who will be the only sad sap to actually feed you any sympathy.

;alsdkjf;lakjs.

There’s absolutely no chance at you finding anyone at this very short notice.

Someone knocks your face with their bag as they pass down the aisle of the plaine, and you just sit there and take it. Like a particularly smarmy penis, just slapping you continually, regardless of the fact that you don’t even want to suck his dick. Hhhhhhhg.

“Hey, watch it!” you hear from your left.

And you look over, to see Karkat V. Vantas, your biggest critic, glowering at the dude whose bag is entirely too phallic for its own good.

“Stop hitting random people in the face with your luggage, you careless piece of shit,” Karkat V. Vantas says to that man.

Huh. Defending you.

Maybe he doesn’t think you’re all that bad?

And you get the absolute worst idea.

The absolute best idea.

You wait until the flight has taken off, and they’re walking the little carts up and down the plane with snacks and shit.

“Wanna pretend to be my soulmate?” you blurt out.

And Karkat chokes on his complimentary soda.

“Excuse me?” he asks.

And yeah. This is gonna be a great idea.

From the angle you’re at, his coughing perfectly outlines his jaw, and you wanna get your mouth on it. Attraction from your side won’t be hard to fake, at all.

“I told Rose that I was coming to the wedding with a soulmate, and I don’t have one,” you say, waving one hand, once he’s done hacking his lungs out with enough force to make a flight attendant look pretty concerned.

You take a sip of your own beverage, and give him a look across the space between the two of you.

He looks more disgusted than he did back when he first found out who you are, and that he would have to be staying on the same floor of a hotel with you.

“How tasteless. How do you know I don’t already have one?!” he asks, patting his chest with his fist. He’s still working off the dregs of the coughing, and he waves away the flight attendant with his eyes still glued to you.

Ah yeah. You hadn’t considered that.

“Do you? Have one, that is?” you ask, and his face fills with red.

“No, I don’t, thank you very much,” he says, and you grin.

“Oh no! Don’t you dare give me that shit-eating smile, you nasty little sub-human,” he splutters, and you just grin a little wider. Your chances are increasing. And as he’s getting riled up, you’re getting a rush in your chest. The newfound coloring on his face is great to look at, and highlights his cheeks just so.

In that moment, you understand that you might be attracted to him more than sexually.

See, before, it was just physical.

But with every word, he’s etching out another little crease for himself in your mind.

Maybe after this, you could try to be friends.

He’s talking again. “...because of that, I hate your films anyway, so why would I waste my time on this farce for more than five seconds!”

You’re distracted, and you answer honestly and instinctively.

And for whatever reason, it’s something you’ve never told anyone before.

It sounds cheesy as fuck, and hokey and stupid. But it’s true, somehow.

“You only hate my films,” you tell him, simply, “Because you fail to realize that each and every one of them is an attempt at multi-faceted social and political commentary on the current state of events in Hollywood.”

Shit.

“Your very first review of my work was the most correct one yet,” you add.

And shit. More shit.

And, for the first time in maybe his entire goddamn life if you had to guess, Karkat Vicente Vantas is stunned into gape-mouthed silence.

“And now, you’re the only one who knows it,” you finish.

Something like long-coming realization is dawning on Karkat’s eyes.

His lips purse, and he looks like he’s going to throw up.

When you open your mouth again, he puts a finger to your face, and you close it promptly.

“You read all my reviews?” he asks, after a few minutes. “And you remember them?”

You just nod, not sure if you’re allowed to talk again yet.

“God, you’re full of shit,” he says.

And yeah.

You are.

That stunt with wearing a dress made of only recycled avocado skins to the People’s Choice Awards, and then telling a reporter that it was in defense of the avocado-consuming millennials everywhere? Classic Dave Strider.

Using your given name instead of a pseudonym, ridiculous as it sounds? Classic.

Skateboarding into celebration party of your tenth film, not wearing anything except one of those socks they use to strap penises to dudes’ thighs in filming sex scenes? Very you.

“No one is going to believe me,” Karkat V Vantas whispers, seemingly to himself.

“Nah,” you agree.

And he glares at you, then. The realization is still happening. Every little cog is flicking into place, every little moment that you orchestrated in your films, every little theme that you hid in the music scores and named as coincidence to the public.

“I did lie about you being the only one, though,” you say, sighing. “My siblings also know. John knows but doesn’t believe me. Jade doesn’t give a shit.”

“But I’m… holy shit.” he puts his hands on his head.

“You believe me now? Go ahead and ask Rose about it,” you offer, pulling up pesterchum on your phone.

Yeehaw for the in-flight wifi.

Karkat refuses.

“Oh no, I believe you,” he says.

“So will you pretend to be my soulmate?” you ask him, and he glares at you again.

Like, this, ‘how dare you suggest such a thing be done to my fragile countenance’ glare. Like you’ve asked him to shovel shit directly into his own mouth from the anus of a bull with really bad irritable bowel syndrome.

“Fine,” he says.

And you’re ready to beg again, but instead you’re the one leaning back now, surprised.

“What?”

“I’ll do it, but not for you,” Karkat tells you.

And uh.

Okay then.

“Alright, cool,” you say.

“But only to get back at that filthy wizard-fucker for making me wear a lime green suit to her wedding,” he says.

And oh. Okay.

“How would that get back at her exactly?” you ask, dumbly. “I mean I hate our lady-in-waiting attire as much as the next guy, but…”

“Fooling Lalonde is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, Dave,” he says.

And. Oh.

Hearing your name come out of his mouth feels really good. For no particular reason.

Like every soulmate romcom ever. Like this is reality.

You ignore that bit with iron blinders on.

“And she did this awful wedding trope just to spite me,” Karkat continues, examining his fingernails. “Because I mentioned the movie ‘27 Dresses’ and she almost creamed herself with bliss at the idea of making a man wear a suit that he could only use for one occasion.”

It hits you, and you groan.

“Like a hideous bridesmaids’ dress,” you sigh, sinking into your seat.

“Exactly,” Karkat says, and you slide your eyes over to look at him.

“So if we do this, what’s our story?” you ask.

And Karkat already has one planned, damn him. He improvises with the skill and speed of a practiced veteran.

Over the process of the next four hours of plane trip, you work it out.

The two of you met at a press party, and ended up kissing over a glass of champagne, and from there it was magic.

No, you weren’t planning on getting married anytime soon.

Yes, you didn’t tell anyone because you’re keeping it under wraps for the press.

Et cetera Et cetera for hours of making details happen. Karkat also takes a bribe with stride, just some extra assurance from you.

He wanted your new car for the bribe.

You bitched and moaned about it, but eventually agreed to sign over the title for him. It was no skin off your bones right now, anyway. You make enough money.

It was going to be an interesting weekend.

So, you were off the plane.

Karkat took your hand as soon as you left the gate, bags over your respective shoulders, and led you down to the baggage claim.

It’s for the press, you have to remind yourself. It’s for the press, and then once you’re in private he won’t have to put on a show anymore.

But his hand feels… nice.

It’s hard not to focus on it as you’re brought down to the baggage carousel, and you stand there, waiting. Your hands are almost always cold, and just from this moment you can tell he runs hot. Something about thermodynamic equilibrium and memes runs across the forehead area of your thoughts, and you snort softly.

Karkat gives you a weird look, and squeezes your hand.

When he tells you to stop giggling like a newborn moron, he leans in close to do it, and you can feel the put-upon smile on his mouth.

You’re getting a few stares, and you can see some press out of the corner of your eye.

They’re waiting for you outside, just a few since you’re not really quite that famous. And you hid your destination pretty well, you think. After one of them got a restraining order, they stay at least thirty feet away from you.

Having Terezi as a friend is fantastic.

“David?” you hear, just barely within earshot.

You turn your head slightly and see Rose, just out of the truly visible range of your periphery.

There are people with her, maybe two or three. One of them would be Dirk, since he insisted on being there to see your ‘new soulmate’. The other either Kanaya, or maybe, Jade?

Who knows.

The point is, before you can fully turn your head to them, the carousel starts up behind you.

The metal creaks and whirs, and the little blaring bell rings, and you can’t even focus on it, or be scared, or remember your little acting role in all of this.

Because Karkat Vantas is kissing you.

His hand is warm on the back of your neck.

His lips are so soft, but not too soft. You feel them, strong and moving against yours.

And his breath is sweet.

And your own air is just taken away.

Because all of a sudden, you feel it.

Galaxies burst into being in your chest, in your soul.

The mark on your chest burns, for a split second. Like the worst itch imaginable. And then it’s gone, and Karkat is panting against your mouth. And you’re leaning down to him, hearing a wolf whistle in the background, and sarcastic clapping from Rose.

And you know.

Holy shit.

There’s so much intent, and there’s so much knowledge and incredible awe in Karkat’s eyes. And you feel like you’re going to throw up, it’s so much.

You know.

He’s yours.

Yours.

He’s your soulmate.