#the only place in the midwest i can see myself staying in for a while is chicago

[gayestcowboy]

i don’t exactly want to stay in the midwest for the rest of my life but i’m gonna miss culver’s so fucking bad. what the fuck am i gonna do without culver’s

[drowning-inmysleep]

love me while I leave. my persona yours to keep

“Maybe someday your 'maker' will come…haul you away, take you apart, and announce the recall of a defective product. What if all that's left of the 'real you' is just a couple of lonely brain cells, huh?”

[edit: 9.26.23] this has since been edited and updated a month post initial release, edits will be notated in red, feel free to skip them to read the original writing. [/] August 20th, 2023 I played my last show in a town (Austin, Texas) I moved to to be with my at the time girlfriend. We're separating now, as I'm returning home (Saint Louis, Missouri), the place I left behind. During my stay in Texas I had a hard time making friends, though that's not to say they weren't readily available. I intentionally avoided making them, partially because I was afraid of leaving them behind if anything were to change and call me back home. I have a crew of friends (Materia) in Saint Louis - the best I've ever had. When I moved, I wanted to take a leap and leave the place I'd spent my entire life, and try to fix my relationship by moving closer to them.

Leaving behind those who loved me so much was something that affected me in a way I wouldn't understand until much later. Saint Louis is one of the top rated most violent cities in the United States. Growing up there I normalized a lot of the things I saw and a lot of the trauma I gained from being in that environment. It's shaped me as a person, both good and bad. I got good at existing there, as I spent most of my teenage years in the inner city going to DIY shows.

Most of the shows were Emo / Screamo revival, and eventually that's where I started as a musician. I think Emo / Screamo music is so prevalent in the Midwest because the Midwest is a comfortable but at times very bleak and sad landscape. In the city you can see someone get murdered in front of you, and in the plains farmer's kill themselves because the world moved on without them. The veracity and unrelenting emotional outpour of these genres is some sort of ancestral representation of growing up somewhere like that. Paired with the ignorant approach to song writing / sound engineering, it represents the lack of educational opportunities whether it be due to generational financial issues or dismal public schools, paired with familial trauma from living here. It's pure.

I always dreamed of being a musician as a child, if anything it's the only dream I ever had. Once I started working on my solo project, I was having a hard time being booked in Saint Louis since there wasn't a scene for the music I made. So - I decided to make one for myself. That's how Materia came to be. I wanted to bring as many different people together as possible, so we formed the crew in a way that each member represented a different aspect of the Saint Louis music / night life community. Our first shows were in peoples basements, or shitty bars in the bad parts of town. Just like the DIY shows I started out in when I was 19. Over time Materia got big enough to where I finally became recognized as my solo project in my own city, but by the time it took hold I fear I was too jaded to appreciate it. Before Materia, I had been playing shows all over the country, and was recognized globally for what I made and what I was involved in. Even with that being said, playing shows out in places like LA and NYC revealed a dark reality to the dream I had. That reality being that even if you do blow up, the lifestyle of being a internationally recognized musician doesn't create a long-term sustainable lifestyle. What it can / inevitably will create, is a perception of you others hold based on your art and performance of it. At first it felt really cool to have people think I'm a celebrity of sorts, that I am the dark persona I portray in my music. Over time it felt less and less genuine, that being others opinions of me. As I got bigger I built up a slow poison of being paranoid people only saw me for my plays on soundcloud, follower count, or pre packaged brand I created for myself. Eventually that paranoia showed itself as not just being paranoia, it was partially true. A lot of the music and art I make is representative of the difficulty I've endured mentally. I spent most of my childhood/teen years disassociating and hiding away in MMORPGs. I felt more able to genuinely express myself in these digital worlds. In the real world I was being made fun of for looking like a girl, and being forced to fight others to just be left alone. I had to survive, and eventually I started fighting myself. I tried to kill myself multiple times.

These experiences alienated me in a way that my friends that did experience my breakdowns eventually distanced themselves from me, and I don't blame them for it. It's a lonely feeling. I try to replicate that in music, both that feeling of yearning for lost times / feelings of comfort felt in a video game, while knowing that those times are gone and they weren't that good of escape to begin with and - the feeling of knowing the damage you've caused. I can't listen to a lot of the music I've made in the past because it hurts too much, it's like reading a suicide note from a failed attempt. Jumping back to me now, a 28 year old DnB / Trance musician, I am pretty consistently swarmed with people praising and celebrating me. On one hand I really appreciate it, on the other it is the actualization of the paranoia mentioned above. My fans enjoy my music because what they earn from it, they have no idea what I was going through when I made it. I've been told I've helped people going through similar things that I went through as a teenager, and I love that. Last night at my final show in Texas, a genuine fan of mine expressed that I was a good example for them to follow as a trans woman. This is the case in which that paranoia I mentioned is not true.

As I had a hard time making friends in Texas, I also had a hard time getting booked or respected for who I am as an artist. Even though I'm arguably one of the biggest contemporary electronic artists in this city, a city in which there's so many shows it's oversaturated, I was hardly ever booked. This is similarly due to why I did not have friends, as I didn't want to have to put the work in again. I felt like I didn't need to, and that's my fault.

The show we threw last night in Texas was with my crew of people gathered semi randomly through hilariously unplanned circumstances. This crew is called Unreal.

Two months ago, someone on instagram hit me up and told me they had a generator, asked if I wanted to do a show. Through my jaded eyes I almost laughed at the idea, like sure, lets try and throw a show in 2 days. That person became one of my best friends almost immediately. It's like we were meant to of always known eachother. [edit.9.26.23] This friend has gone on to completely isolate themselves from me along with my ex, as they started to hangout only two days after I left. I guess that paranoia mentioned above bleeds into more than just fans right? These are two more people that proved to me they loved me for the caricature presented in my music more than the person I am in real life.

I will do my best to not let this further validate my paranoia of getting close with anyone who know me only as Manapool. [/] I grabbed a friend from a failed show in Texas, my girlfriend and lastly another who arguably was the only friend I had during the almost year I lived here. The first show was a success and we decided to do it again when my girlfriend returned from her trip to Europe. Last night was that show. I'd been working on a album that represented the dark place I'd been in for the past few months, mainly stemming from preparing to leave my partner. This project is called Mana no Uta, or The Song of Mana. While a genuine portrayal of the dark place I'd been in, it was also my attempt of taking a semi ironic genre (Nightcore) and making it painfully authentic. Nightcore is a genre that mainly takes pop songs and speeds them up, with the lyrics usually being romantic or broken hearted in subject manner.

Every now and then I come across a Nightcore version of a song that hits in a much more graphic way than it's origin. I have attempted to bottle that lightning into six songs, pushing their Maker to their nightmarish limit. In a way this circles back to my taste for being punishingly nostalgic. To me, real art not only moves you but haunts you. [edit: 9.26.23] While I genuinely loved my partner, this year I had spent living with them ended up doing an immense amount of psychological damage. I'm doing my best not to write about her in a negative light, but I consistently felt neglected. I wanted things to work, all in all that's why I sacrificed the life I had in Saint Louis in the first place. That feeling of neglection and failure to recognize the effort and love I'd given led to deep rooted feelings of resentment. Eventually this resentment bled into my perception of self, and in a way it poisoned me. I felt guilty for being unable to rid myself of these, regardless, I was constantly in a state of accepted defeat paired with anger at myself for leaving Saint Louis behind just to end up unhappy.

These feelings are what I wanted to represent in this album. Isolation paired with wishing you could salvage the love you have for someone while knowing it's already too deep.

It's part of you. I often felt sick. [/] I wanted people to feel sick listening to it, like you're at the club and you took too much ketamine but you can't go home. Or you're about to play a set but in a fight with your girlfriend. Everyone around you is having so much fun but you're not and you won't. Both the ketamine example and the ladder are things I've experienced in achieving the dream mentioned above. I don't want people to relate to this album. I want it to hurt them. Last night, I played the album in it's entirety as a parting gift to fans like the ones that said such sweet things to me last night. Me and my (now) ex-girlfriend got into a fight on the way to the show. It went over very well, and by the time the live performance phase of my set (Mana No Uta) was over, I began to cry as I transitioned into djing for the last portion of my set. I finished the set and tried to escape to go clear my head. On the way out someone gave me ketamine, I took some and went outside to be alone and get myself together after performing my most emotional piece yet. I wasn't really able to decompress, I kept thinking about how I'd be moving away from here and leaving everyone behind. As this is happening, I'm getting swarmed by people telling me they loved my set, complimenting me, celebrating me. I appreciated it but I wanted to be left alone. Performing that album felt like a instance of public self harm. I was literally going through what I wanted the album to represent. I was the character I created in the screenplay I wrote.

As the night ended the sadness I felt for leaving these new friends and my girlfriend overtook me. It scared me. I'm scared right now. But the worst part is it felt familiar. It felt exactly like leaving Saint Louis. These people will never leave my life permanently, but i'm leaving them behind. [edit: 9.26.23] I will most likely never engage with my ex-partner nor the friend mentioned in the last edit ever again. [/] To reiterate, as I'm realizing this and being consumed by it (at the show) people are coming up to me celebrating me. They're telling me how cool I looked. Telling me how amazing my set was. Telling me how much they love the character I play. I had just played the one of the most genuine sets of my life, and still at the end of it I didn't feel like they understood. My emotion was on my face, my true persona on my sleeve. My eyes were red from crying, my hands were shaking from amphetamines. Still I'm seen as the persona I sold them. Once you release your art to the world, it is no longer yours. The experiences people have listening to it are something I'll never fully understand, as they will never understand me. If they actually knew me, would they still be so impressed with what I've done? Who I've become? [edit: 9.26.23] Looking back on this writing and the album now that's it's finished, and now that i'm no longer in the heart of it's conceptual storm - I can truly say I am proud of what I made. I am most proud of being able to create something that had the emotional relevance that it could even put me in a situation mentioned at the end. In a way creating such a dark piece punished me and I will always love this album for that. I spent a lot of energy on making something that'd make the listener uncomfortable, and being the person to perform it made me just as uncomfortable. That's pure.With all that being said I don't feel as if I won't be able to listen to or play these songs out post release, as while it was based on the miasma I was in, I also wanted to make some dark club friendly Nightcore for the girls to grind to. Without:Me is my favorite song I've made in a very long time. I made it in one sitting on Umami's computer the day of Materia XX. The final song will most likely be the most difficult to revisit, however. I finished the song and then two hours later broke up with my girlfriend. It's titled: In Goodbye. [/]

[fireintheflames]

An IRL Update!

It’s been a little over a month since the last time I did one of these, but hey! Better now than never! This is going to be long and tangent heavy, so feel free to keep scrolling.

Today’s Topic: Positive vibes, and some venting about the struggles of Sisyphus

Start with the good! Garden is all planted, and so far exactly 2 of the about 50 plants have not made it (an anemone got too dried out before I got in in the ground and squirrels ate one of my petunias)! I’ve been using watering it through this drought as my main “break” from work (for those of you not familiar with the Midwest, we are having a very dry spell here. We still have lots of ground water from the really wet April, so just need to be smart with water usage rather than stopping completely! I water manually with a can, and then soaker hose around the trees.). I work a remote, heavily screen focused analyst job, so getting out and seeing the plants grow has been very nice! Today I picked the first of our low bush blueberries, and they tasted like success. (Highly recommend lowbushes if you have pines, they like the acid and grow naturally in sandy pine forests! They also only get a few feet tall, so they work great in gardens. Plus tiny blueberries!)

We’ve been having action packed weekends, doing some traveling and going to events! Midland does a huge art festival downtown in June, I save up all year to buy way too many mugs! Also picked up some copper and bronze wall art to help liven up the place. It’s fun talking with the artists, a lot of them do demos and such as well! the arts center has a booth, good chance i will be taking more classes with them in the fall! Been to a few pinball tournaments, I now have my official International Flipper Pinball Associating Ranking (#22657th; I’m not very good at pinball). I had a hankering for losing some money and went to the big Round 1 in Detroit to play the crane games, discovered a hidden talent for some of the timed drop games (won myself a Jolyne figure first try!). My lad is scary good at crane games, I think arcades should pay him to walk around with all the plushies he won for advertising purposes! he won me a big dinosaur, which now has a place of honor on the couch. Went to a minor league baseball game last night, which I found I really enjoyed. Gotta get grass seats and walk around between innings, it’s very relaxing! And July is already gonna be jam packed with concerts and family visits and camping, so gonna stay busy!

On to the Sisyphus. I feel I have been really struggling to keep up with just the day to day necessities of living. If I have a“task” to work on, I seem to struggle on the finishing the actual execution of it. For example, laundry, I have no issue throwing a load of laundry in now that I know how the damn washer works (it has a hideaway soap dish, and it is not labeled). I just seem to forget it’s there, and then I remember like 2 days later and have to redo it! Or I forget to clean out the lint trap on the drier. Things never get folded, when the pile on top of the drier gets too big I move it upstairs (when the pile upstairs gets too big, I despair instead). Or I do a bunch of dishes, and miss one in my office for a week. Or I put the food away from grocery shopping, and forget to put the bread in the freezer (we buy a local brand that doesn’t use preservatives and goes bad instantly. Makes great toast and sops up sauces like nobodies business though.).

It’s like nothing I do is ever quite right, and while I love my guy very much he is definitely “casually critical” person. Like, not mean, just points out things. (I don’t want to imply he isn’t helping. He does way more than I do around the house.) So not only do I keep messing up, I keep having someone I adore point out me messing up! Which makes me feel like if I can’t do it right anyway, I might as well not do it at all (which is neither healthy nor productive, this house is too much for either of us to stay on top of alone. 100 years old means a lot of problems). Like, while i was living on my own I wasn’t good at staying on top of any of these things then either, but at least I was the only one acknowledging it! And I was the only one affected by it, which doesn’t work anymore now that we live together. So it didn’t feel like the place was a monument to my failure at things I know I can do, whereas now it’s like “and here we see the pile of recycling that should have gone out last week! If you look left you will see the boxes left from the move we don’t have room for! Look upon my mugs, ye mighty, and despair!” I just don’t feel like I’m pulling my weight, or doing a good job when I try to. And if I buckle down and focus on one thing and do it “right”, I turn back and everything else has multiplied! As illustrated below:

It’s just really frustrating, because I know how to do things! I lived on my own for 3 years, I can cook and clean! It’s like somewhere along the way I just...lost how to stay on top of it. Like, it legitimately feels like I was better at these things when I was 15! I kept better house as a moody teen then I do as an adult!! I try to implement systems to make it easier, but the minute I get stressed they all just fall apart. The only one I have managed to maintain is keys go in the key bowl I have used literally for 5 years (I painted it at an event in college, it’s since chipped so I can’t use it for food. I also used to lose my keys a lot, until I realized I was just putting them on different tables every time and then throwing mail on top of them). And no food in the bedroom, because I lived that life before at the last place and it’s not great (snacks + blankets + phone = depression + ants). So if anyone has any suggestions for improving my ability to actually do basic fucking chores or at least feel less like shit for doing so, please share.

[eyes-that-decieve]

((Styx's statement, finally. This has been sitting in my drafts for weeks lmao ))

[Tape clicks on]

Styx: I've wanted to share my story for a while. Maybe that will get it out of my mind? Hopefully it can clear the memories. Not sure how compulsion works on myself, but I'll try.

Statement of the person now known as Styx, regarding the events leading up to and their Becoming. Statement begins.

Styx: You know the story of Achilles, right? His mother dipped him in the river Styx, holding him by his heel. It made him invulnerable, except for that one spot. Most people have that Achilles heel, something that could absolutely break them. The difference is where they hide it, and what it is. It could be a phobia, or simply losing someone close to you.

Now, mine was always pretty normal. Being unprepared, being unaware. But the way I dealt with it is what attracted my patrons, as far as I can tell. Being curious led me to this river of information I am both a part of and sift through. For my story before this, you can't really be aware and ready for something when the thing itself doesn't make sense. You can really see the Spiral there.

That brings me to the thing that got me curious. Back in college, before I moved here. I went to some expensive place in the Midwest, named after the city it was in, I believe? The memories are muddled, twisted and off for most of my life around then. The one thing I can remember is a day in my last semester of senior year. Hah, I barely even remember what degree I was studying for.

I was giving a presentation, and the professor was asking me the final questions, before I would sit back down. The last question he asked me came out garbled. Just static, words that didn't sound like words. I asked him to repeat, and he did. It didn't make any more sense than the first time. I didn't know what to do. The entire lecture hall was silent. Just staring. They knew the awnser, I could feel it. My professor knew what I needed to say. But I didn't. I was trapped, they wouldn't move on until I said something. That was the arrow to the heel. I must have blacked out, because next thing I knew one of my classmates was checking my pulse. He said I freaked out, started speaking in random words, talking about eyes and spirals and webs. He thought I had a panic attack and fainted, which is what I thought, too, at the time. Curse me for not being ready for that. Those can happen anytime, I should've seen the signs!

It was only when I tried to tell a friend about it and my phone started glitching that I thought it was something else. I didn't go to the emergency room for it, why would I, if it was just a panic attack? Not worth it. Better to just remember something like this could happen to me. I recounted the story of the day to them, and as soon as I got to my 'panic attack' my phone would disconnect from wifi, or kick me out of the call, or just freeze completely. Texting it didn't work either. I gave up trying to tell it, after a while.

I ended up finishing the year and graduating, with no more incidents. But I still wanted to know, wanted to figure it out. The experience stayed with me, mostly in the form of nightmares. Something Told me that what happened in that lecture hall wasn't right.

I decided I wanted to find out, see what was happening to me so I could be ready for it if it happened again. And that's what led me down the rabbit hole into this 'wonderland.' Something pulled me to the Magnus Institute. I don't know why I didn't go to the Usher Foundation. Maybe I wanted to go to the source, the first one. I don't know.

I ended up moving here a few years ago? I wanted to get a job in the Magnus Institute, to be closer to where I could research. I had a panic attack on the tube when I was heading to my interview. It was my first time on one alone, so I thought that was why. None of the signs said where they were going, I got lost. I ended up just walking back to my flat once it was over. We rescheduled the interview. The next time I went there I made it to the institute. But it didn't feel right, exactly? Something was screaming at me to turn around, walk away. I didn't want to trust it, but I also didn't want another of my 'panic attacks.' We could always reschedule, say I was sick. I turned, but I didn't walk back to my flat. There was a Cafe nearby, and they were hiring, so I applied. It was called something generic, Riverside, I believe? I think it's still called that, I hear some of the people coming in call it that. I haven't been able to read it. I got the job.

The day we had the interview rescheduled for I remember standing in front of the bathroom mirror, going over what could go wrong. That I could have a 'panic attack' again was on the top of my list. I was desperately trying to figure out- to Know how I could avoid it. I had been passively Knowing things for a few days by then, but it was nothing like the river of information then. So many words so many images so MUCH. I fell. I couldn't keep my balance, hit my head on the counter. I must've died. I Know I did.

[They sigh]

Styx: Next thing I know, I'm waking up three days later. Part of the river. I suppose the experience dropped me fully into the Styx. Or I'm just better at hiding my heel. Who's to say?

[Tape clicks off]

[captainlevisteacup]

Oooh, an idea has struck. The brothers reacting to Dom Male!MC reuniting with his childhood bestfriend in the Devildom, only their bestfriend is now a high ranking/powerful incubus who has a fuck ton of influence & money. (Not nearly as powerful as any of the brothers or Diavolo, of course, but you get the point)

And while normally a simple childhood friend wouldn’t be enough to bother the brothers, DM!MC’s Femboy CH!Bestfriend is the optimum of gorgeous, with a lithe & toned body and an “innocent” charm to him.

Spoiler Alert, CH!Bestfriend has been in love with DM!MC since they were kids (though it was just puppy love back then) and is determined to never let him get away from him again, resulting in him being extra clingy and needy.

Another Spoiler Alert, DM!MC’s childhood bestfriend may or may not be a mix of a “Worship” & “Self Sacrifice” Yandere.. (Look up “The Dere Types Wiki” if your confused)

You have some very interesting ideas😂 im so sorry this took so long, I didn't want to post it until I was back up to my full working capacity after getting injured and after breaking up with someone😁

Anyways, without further ado, here ya go😘

The Brother's Reactions to M! MC'S Yandere Childhood Incubus! Friend

Warnings: Violence, Language, Blood, VERY SLIGHT sexual themes, some non-consentual touching in Levi's section, brief mention of drugging in Beel's

Lucifer

At first, didn't think twice of MC having a childhood friend

But when he heard the word incubus

He got the smile on his face

You know the one

Lucifer "innocently" is around whenever the incubus is around

Its starts off small

Little poisoned glances from the incubus here and there

But eventually it escalated and turned into him putting a possessive arm around MC's waist

Lucifer snapped

The second the Incubus was alone, Lucifer followed him down an alley

Slammed that fucker against the wall and held him there by the throat

The incubus started laughing, even when Lucifer tightened his grip

"You'll never get rid of me. I have connections to everyone, Fallen Angel. I've loved him since before you even knew he existed, and a prissy peacock like you isnt gonna stop me from making him mine, even if I have to drug and kidnap him"

Lucifer only smiled and released him

The incubus smirked, daintily dusting off his lithe figure

Thinking he won, he shouldered his way past Lucifer

Only to stop short in horror

Deep growls greeted him

Lucifer didn't even bother hiding the screams of the incubus as Cerberus ripped into him

After a while, he signaled Cerberus to stop

As the incubus lies on the ground whimpering, Lucifer calmly says:

"Now that I've shown you just what I'm willing to do to protect MC, I'll make you a deal. MC cares about you, as a FRIEND. But his heart belongs to me and me alone, and mine belongs to him. If you can understand and respect that, I'll allow you near him. But one wrong word, one wrong placement of a hand, and I won't hesitate to finish you off myself. And believe me," he says with a dark chuckle "I won't be as gentle as Cerberus."

Mammon

This man immediately is on high alert

Someone trying to take what's HIS?

The incubus makes him more greedy than ever

Decides not to leave MC's side for a second

Even when he's sleeping

When Mammon can't help the incu-bitch (his nickname for the childhood friend) being around, he acts sort of like a child, which makes him look like a dick in comparison to the incubus's calm and innocent facade

Mammon tries to tell MC there's something up, but he just chalks it up to Mammon being Mammon

One day, MC randomly receives news from the human world that his mother contracted something contagious and was placed in ICU

The incu-bitch was, of course, right there when MC started tearing up, letting him cry into his shoulder

Mammon sees this and starts to protest

This leads MC to snap and tell Mammon he's being a child

Mammon leaves them be and thinks hard

Comes to the conclusion that maybe MC is right, and he begrudgingly decides to apologize to the incubus

As he approaches him, Mammon catches a glimpse of the Incubus's *expensive* phone

Unable to resist, he throws a coin against the wall in the opposite direction.

When he turns to look at the noise, Mammon snatches the phone and yeets off to his room

When he gets there, he opens the phone- no lock- and is startled by what he sees

A fake texting app, along with the messages telling MC his mother was sick

Mammon was about to run to find MC, when he heard a slight chuckle

Looking up, he saw the incubus...holding a knife

"You just couldn't stay away, could you? You've been a pain in the ass ever since I got here. But no matter, once MC sees how *cruel* you are to his defenseless childhood friend, he'll want nothing to do with you. And he'll be mine to fuck and own as I please."

Mammon gritted his teeth and ground out "Making MC think his mother was gravely ill just to get close to him when he's vulnerable? You're disgusting. I actually care about MC, and I respect them more than you ever will."

The incubus snorted, and raised the knife.

"Oi! What do ya think you're doing with that?" Mammon yelled

He raised the knife....and slashed it across his own arm

He then threw the knife towards Mammon, threw himself to the ground, and yelled out in pain

Suddenly, MC burst into the room

Mammon sputtered out a panicked explanation, but MC cut him off with a stare

He kneeled down next to his friend, who reached up with a bloody hand to cup MC'S face

MC put his hand over the incubus's....and sharply bent it backwards

He leaned down and whispered into his ear: "I heard everything, you little shit. Now, get the FUCK out of my house and away from my boyfriend, and don't even THINK of defiling my life with your presence ever again"

After he left, Mammon cautiously said "boyfriend, huh..?"

"Shut up mammon"

Levi

Oh, this won't do

Immediately feels threatened and triggered

He is the avatar of Envy, after all

His response?

Prove to MC nobody can know him as well as he can

He does this every single time the incubus is near

"MC, I got you your favorite drink!"

"MC, I ordered you some food. Don't worry, I already know what you like"

Flinches whenever the incu-bitch touches MC. It literally makes him cringe

His suspicions are confirmed when the incubus shoots Levi a malicious glance next time he touches MC

Levi snaps

Challenges the incubus to a video game duel

He surprisingly accepts

He cheats like hell and beats Levi

Levi goes into his demon form and rages

But MC thinks he's just being a sore loser

He tells Levi to back off and to go cool down

Once Levi storms off, the incu-bitch thanks MC for standing up for him

Then, he promptly tries to make a move on MC

He reaches out a hand to unbutton MC'S shirt

MC slaps his hand away, but not before noticing writing on the Incubus's hand

Before he can pull away, MC snatches his hand and sees cheat codes written on them

Gets super upset and tries to get up to apologize to Levi

The incubus pulls him back down by his wrist and pins them to the couch

"MC, don't you realize? You're all I want, all I need. I WORSHIP you, MC. And you're going to be mine. Nobody else can have you. And you're going to love me, whether you realize it right now or not. You'll learn with time to need me just as desperately as I need you"

Starts to take off MC'S clothes in spite of their fighting and protests, the incubus shushing him

"Shhhh, I know you don't see it, but this will make you see."

Levi slams open the door, tail lashing and face white with rage

"Get your normie hands the fuck off of my human. Now."

The incubus nopes the fuck out. He may be a high ranking incubus, but he still isn't as strong as one of the seven demon brothers.

Levi holds MC tightly as they fumble over an apology

"Shhh MC, its okay. I'm here now. Let's watch some anime and calm down together, yea?"

Satan

Do I even have to explain this one?

Is hostile as soon as MC even MENTIONS a childhood male friend, let alone an INCUBUS

Honestly, the Incubus is a bit scared of Satan

But, he decides he wants MC more than he fears Satan

So, he swallows his fear and patronizes Satan in tiny, unremarkable ways

Ways that would only be noticed by Satan

A stray hand here and there that lingers a LITTLE too long

Wiping a crumb from MC'S lips during a meal

Tucking a stray hair behind MC'S ear

Every last one of these actions makes his blood boil

It gets so bad that Satan is just in a perpetual state of rage, never leaving his demon form

Satan starts passive aggressively insulting the incubus's intelligence

"Oh, you mean you don't know how disestablishmentarianism impacted the overall congruence of Midwest society? Thats odd, its fairly simple. Practically common sense."

Is shocked when MC got livid at him, because he was being condescending for seemingly no reason

Starts to get angry at MC

"Can't you see? He's trying to turn you against me. Just LISTEN, DAMNIT!" He says as he grabs MC'S shoulders

The incubus barges in and shoves Satan away from MC

"Are you ok, MC? Did he hurt you?"

The amount of white hot rage in the room was tangible

He can't do it anymore

Slams the incubus against the wall

Knocks him to the ground

But when he falls down

A bunch of photos fall out of his jacket

Not normal photos

Horrifying ones

One of MC while he showers

One of MC sleeping

One of MC changing

Even one of MC and Satan having a steamy moment

MC goes still...and then SLAPS the shit out of the incubus.

He wordlessly turns to Satan, eyes pleading

"It would be my pleasure, MC" *evil grin*

Cue Satan dragging the incubus off by his hair

Asmo

P A S S I V E A G R E S S I V E

He sees this lovely incubus with NEARLY perfect hair, a lithe and toned body, and a seemingly innocent attitude, and he just wants him gone

He's been with plenty of Incubi, so he knows what they're like

Because of this, he doesn't want this one anywhere NEAR his darling MC

Comes up with a plan to use all his fashion design connections to outdress the incubus

He knows they're vain by nature, so he comes to the conclusion that this is the best course of action

But there's a problem

"Is that a statement piece from Priya Lacroix? She hasn't even released her collection yet"

Asmo.exe is not responding

He knows that HE is the only one Priya would ever give an early release to

So why does THE INCUBUS have her statement piece?

And WHERE is his phone?

Complains to MC, but MC doesn't take him seriously because he's too busy catching up with his friend

Asmo gets jealous and storms off to do a stress relieving skin routine

As MC and the incubus hang out, the incubus's phone goes off

Only...the ringtone is sinful indulgence

Mammon storms into the room

"AHA! I FOUND YA ASMO, YOU ANNOYING LITTLE- huh?"

"I/N? Why do you have Asmo's phone?"

"MC, you have to understand, I just want you to realize I'm the only right one for you. You NEED to realize you can't be with anyone else. Because you're mine, MC. You always have been."

Screeching could be heard in the distance, then footsteps quickly getting closer and closer

"THE FUCK DID YOU JUST SAY" Asmo yells as he slams open the door

"As if MC would choose a crusty, obsessive, STEALING, lying, probably STD having Incubus like you over me! Now give me my phone back and get out of here. And while you're at it, take off that Priya piece. There's a reason I'm the only one allowed early access."

Beel

Honestly doesn't think that much of it at first

He thinks its nice MC reunited with one of his childhood friends, and an Incubus at that

But when he meets the friend, something just feels off

He gets a weird sensation, and its not hunger

Its like his senses are on red alert

The incubus was nice enough to Beel, seemingly charming and genuine

But Beel couldn't help but feel rubbed the wrong way, with a sensation similar to seaweed against legs in the ocean

He doesn't want to mention this to MC, because he's convinced he's just overreacting

He feels a little sad that MC is too busy for him, but he does his best to give them time together

One night, he had made some food in the kitchen and decided to bring MC and I/N some

When he neared the door, he almost dropped the plate

He heard a loud thud, and MC saying "Hey, I said no, okay?"

He gently opened the door and looked at MC, who immediately forced a smile to his face

"Hey MC, I brought you guys some food. Is everything ok?"

"Thanks Beel, that's sweet of you. Everything's fine, I promise"

Beel relaxed a bit, although he still knew something was off.

The incubus excused himself to use the restroom, encouraging MC to eat without him

Beel and MC sat down, and Beel scarfed down his portion

Chuckling, MC offered his plate to Beel, who gladly accepted

The incubus opened the door shortly after with an expectant look on his face, as well as rope and a gag in his hands

Upon laying eyes on MC, a shocked expression came onto his face as his eyes darted between MC and the empty plate

"How are you still conscious?" He blurted

Confusion flashed across MC'S face. "What do you mean, I/N?"

"You drugged it, didn't you?" Beel spoke up.

"I thought it tasted odd," Beel continued "but I never would have guessed you would actually drug MC. I'm guessing you couldn't handle that MC rejected your advances, so you drugged the food while MC was distracted talking to me. Am I right?"

The incubus chuckled. "Guess I was wrong about you. You are more of a threat than you seem. Heh, I guess you're not just a talking stomach after all."

A loud smack could be heard shortly thereafter.

But the devastating blow didn't come from Beel

It came from an enraged MC

"Trying to drug me I could keep my cool over. If thats all you did I would have just told you to stay the hell away from me. But the SECOND you spoke to Beel like that, you signed your own death warrant."

Before he could react, MC summoned the brothers one by one, Beel explaining the situation.

"Well, MC, perfect timing as always. I was just beginning to get bored" Satan drawled

*screams*

Belphie

It takes a yandere to know one

Belphie doesn't want to alarm MC though, so he decides to outmaneuver the incubus without him noticing

It starts small, with I/N reaching out to put an arm over MC'S shoulder, and Belphie's arm already being there

Eventually, they start glaring daggers at each other the second MC looks away

After a while, Belphie decides to up the ante

Religiously falls asleep on MC when I/N is trying to spend time with him

Goads the incubus so much that he corners Belphie when he snaps and can't take any more

"Listen, I know exactly what you're doing. But if you think that YOU can take him away from me, you're sorely mistaken. MC is mine whether he likes it or not. And if it turns out to be the latter, well, let's just say he won't have much of a choice in the matter, nor will you have any control over it. Got that?"

Belphie does the one thing he knows will get the outcome he had painstakingly built up to the past couple weeks: he laughs

"Ah, you have a good sense of humor, know that? Funny stuff. All kidding aside, MC already belongs to me. So your child's play isn't gonna cut it. Got THAT?"

With a choked cry of fury, the incubus pulls out a knife and stabs Belphie

Belphie, having planned this, falls to the floor just as the door opens to reveal a shocked MC.

"BELPHIE! Shit, please be okay! What the FUCK is wrong with you, I/N?"

The stunned Incubus could only stammer out a couple words

"I- he...was gonna...tried to take what was mine. Tried to take you..."

MC laughed bitterly and shoved him to the floor.

"I don't know what sick world you're living in, but I belong to Belphie. I love him. And I hate YOU. Now I'll leave you be so you can deal with THAT. Ta ta." He says as he scoops up Belphie and heads out the door

"Deal with what?" I/N nervously asks after him, backing up warily

The incubus stops when his back hits something hard.

Gulping, he looks up...

"Hello, I/N, I'm Beel."

"Nice to...meet you? I imagine you're one of the brothers?" He replies shakily

Beel smiles. The light doesn't reach his eyes.

"Yes, I'm one of the brothers. You see, I'm Belphie's twin."

Across the house, Belphie smiles at the faint screams, MC curled up next to him after patching him up.

He succeeded in protecting what was his. He deserves a good nap. Holding MC tighter, he goes back to sleep.

[my-emotional-self]

Toxic Love Chapter 4

Pairings: Steve Rogers x Reader, Bucky Barnes x Reader, Steve Rogers x Reader x Bucky Barnes

Summary: Finding out your soulmates were Steve Rogers and Bucky Barnes was one thing.  But when someone from your past comes back to haunt you, you have to figure out if a relationship with two super soldiers is something you really want to pursue or if you’d rather go back to your comfortable single life.

Series Warnings:  18+, Swearing, Angst, Fluff, past mentions of rape, self-harm, attempted rape, domestic violence, stalking, death threats, possible Dark!Steve?, Steve will be an asshole a LOT in this series but I don’t know how dark it will get, explicit sexual content, mental health issues, kind of A/B/O dynamics but not really (no they are not actual wolves, more like the hierarchy), mentions of suicide, flashbacks of suicide

A/N: There will be no taglist for this story!  I apologize in advance!

The three of you gathered around the kitchen island and ate the pizza.  Well, more like Steve and Bucky inhaled a whole pizza each while you ate two slices.  The pizza was delicious, probably the best you’d ever had and your stomach was grateful for the yumminess.

“Why don’t you tell us a little about yourself Y/N?” Bucky asked as he licked the grease off his lips.

“What do you want to know?” you replied.  

“Let’s start with your family and where you grew up.”

You shrugged as you wiped your fingers with a napkin.  “There isn’t really much to say.  I grew up in a small town in the Midwest.  Both my parents died when I was a teenager.  I never knew my grandparents and I was an only child, same with my parents, so I don’t have any other family.  I moved here when I was 20,” you stated honestly.  Well, mostly at least.  Yes, it was true both of your parents died, but how they died was tragic.  They both committed suicide.  First your mother, then your father one year later.  As far back as you could research, mental health issues unfortunately ran in your family and that was including you.  But you weren’t ready to open up that old wound yet. You were on medication to help it and that was that.  Luckily the dosing you were on worked well and you could only hope you wouldn’t need to adjust your medications anytime soon.  

“We know how you feel doll. Obviously all of our family is gone too. But we can make a new family with the three of us,” Bucky stated as he wrapped his metal arm around your shoulders. You liked the sound of that.  The three of you becoming your own family. It sounded nice.  

You gave Bucky a wide smile, mirroring his.  “What have your past relationships looked like?” Steve announced from the other side of you.  

This was something you had been debating on bringing up.  If you weren’t going to tell them about your mental health issues just yet, you didn’t want to lie and be dishonest about John as well.  Taking a deep breath, you held it in for five seconds before releasing it.  “I’ve only been in one relationship before.  His name was John, John Smith.  He’s in prison right now.”

From the corner of your eye you could see Steve clench his fist; his knuckles cracking in the process.   “What happened?” he growled out.    

“He…he umm.  Well, he hit me,” you said, almost as quiet as a mouse but you knew both men had super hearing and they damn well heard you.  

Steve slammed his fist on the granite countertop making you flinch.  

“Steve!” Bucky barked at him in anger.  “You’re not making this situation any better right now.  Calm the fuck down and let her talk.”  Bucky soothed his arm up and down your back.  “Go ahead doll.   We’re listening.”

Nodding, you began to speak again.  “Things were great in the beginning.  He seemed like everything I could have ever asked for in a man.  I didn’t know if or when I would ever meet the two of you so I decided to live my life and date him.   The first six months were a whirlwind of romance.  He was the most charming man I had ever met.  But then things took a turn when I moved in with him. I was ready to have sex yet, but he was sick of waiting.  That first night I moved in, he…he raped me.”

This time you saw Bucky’s right hand clench on the table in front of you while Steve knocked his chair over as he stood up, pacing the kitchen.  “Go on doll,” Bucky urged, trying to keep the anger out of his voice as best he could for you.

“That was just the first time.  He umm, he did it again for weeks.  I wanted to leave, I really did.  But he was rich and he had security around the house.  I knew I couldn’t just up and leave.  Finally, when he demanded I quit my job, I stood up to him and told him no. That was the first time he hit me. That continued for months.  I was ready to give up on myself.”

“What happened next huh? How did he end up in prison?” Steve demanded as he leaned over the counter, staring at you with those piercing eyes.  

“I got lucky,” you replied. “We were out shopping one day.  He felt bad for the wrist he broke the night before so he took me shopping.  One of the sales ladies escorted me into a fitting room and I slipped her a note letting her know what was going on.  I stayed in the fitting room for as long as possible.  And then I heard them.  The police. The sales lady called the police for me and they took him away.  He’s been locked up ever since.”

Closing your eyes, you let the tears slip down your cheek.  “You were so brave,” Bucky cooed as you felt his lips on the top of your head.

“Look at me Y/N,” Steve demanded yet again and that deep feeling to please him was happening again. You snapped your head up and looked directly into his eyes.  “That will never happen in this relationship. Do you understand me?”  You simply nodded.  “Bucky and I would never hurt you like that.  Ever.  You have our word.”  As soon as he finished talking, he stormed out of the kitchen and down the hallway to where you only assumed was his room.  

“Just give him a minute to cool off sweetheart,” Bucky spoke in your ear.  “Stevie gets pent up sometimes and he has a lot on his plate. He may seem like it, but he’s not mad at you.  I promise.”

You collapsed into Bucky’s chest and softy sobbed.  It felt like a weight was lifted off your shoulders and you were relieved to have told them about John.  “I’m so sorry you had to go through that doll.  That will never happen to you again.  We won’t let anything like that happen.”

It couldn’t have been more than 10 minutes later when Steve emerged from his room.  “How about we go down and show you the communal kitchen and living room.  Give you a little tour.  What do you say?”

A small smile broke across your face.  “I’d like that very much.”

As the elevators opened to the communal floor, you jaw dropped.  If you thought Steve and Bucky’s apartment was big, this was ten times the size. Not only were there ample more couches, the television was bigger and there was a large dining table big enough to sit at least twenty people.  

“Holy crap,” you exclaimed in awe.  

“Yeah, Tony likes to go big if you couldn’t already tell,” Steve joked.  

“You think?” you quipped back, earning a smirk from Steve.  

The entire space was void of anyone except the three of you as Steve pulled you further into the living room.  He explained that the group tries to do a movie night at least once a week.  “To make things as fair as possible, Tony pulls a name out of a hat to see who gets to pick the movie that night,” Bucky said.

“Yeah but it doesn’t really work.  There is still always complaining and bitching from everyone else.  Mainly Clint,” Steve chimed in.  

It made you giggle, genuinely giggle and it felt good.  That hadn’t happened in quite some time.  

Steve and Bucky guided you towards the hallway, explaining that these were the ‘hobby rooms’ of everyone and their soulmates.  Steve opened the door to the one at the end of the all on right left side.  

“This will be your room. You can make it anything you want. But I’m going to guess this will be your game room where you work.”

“That would be correct,” you answered as you turned on the light.  The room was very decent sized and you would have no problem fitting all of your gamer stuff in here.  Hell, there would be a lot of room left over and you were quickly trying to think what else you could fit in here.  

“C’mon.  Let’s go back to our floor and we can show you your room up there.”

On the elevator ride back to their apartment, Steve and Bucky explained who all lived in the tower and who their soulmates were.  Tony and Pepper were soulmates together, along with Bruce.  Bruce was best friends with Tony and more of a brother figure to Pepper. Then there was Natasha, Clint and Darcy Lewis and they were all in an intimate relationship together.  Lastly, there was Thor and Jane but they didn’t stay in the tower too much as they spent most of their time on Asgard.  

Steve stopped in front of your door.  It was across the hall from Bucky’s and right next door to Steve’s.  

“Go ahead and open it,” Steve said with a smile.  “Just place your hand over the screen.”

Taking a deep breath, you did as he said and placed your hand, palm down, on the digital screen where there would normally have been a doorknob.  With a soft click, the door opened for you and you walked into your new place.  It was nothing like what you were thinking. You were honestly just guessing it would be a bedroom, but no, this was an entire apartment.  

Straight ahead was a decent sized kitchen.   There was dark cherry wood cabinet with black granite countertops and stainless steel appliances.  To the left is what you would assume would be the living room, however it was completely bare of any furniture.  As you continued to move through the apartment you found that the bedroom was all the way in the back.  It was a very nice sized master bedroom with the biggest walk in closet and on suite bathroom you had ever seen.  

“What do you think?” Bucky asked as he came up behind you and placed his hands on your shoulders.  

“It’s big,” you replied with a chuckle.  

“I’m going to have Tony’s interior designer email you.  Give him examples and ideas of what you would like and she will make it happen.  Don’t worry about prices.  This is Tony’s gift to you.”

Your eyes grew wide at his statement.  “Are you sure?”

“Yes sweetheart,” Steve replied as he slipped his hand in yours.  “We want the best for you.  Whatever you want this new home of yours to look like, then so be it.  We will make it happen for you.”

~~~

That night as you lay in bed after spending time with Steve and Bucky, you couldn’t help but frown. Things had seemed to be going much better tonight than they did when you first met them two days ago.  Now, you had to pack up your apartment and move. You weren’t really nervous about that part, hell, you were looking forward to it.  But then it meant things were starting to get real.  When things start to get intimate with them, would you be able to let yourself go and do that?  Would things be vanilla in the bedroom? Would you be able to tell them that because the only sexual experiences you’ve ever had was being raped, that you could now only get yourself off on violent fantasies of being raped, or tied up, or choked?  Fuck, what was wrong with you?

[indianamoonshine]

c h a p t e r | i

summary: every summer you work on your father's strawberry farm with your three sisters. it's a way to take a break from the big city but summers in the midwest are hot and they linger. this year, your father's old and mysterious friend shows up to stay on your land for a reason yet to be determined. din djarin seems dangerous, but kind enough, and the two of you quickly become...well, let's fact it...smitten.

rating: m (18+) for future and explicit sexual content.

author's note: reader is well over eighteen for obvious reasons. i won't ever go into physical detail about the reader's appearance because we include everyone. this fic is pretty much a mix between pride & prejudice and call me by your name except without the und*rage crap we do not condone. so, without further ado, here's an aesthetically pleasing fanfic.

the moment din djarin laid eyes on you he knew he was a dead man.

at first, his view of you had been obstructed because you'd opened every door and window in the house. june in the midwest sometimes required such nuisances, so all of the curtains billowing in the breeze prevented him from looking upon you.

you were also on the couch, but he hadn't known that until you lifted a hand - soft as a dove's - from the back of the sofa. you played with the light between your fingers, shielding its dazzling rays from your eyes, just before setting it down again. your hands were so small (smaller than his anyway) and gentle. he imagined how foreign your skin would feel in warm contrast to his; how your fingers would feel intertwined with his calloused ones, which had done enough work throughout the years to be mistaken for a beggar’s. within the first moment, he saw you as flawless.

your father had not stopped for breath since din arrived, lamenting about the farm or discussing the layout of the home with an eagerness din had yet to match. he would've initially been interested in the history of the farm or how many sprawling acres rolled endlessly before them, but his eyes couldn't leave your hand.

you must've been asleep - napping in the embrace of the sun - because as soon as your father drew breath upon entering the living room, your voice tickled din's ears for the first time. sweet as music.

"dad? is that you?"

din couldn't help but blink at the sound of your voice. it seemed unnatural, like one hears in dreams or spiritual awakenings. he manages to compose himself at your father's side, straightening his posture to err on the side of caution.

your father exclaims with a joyful "ah!" and then introduces you by name.

"my daughter. one of them, anyway. she and the three eldest help during the summer," he had said, and then turned to the bay windows to go on about the view.

but you meet din's eyes, rested and glimmering with curiosity, while your father droned on in the background. you reach out a hand - the one he'd thought of holding - to shake.

he does. and it's every bit as beautiful as he knew it'd be.

"how do you do?" you give him a polite and pretty smile. if he hadn't known any better, you bat your eyelashes for good measure.

your father's tour continues but din can't stop thinking about the way your skirt rose to your thighs as you stretched awake.

|||

you were lying if you said you didn't think about him for the rest of the day.

you weren't the only one. your sisters - all three of them - had also met the mysterious din djarin.

"who is he?" charlotte asked while you congregated at the nearby pond. it was a lovely place, nestled within the thick of the woods and bursting with greenery. flowers of every kind blossomed around you and scents the air with a sweetness.

rhea lays in the shade of a peach tree. "one of dad's old friends," she says. she waves herself with a floral paper fan she'd gotten from chinatown while visiting you in new york.

"but why is he here?"

madeline, who paints with her watercolors, pipes in. "i heard he got into some trouble with the law and now he's in hiding."

you roll your eyes with a scoff, lounging in the grass and watching the clouds in the bright, blue sky. "madeline, that's absurd."

rhea (who is the oldest and most pragmatic) surprises you when she shrugs her shoulders. "i don't know. he looks likes a bad boy..."

you recall the way his jaw clenched as you introduced yourself - his neck was tempting. his skin glowed with a radiant hue in the sunlight and his eyes shone with an aura of broodiness. he was very austenian.

"boy is hardly the word," you correct.

charlotte, being the flirt, wiggles her eyebrows suggestively. she swims in the pond, hair wet and fanning against the water. she sinks lowly for dramatic effect. "how right you are."

"trouble or not, he was a perfect gentleman." rhea sighs and skims the water with her forefinger. "either way, he's easy on the eyes so i don't mind having him around."

easy on the eyes was putting it mildly. you wouldn't say that to the girls though; they had a habit of teasing when you showed interest in anyone attainable let alone a man decades older than you.

"don't do anything stupid, charlotte." madeline dips her paintbrush into her mason jar full of pond water.

charlotte huffs and flips her hair from her shoulder. it makes a splash, rippling the water as a result. "why not? we're all of legal age."

"he's dad's friend and a guest," you remind her, tearing your gaze away from the clouds.

the middle child lets out a pathetic whimper. "you guys are no fun," she groans.

|||

it was a busy season on the farm.

strawberries were ready to be picked by mid june and there was a three week window to do it. harvesting wasn't easy and it took a lot of man work. hands went numb, skin grew calloused. the sun that beat down on the fields was only manageable by the sprinklers that went off every blessed-ed fifteen minutes. during a drought, it was even worse.

the employees picked from seven in the morning until five in the evening. your father was adamant that breaks be plenty and pay be as prosperous as he could afford, but a strawberry farm wasn't a fortune five hundred company. he did what he could to provide the families with some semblance worthy enough to continue, and so every year he threw a dinner party.

it was always a lovely occasion, brimming with delectable treats and savory entrees. candles were aflame, lanterns lit up the pathway that lead to the entrance of the home and then the land leading into the woods. as a child, the dinner party was as exciting as a birthday. it was a night to look forward to all year long, sharing time with family and friends and gorging yourself on food you wouldn't eat any other friday of the week.

your sisters loved it too, mostly because they enjoyed the promise of gossip that poured from the mouths of guests like the wine served. and now that din djarin - a stranger, in all respects of the word - was attending an annual dinner that's managed to keep as tradition for years, gossip would surely be abundant as the wine itself.

guests arrived by the hour until the clock struck seven. the evening was crisp but warm enough to be comfortable without a blanket wrapped around your shoulders. the rock doves sung loudly to declare that sunset had begun, a few rogue and early lightning bugs blinking rhythmically. children of the employees ran throughout the fields bare footed and chanting taunts to their friends as their parents chattered among themselves.

home. here is home.

while the party had already begun (officially, at least), dinner hadn't yet been served. admittingly, you were a bit behind schedule, but you worked quickly to finish setting the tables. the theme was simple; linen napkins and wildflowers in random antique vases you found in your basement. the lilacs you'd picked from their bushes were already beginning to limp but you hoped no one would notice.

you hum when you work. whether it be intentional or not you find your lips buzzing with a tune plucked subconsciously from your brain as your hands busy themselves. you straighten the tablecloths, fill the vases with water, and set the silverware in their particular order. needless to say, you had a tendency to get lost in your own little world. so when a hand gently tapped you on the shoulder, you spun around with a shriek.

din djarin - man of the hour - is smirking handsomely at you, hands fiddling with a depressed looking lilac. you place a palm against your heart and count its beats. too many.

"mister djarin," you sigh out. "you scared me."

he lets out a breathy chuckle, hands running through his wavy locks. "i see that. i'm sorry, but i was just wondering if you'd like some help."

his voice...oh, stars and garters. it was so rough but tender - like a steak. you cock an eyebrow at how strange the comparison is but convince yourself it didn't matter. still, you're blushing from the jump so you duck your head from his gaze.

"there's not much left to do," you admit, turning back to the table. you spread your hands against the tablecloth to ward off any wrinkles. "you can double check if i missed any forks, i suppose. i have a tendency to do that."

din hums in his throat and nods a little. "sure," he says, moving to the first setting. his eyes scan along the silverware carefully. "where are your sisters? they don't help, huh?"

"they're better at entertaining," you say truthfully. "i volunteer to take care of the dinner part...as long as i don't have to socialize as much i'm content."

it was true. it's not that you had an aversion to people in general, but you tried to avoid conversation whenever possible - it wasn't your strong suit. you could get away with it when need be but you found it took too much energy to pretend to enjoy conversation about the weather or politics.

"i understand," din nods. he straightens a spoon with the nudge of his finger. "i find myself to be the same way."

there's an awkward silence between the two of you. you didn't know how to respond. while you weren't good at social situations in general, you found it natural to feign interest in subjects bland enough to circumvent discomfort...but you felt the need to impress him.

"so you'll be staying with us this summer then?" you decide, falling short. how stupid.

din nods swiftly. "yeah. in one of the cabins."

the cabins were located at various points of the land your father owned. in order to get there, one usually took an ATV or walked if the going gets tough. you preferred to stroll along the river, but your sisters liked riding the four wheelers or their bikes.

"which one?" you ask, tone mindless.

din's finished with double checking your work. he pulls out a chair - an old, wooden antique - and sits down upon it with caution. you stifle a laugh and, if he notices, he doesn't say anything. he'd soon learn that everything here was old but sturdier than they looked. you wish you could say it was for aesthetic purposes but it was more convenient than anything.

"the one closest to the pond," din replies lowly.

you notice how his eyes survey your form and how intimate it was. he was studying you but for whatever reason you couldn't be sure. you try to shake away the idea that he could be (dare you say?) pining over you. how silly. like you told charlotte: din djarin was off limis.

that was the end of it.

you find yourself blushing again so you hide your face. "that's my favorite one," you tell him honestly. "i like the view."

din smiles in agreement. "so do i."

if you weren't so heated with frustration, you would've called him out on the implication (as out of character for you it may be). then again, you found yourself weakened by the mere presence of this man. it wasn't unlike you, per say; you were naturally timid but there was an eagerness to his charm that you weren't familiar with. guys your age were so sure of themselves but it was almost always under false pretenses. this man however...well, he was a man and that was intimidating.

fine. it was hot.

you clear your throat in an effort to regain a semblance of poise. this summer had already proven to be laborious in a way you hadn't expected.

[boognish-worshipper]

ok so like i had this idea for a while n it took me MONTHS to finish bc i was nvr content w/ my writing n whatnot yadda yadda yadda anyway,, this is basically a what if thing about the triads shooting trevor in ludendorff n michael realizing how dumb he is

(my apologies that it’s so fuckin looooooong but I didn’t wanna leave it on a short note that felt incomplete. hope y’all like it !!!!! sorry for any grammatical errors or if the formatting’s funky)

//

Why didn’t he realize it sooner? Was he stupid? No, no. He was just blind. Blind for the past 10 years. Who knows. Maybe even longer than that. Fucking Michael. It always came back to that venomous shithead, constantly ruining everything for him. Did he just... forget? Was he so focused on that bloodsucker when he was “dying” in front of him he completely forgot Brad got shot first? That Brad died first? He didn’t even really think about him when shit went down. Or care much about Brad in general for that matter. The guy was a dick who just worked with other dicks back in the day, eventually joining their motley crew. A fading memory more than anything. His primary focus had always been Michael, who he thought was his right hand man. Trevor always knew that there was something different about him. As frustrating as Michael could be, it still didn’t change how he felt deep down. Michael wasn’t like the others. Or at least, that’s what he had thought. The night he found out that Michael’s lie ran deeper than he led on was one he wouldn’t forget.

He arrived at Michael’s house in a short amount of time. Hopping up the steps he made his presence known, standing in the entrance of the living room. He plopped down next to Michael, who scooted away from him slightly, still not ready for close contact from Trevor.

“Family ain’t back yet, huh?”

“Nope.”

“She’s a Goddamn fool, man.”

Trevor was never one to hide his jealousy towards Amanda. The two had been going at it for years, and it was always regarding Michael. Catty behavior between two people who had complicated relationships with the man, in their own unique ways. Amanda was scared of Trevor, but was never afraid of talking shit to his face. It was never any serious threats whenever they shot petty quips at one another anyway. She knew Trevor would never kill or harm her, all thanks to Michael, who spoke up again.

“Despite all the chaos of these last few weeks, I think I finally figured it out… I know, it sounds ridiculous-“

To Trevor, the thought wasn’t ridiculous. He knew Michael would never change. He would always be a killer, a man of action through and through. He was wasting away on a couch, rewatching classic Vinewood every night. To him, it only seemed right for Michael to keep taking scores.

“You’re back man!” He proclaimed, emphasizing his next line, “We are back!”

With excitement in his eyes, Trevor went on to boast about the little clique they had formed, and how they only needed to bust Brad out to fully reunite. Michael looked solemn, shaking his head slightly.

“That’s not it. I got money, it just makes you miserable-“ Now it was his turn to have excitement shine in his eyes.

“I wanna make movies.”

“Great. That’s great… and uh, so where exactly does this leave me in the second act of your life?”

He felt his stomach sink somewhat, regretting having asked that question. Michael would always tiptoe around it, avoiding the inevitable. But he couldn’t run from the past anymore. It would always catch up to him.

“This is not a game to me! Alright? This is a fuckin’ way of life.”

“I got a fuckin’ family!”

“Yeah, well, I got nothin’! No one gives a fuck about me!”

There was a pause. A hesitation. Amber eyes looked sorrowfully yet savagely into pale blue ones.

“I do.”

Something in Trevor snapped hearing those words. He couldn’t stand the audacity of Michael saying that to him. Because to him, Michael didn’t seem to give a fuck about what happened to Trevor. No matter how many times he lamented to him about everything he went through.

“Oh… Fuck you.”

Trevor rose from his seat, beginning to pace around the room, stabbing a finger in Michael’s direction. He did nothing but stare between his feet, not bothering to look up at Trevor.

“I saw your grave. I mourned you. And then it turns out that everything I fucking thought about you was wrong. Everything! You’re not dead, and you’re not a man.”

Michael shot up from his seat, cool demeanor abandoned in a fit of anger.

“Well, what the fuck are you?”

“I’m your fucking nightmare!”

“Yeah, enough with your Goddamn threats!”

Trevor did nothing but scoff at him, backing away like he was about to leave the room. Instead, some kind of alarm went off in his head, urging him to stay and ask the question he pushed far into the back of his mind. The inevitable was happening, and he couldn’t ignore the need to ask anymore. If Michael himself stood before him alive as ever, then who the fuck was in Michael Townley’s grave? Then suddenly, and ultimately, it clicked for him. Fucking Brad.

“You treacherous piece of shit! You’re fuckin’ dead! You’re fucking dead!”

As it clicked for Trevor, it clicked for Michael.

“Oh, fuck! Trevor! Hey, T!”

He peeled out of the driveway in Michael’s car. God, it smelled just like that fucking prick. It made him want to cry.

“Fuck!” He screamed out to no one in particular.

He slammed on the gas and wiped away any forming tears. His phone began to ring and he saw an all too familiar photo appear. Michael. What the fuck could he possibly say or want right now?

“Fuck you.” He spat out.

“Hey, come on. Where you going?”

“You know where I’m going, fuck you!”

The fucking nerve of him to ask that. What was wrong with him? The rest of the conversation wasn’t any better. It sounded like some stupid break up between two teens, as if Michael had cheated on him with some hooker instead of lying about the past decade or so.

“Trevor, come on!”

“Fuck you Michael! Soon enough, I will.”

He was on his way to the air field, and dialed up Ron as soon as he could. He needed to get out of here before Michael could stop him.

“Trevor? It’s great to uh..”

“Is there a plane I can use? Get me across country?”

“Sure! Sure. We got one fueled up for a trip south of the border.”

“I’m taking it.”

“Is everything okay, man?”

“Everything is not okay. Nothing has ever been okay but I’m going up there to see it for myself. I’m going to see an old friend alright? If you’re where I think you are buddy...”

Trevor gripped the steering wheel harder until his knuckles turned white. Tears stung his eyes, but he couldn’t bring himself to let it out.

“I don’t know why I didn’t see it. I guess.. I guess I didn’t want to. Fuck!”

He clutched his phone tightly as he spoke, cracking the already shattered screen more. His voice was faltering, and it became harder to speak clearly.

“Maybe I knew all along. I’m gonna find out for sure and I’m gonna... do something about it! God there was always something wrong with that job, what went down after I guess I-“

The tears made their way down his face. His voice trembled and threatened to crack.

“I guess I wanted to believe- Fucking.. Fucking flea circus!”

He couldn’t hold it in any longer. Too many things began to resurface. Seeing red, he just cried out to Ron, still on the phone patiently listening to him rant.

“Idiot! Idiot! Idiot!”

“I’m sorry Trevor...”

He slammed on the gas as he approached the airfield. Running over to the plane, he hopped in and began his journey to Ludendorff. As he left, storm clouds poured in and darkened the sky. A thick rain accompanied by the thunder and lighting combo shook the small plane he was in. He braced himself for the rest of the trip there and kept going.

Ludendorff was just like he remembered. Cold, empty, and super fucking depressing. Why was the midwest like this all the time? Sure, living it up in Sandy Shores wasn’t the most ideal but for fucks sake, at least it was warm. He pulled up to the cemetery shortly after landing, and hurried off to find that God forsaken grave. After glancing at each passing gravestone, there it was. The late great Michael Townley’s place of burial.

“Who you got in here..?”

He scoffed, knowing his answer.

“As if I need to ask...”

It took forever to reach the coffin. The wood was brittle, which meant it would be easy enough to pry open and see who was actually in Michael’s place. He had been so caught up in his digging he didn’t notice a set of steps coming at him.

“You’re wasting your time.”

Trevor was wasting his time? No, he was making perfectly good use of it. Michael was wasting his if anything. Flying all the way out here for what? No, don’t say it... Was it finally gonna happen? Was Michael waiting for the opportunity to finally take a pop at him and leave his carcass for good? To toss him right into the grave with Brad? He didn’t want to believe so but hey, it’s Michael. Who knows what he’ll do. He couldn’t bear to listen to another word that came out of his mouth, and knew he needed to get the jump on him.

“You reptilian motherfucker!”

How did it end up here? Why was he pointing a gun at Michael? What the fuck was he doing? He didn’t want to kill him. He never did, even if he had a million justifiable reasons to.

“I didn’t want it to have to come to this.”

There it was again. The fucking lying. That same exact fucking lying that got them here to begin with.

“Yes you did! You just don’t have the fucking balls to do it! But I do!”

But Trevor was also a hypocrite. He didn’t have it in him to ever go through with killing Michael. No matter what the son of a bitch did to him, he meant too much to Trevor for him to ever consider killing the man himself. He didn’t want to think about being the cause of him dying for good.

“I’ve got more to lose than you!”

“Never a truer word has been spoken, brother.”

He said that with as much malice as he could muster. Michael was the farthest fucking thing from being a brother. This was a man he had loved. Hell, still loved, despite it feeling more and more like a stranger before him with each encounter they had.

“Now.. pull the fucking trigger.”

The air was too still. It was choking him, making him feel frozen. Sure, weather played a part in the feeling but this... was different. His blood felt like ice. He couldn’t do it.

“You ain’t got the guts.”

Neither of them could do it. Even if he fired he knew he’d miss. Michael had the upper hand here.

“Take the fucking shot!”

Wait. Was Michael... crying? No. No way the great Michael fucking Townley was actually crying over this. That motherfucker. He’s such a fucking fraud. A coward. Always running. Running from Trevor, his past, his problems, his family and his fucking emotions.

His train of thought had been interrupted when he heard snow faintly crunching not too far from them.

“What was that?-“

A noise shot through the tense air that surrounded them. Woosh. Fuck. No. It couldn’t be- Ow. No. No fucking way. He looked down in awe and there it was, a distinct bullet hole, pierced through his torso. It nearly missed his heart, but was most certainly in a spot to do enough damage to him. He looked back up at Michael, mouth slightly agape leaking with the blood that began to pool in his mouth. Peaking behind him, he saw two figures lingering far behind. The fucking Triads. Of course, how could he forget? It’s not everyday you slam the head of a Chinese mobster’s son into a post. Fucking shit. If only he hadn’t messed with Tao…

He was fucked, and he didn’t know what to do. All he knew was that he felt himself wanting to collapse on the ground. Michael looked at him in pure disbelief, eyes wide enough to pop from his head. Normally Trevor would giggle at the sight, but any noise from him would be a gurgle of blood in place of it.

“…Trevor?”

That was enough to knock him to the ground.

“Mr. Phillips! Mr. Cheng wants a word with you!”

Michael whipped his head back, and began dragging the two of them to cover. Was that supposed to be a fucking warning shot?? The one who shot Trevor spoke in Chinese to the other gunman, then spoke in English to the duo.

“Phillips! You and your boyfriend cannot hide from us!”

Michael grabbed his gun and started firing back, clipping the two in the front instantly.

“Trevor… what the fuck did you get into?! What are they on about? I… I’m not…”

Trevor couldn’t speak. He could only murmur at the man beside him.

“Trevor, seriously, you better answer me because I’m pretty fucking lost here-“

He angrily turned his head back to find Trevor on the verge of slipping out of consciousness, his face dropping at what was before him.

“Ah, Trevor! Shit!”

Before Michael could help him out, a van burst through the gate to the left, and more yelling ensued.

“Get out the van! Go find them!”

Michael panicked, pushing his gun into Trevor’s limp hands so he could grab the dead Triad henchman’s sturdier gun. He fired and clipped a few more men, trying his best to keep an eye on Trevor. His breathing was shallow, and he attempted to prop himself up so he could fire at them too.

“Trevor, what the fuck is going on? Who are these guys?”

“It’s the fucking,” He winced, pushing himself onto his knees so he could grab the side of the grave they hid behind. He spit out some blood that leaked from his mouth, staining the snow beneath them.

“The God damn Chinese, sugar tits.”

“Why are they-“

“Ask questions later, I’m fucking bleeding out here.”

Trevor forced himself to fully stand, his legs wobbling slightly. He fired a few more rounds, face contorted in pain. Another bullet flew by him, grazing his side.

“Fuck! Ow!” He growled.

“T, what in the hell are you doing?! Get down!”

“Fuck off you fucking leech! I can-“ He spit out more blood.

“I can handle this myself!”

He groaned, keeping his aim as still as he possibly could, which wasn’t very still at all. Stubborn as ever, Trevor went in guns blazing. He used not only the gun Michael had forced into his hands, but also the one he had brought with him. Several more shots fired at him until he felt a hand yank him back to the ground. He fell with a slight thump, and pain jolted through him again.

“You crazy bastard! We’re getting the fuck out of here, but that can’t exactly be accomplished if you’re dead!”

“Oh please! You already want me dead you fat fucking snake!” He wheezed out.

“Jesus Christ- Trevor. I already told you-“

“Shit, Mikey-”

Before either one could do anything about it, a Triad that had snuck up on them pistol whipped Michael in the back of the head. Trevor scrambled backwards and attempted to get on his feet, but to no avail. In a last minute effort, he lifted Michael’s gun and fired. For someone who was labeled a lousy shot by his partner, he felt that Michael would’ve been proud of his aim at that moment in time. A clean shot, right between the fucker’s eyes. He grinned slightly, adrenaline still coursing through him. He barked out a laugh, forgetting how much of a chore it was to allow any noise to escape him. It caused him to break into a coughing fit, spitting up more blood onto the snow. He looked from the small circle of blood that formed in front of him, back to Michael’s limp body. He shoved him slightly, trying to nudge him back into consciousness.

“Mikey. Michael. Get up. We gotta go like you said-“

He heard another van pull up. Then another. Fuck.

“You gotta be shitting me..”

Trevor, disregarding his wounds weakening him to the point his vision grew spotty, swapped his handgun for the gun Michael grabbed. He tried his best to prop the other man up against a grave, well out of the Triad’s line of sight. He pushed through any pain he felt, still riding his adrenaline high, wiping the rest of them out one by one. He rushed back over to Michael, who was stirring awake.

“Michael, for fucks sake get up already! Jesus I’m still fucking bleeding and I have to save your ass right now? Come on!”

He was finally able to stand, and Trevor slung Michael’s arm around his shoulder, helping him regain his balance. They helped one another walk through the mess of snow, blood, and bodies to get to the rental car, which surprisingly was still in alright shape. Across the train tracks, one more van started to pull up, right before the nightly train passed through town.

“Haha! Thank you train for being useful this time!”

He forgot how much it hurt to laugh, clutching his side and muttering curses under his breath as the two raced over to the car. Michael hopped in the driver’s seat after placing Trevor in the passenger’s side. Trevor’s adrenaline rush began to die down along with the rest of him. Michael raced out of the cemetery, narrowly escaping the left over henchmen. Glancing over at Trevor, he realized how shit of a shape he was in. Despite not living in North Yankton in close to 10 years, he still remembered where all the nearby hospitals were. It wasn’t ideal, considering what they were doing up there and who they were and what not, but it was better than having Trevor die on the spot.

“Hey, don’t you fucking die on me right now buddy. There’s no way you ain’t surviving the shit show we just went through, which only happened thanks to you.”

Trevor asked himself why Michael was still giving him snide remarks about his unruliness. He figured now wasn’t the time to really argue, but still tried nonetheless.

“You… fuckin’ snake.. you think you’re so..”

“I’m so what Trevor? No you know what- Don’t speak right now, but try to stay awake, please?”

“Mmph..”

The ride out of Ludendorff was quiet. The radio was off, and neither one chose to speak. Michael of course was driven mad by the silence.

“…Look. Trevor I- I fucked up. There’s nothing I can do now to fix it, no matter how many times I apologize. But you do- You do know that I cared about you then, and I care about you now…”

Trevor did nothing but grunt in response, eyelids heavy. Michael sighed.

“We’re almost to a hospital. They’ll fix you up good, and- and you’re gonna be fine. You ain’t dying on me yet. I mean- you’ve survived worse? You.. I…”

He huffed out a breath, gripping the steering wheel tight. The rest of the ride was silent, save for Michael making sure Trevor was still alive and conscious. They made it to the hospital, with Michael carrying him fireman style, seeing as Trevor was very lanky compared to him. He called out for someone to help, using his gift of lying to say that Trevor was just shot by a random mugger, so the report back wouldn’t seem too suspicious. He patiently waited for word back from a doctor, eventually seeing someone come to him with a clip board.

“Are you… Franklin?”

Michael had been smart enough to give them both fake names, but he just blurted out the first two names that came to mind. Right now, he went by Franklin, and for all they knew Trevor was Lamar.

“Yes, that’s me.”

“Your friend is in critical condition, but you got him here just in time. Any later and he wouldn’t have made it.”

The last sentence caused Michael’s ears to ring.

“He’s going to be out of surgery soon, the bullet wound was pretty deep.” The doctor narrowed their eyes slightly, getting ready to write the report down.

“You said that he was mugged?”

“Yeah. The guy fired at him and ran off. Didn’t get a good look at his face.”

“Hmm… well alright. I’ll let you know when your friend is ready for visitors.”

The rest of the night was painfully slow. By the time Trevor was out of surgery, he was still hopped up on morphine, allowing him to rest properly for the first time in forever. Michael sheepishly walked in, careful not to be too loud. He made his way over to Trevor’s side, sitting in the seat next to his bed. He hadn’t seen Trevor look so content like that in so long. Not since... those days. He spoke to himself, seeing as Trevor was fast asleep.

“You worry me so much you dumbfuck… why do you pull the shit you pull? I mean.. shit. I… I love you, man. I do. But what if you died without ever hearing that from me again? Is that the reason why you get like this? Shit. Right. I’m such a fucking idiot.”

Besides everything about Ludendorff, it angered Trevor to his core that Michael could never admit he loved Trevor unless he was drunk or alone. In this instance, he technically was. Trevor was peacefully dreaming, while Michael felt restless. He proceeded to fumble around for his cellphone to reach out to Franklin, who had been wondering what happened to them. He knew Franklin would probably be up anyway.

Yo Mike, where u at? Trevor too, Lamar n I gotta do one last job wit him.

F

Currently in North Yankton kid. Trev found out about Brad. Some Chinese gangsters rolled on us, T got shot. Be home soon hopefully.

M

Oh shit. Stay safe out there homie. See u soon ig.

F

Michael let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding, looking back up at Trevor. He tried to think about what he would do next. Knowing that visiting hours were limited, he felt a twinge of guilt knowing he’d have to leave Trevor alone for a night after what happened. But it was late, and he couldn’t stay there overnight. He figured he’d have to bunk in some cheap motel for the time being. Just until Trevor and him were ready to leave North Yankton. He spoke to the doctor from before to let them know he would come back the next morning. When he arrived at the nearest shit motel, he still couldn’t find it in him to sleep. He was tired, sure, but his mind wouldn’t allow him to drift off. Even if he did, he would find himself jolting awake, the scene of Trevor getting shot playing over and over in his head. He’d almost been responsible for Trevor’s death once, he couldn’t let it happen for real. What would he do anyway if he did die? He quickly brushed the thought off, not wanting to consider the possibilities.

He returned to the hospital the next morning, half awake from the lack of sleep. Visiting hours were early, and he wanted to get them both out of here as fast as he could. Walking to Trevor’s room, he saw the man sitting upright looking out the window. North Yankton may have been cold as a bitch, but from time to time it had real pretty sunrises. He knocked lightly on the door, and Trevor turned to face him.

“Hey, T…”

He couldn’t read the expression on his face.

“I thought you left.”

“Visiting hours are limited, T. You should know that by now.”

He didn’t say anything in response, facing back towards the window instead. Michael sat down in one of the chairs across from him.

“You.. you worried me. I thought-“

“You thought what, cupcake? That I’d just die on the spot, and you could just leave my dead body there-“

“Trevor! For the last time that wasn’t my fucking plan!”

Their voices steadily increased above the normal level it should’ve been for a hospital setting.

“Then why did you have a fucking gun, huh Mikey?”

“I could ask the same for you!”

“Oh of course, turn the situation onto me again-“

“You brought a gun for what, Trevor?!”

“That’s not the issue at hand here!”

“Yes it is!”

A voice chimed into their argument.

“Excuse me. You,” A nurse who walked in pointed at Trevor.

“You need to rest. And sir, I’m not sure who you are, but if you want to stay as a visitor I suggest you lower your voice and behave.”

The two men looked at each other angrily before sitting back down. The nurse exited, most likely wanting to return later so Michael could discuss discharging him. Silence filled the room briefly.

“T… I meant what I said.” His voice had dropped to a whisper.

Trevor didn’t look him in the eye. His arms were crossed, and he just looked out the window.

“I could’ve lost you.”

The other man still said nothing.

“I could’ve lost you and you would’ve died not knowing I..” He trailed off.

Trevor turned back to look at Michael while speaking.

“Knowing what? You hiding something else from me, porkchop?”

“I…”

“Spit it the fuck out Mikey or I swear to God-“

“I love you.”

His felt his stomach twist uncomfortably, and his hands became clammy. He finally forced the words out, sober.

“I love you.” He repeated, shutting his eyes so he wouldn’t have to look at Trevor while saying it. He chose to look at his feet instead.

“I’m sorry I didn’t say it sooner. And I just.. kept thinking that you could’ve died not hearing that from me ever again.”

He didn’t notice it at first, but tears brimmed his eyes. Trevor’s scowl fell and his face softened.

“What?” Was all he could choke out.

“Don’t.. don’t make me say it again.” He said, face flushing red.

“You..” Trevor didn’t finish his sentence. He shuddered in his seat, ready to cry himself. He buried his face in his hands, muffling something incoherent.

“What?”

He lifted his head up, tears streaking his cheeks.

“I’m so sorry, Michael.”

“Sorry for what?”

“For.. being like this.”

Trevor was a lot of things. You couldn’t just describe him in only one word. Michael tried sifting through the options of what he meant.

“I pushed you so hard back then I.. I thought I was losing you. I didn’t want to. All it did was make you want to leave even more.” Trevor kept sniffling.

“Trev…”

“Why Michael? Why do you do this to me?”

He wanted to ask him “Do what?”, but they both knew the answer. Michael never let his feelings be more than surface level. He was repressed and Trevor hated it. Trevor continued to cry, and the tears that Michael held in spilled.

“Hey.. don’t… don’t apologize, T. Please.”

“I..” He hiccuped.

“I’ve loved you for so long. Why couldn’t you have done the same?”

Michael kept his head down. He didn’t want to see the heartbroken expression on Trevor’s face. It only made him feel worse.

“You left me.”

“I didn’t want to.”

“But you still did. Telling me that doesn’t change anything. You became another person in my life that I loved and then you left. Same as always for me.”

Everything Trevor loved was always out of his reach. Flying, his mother, Michael, Patricia… He could go on. Nothing was ever gonna be permanent for him.

“But I’m here for you now, T. I’m not going anywhere.”

He finally looked up to see Trevor’s sad eyes burning a hole right through him. His silence told him it’d be a long while before he could believe his words.

“Now.. uh. Let’s get the fuck outta this place.”

It didn’t take long for Trevor to be discharged. The doctors had told him he should stay for another day or so, but only got an irritated response from Trevor. Figuring the duo wouldn’t budge on wanting to leave, he was signed off for clearance. They eventually found the plane Trevor flew in on, and made their way out of the state. Neither one knew if this would change anything between them, but Trevor felt more at ease around him. It would still take time and effort for any left over wounds to heal, but for right now, Trevor was content.

[twoflipstwotwists]

It’s a late afternoon in April, and Sunisa “Suni” Lee is where most people find themselves a year into the pandemic: Home, in a sweatshirt, talking into a webcam. The 18-year-old gymnast is poised to make history at the summer Olympics, but over Zoom, she’s just like any teenager, reflecting on everything she’s balancing behind the scenes.

While training for a wildly unpredictable Games, Lee has been caring for her recently paralyzed father, mourning the deaths of her aunt and uncle from COVID, and recovering from a broken foot that jeopardized her lifelong dream to win gold. Now Lee, whose parents emigrated from Laos, is also fighting to qualify as the first-ever Hmong American Olympic gymnast—all while her community contends with a national surge in anti-Asian violence. “People hate on us for no reason,” Lee says from her parents’ house in St. Paul, Minnesota. “It would be cool to show that we are more than what they say. I don’t know how to explain that...”

Lee’s father inches his wheelchair closer into the Zoom screen, and answers for her. “It would be the greatest accomplishment of any Hmong person in the U.S. ever,” he says. “It will go down in history.”

Before the Tokyo Olympics were postponed in March 2020, Lee’s family was preparing for the trip of a lifetime. Though she hadn’t actually made the team yet, her parents John Lee and Yeev Thoj had no doubts. They bought plane tickets to watch their daughter compete, and planned to celebrate afterward with a trip to Laos to show Lee and her siblings where they grew up. Both John and Yeev are Hmong, an ethnic group made of people primarily from Southeast Asia and areas in China who fought alongside the U.S. in the Vietnam War. After losing most of their land in the war, many Hmong fled to Thailand as refugees. By the late ‘70s and ‘80s, around 90 percent of the refugee population had resettled in the U.S., where there are now 18 Hmong clans, the largest residing in Minneapolis-St. Paul.

Lee describes her community there as “really close.” More than 300 people come to her family’s annual camping trip, and she can’t go to a local Asian store without someone asking after her dad. She has become something of a local celebrity herself. At Hmong events, Lee gets stopped for photos by people who tell her how proud they are. “It’s nice knowing I have them to fall back on,” she says. “The support is amazing.”

But last May, just two months before the Olympic opening ceremony was originally scheduled to take place, Lee’s family and the rest of the Twin Cities Hmong community found themselves thrust into the national conversation over race and policing. Kellie Chauvin, the now ex-wife of Derek Chauvin, the officer who murdered George Floyd, is Hmong American. So is Tou Thao, another officer on the scene who is set to stand trial in August on charges of aiding and abetting second-degree murder and aiding and abetting second-degree manslaughter in connection to Floyd’s murder. As part of the ensuing protests, several nearby Hmong American businesses were vandalized. John says it got “scary” when several homes on their block were broken into.

“I was trying to make the Hmong community more known,” Lee says. “When that happened, I felt like it was a setback.”

Lee’s journey to the Olympics started with a lumpy mattress and a piece of plywood. Her parents were eager to preoccupy their energetic, gymnastics-obsessed seven-year-old, and a balance beam seemed like the perfect distraction. John built a four-foot-long structure from a spare mattress that, to his credit, still stands in their yard today. He also taught Lee, who’s one of six kids, how to do flips on the bed.

By then, Lee had captured the attention of Jess Graba, a coach at Midwest Gymnastics. “It was super raw and she was just a little kid, but she had some talent,” Graba says, remembering when they met. “Her flips were kind of crazy—she had been practicing in her yard—and she clearly had some ability to go upside down without fear.”

In 2016 when she was 14, Lee was named to the U.S. junior national team, and it became clear Graba could be coaching one of the next great American gymnasts. They traveled around the world together for competitions, and by 2018, Lee had won a gold medal on uneven bars at the National Championships. Five-time Olympic medalist Nastia Liukin, Lee’s longtime hero, took notice of the high-flying athlete. “Her abilities as a gymnast, especially her bar routine, are incredible,” Liukin tells ELLE. “But it’s the unparalleled mental strength that she has shown during the most difficult time of her life that make her the person she is.”

Just two days before the 2019 National Championships, John fell from a ladder while trimming a tree. He was paralyzed from the chest down. At the time, Graba thought Lee shouldn’t compete out of concern for her safety: A distracted athlete is a danger to themselves because they are much more likely to lose focus and get injured. It would have been a devastating end to a decade of training, as nationals are like an unofficial pre-qualifier for the Olympic Games. But John remained confident in his daughter’s ability to compete under pressure. Before Lee stepped onto the mat, they FaceTimed and he advised her to clear her mind—and remember to have fun. “She can stay focused when she puts her mind to it,” he says.

As John watched the competition from his hospital bed, beaming with pride, Lee won the silver in all-around competition, nailing one of the hardest bar routines in the world. One month later, at the U.S. World Championships selection camp, she came within four-tenths of a point of beating Simone Biles in the all-around—the closest anyone has come to Biles in years—and landed one step closer to fulfilling her Olympic dream.

In March 2020, Lee was scrolling through Twitter after practice when she saw the news: The Olympics were postponed, for the first time in modern history, due to COVID. Lee wiped tears away with chalky hands as years of carefully laid plans were thrown into limbo. “To have that taken away from us without having any control is very hard,” she says. “I went through a depressed phase, and it was hard to get out of.”

For weeks Lee could do little more than sleep and cry. Her gym was closed for three months— practically an eternity in the unforgiving timeline of an elite gymnast. When it did reopen in June, Lee broke her foot, meaning three more months of downtime. “If you were 100 percent ready for the 2020 Olympics, then you’re spending the year going, ‘Let’s just not get injured. Let’s just not make any mistakes,’” Graba says.

Lee found an unexpected source of comfort in Biles, who went from being her biggest competition to one of her closest friends after they competed in 2019. “She was there for me,” Lee says. During lockdown, they Snapchatted and texted—two of the only people in the world who truly understood the gut-punch of waiting another year for the Games to begin.

Then, as the country continued to face rising COVID rates in summer 2020, Lee’s own family was devastated by the virus. Her aunt and uncle—close family members who babysat her as a kid—both died of COVID less than two weeks apart. Lee’s uncle, a Hmong shaman, had helped heal her hurt foot with hot ginger and other herbal medicines. Like so many others did during the pandemic, Lee said goodbye over Zoom.

As the nation slowly starts to heal, so has Lee. She can now spot small silver linings from the past year, like spending more time with her siblings and driving her dad to doctor’s appointments, which she calls “good for me mentally, because typically I’m never with them.” It has taken months and months to get back to the peak shape she was in pre-pandemic, but now it’s full steam ahead. The U.S. Championships are the first week of June, and the Olympic trials are later that month. Lee says the extra year has strengthened her performance on the uneven bars and made her more consistent overall. “I just didn’t want to see myself fall back,” she says. “I don’t want to disappoint my coaches or my parents.”

Still, a spot on the team isn’t guaranteed. For the first time in history, U.S. women’s gymnastics has only four open spots (down from five at the 2016 Games), one of which will almost definitely go to Biles. At this point, it might be harder for a U.S. gymnast to make the Olympic team than it is to actually win a medal once they’re there.

Unsurprisingly, none of this seems to phase Lee. She is no stranger to finding the best version of herself under intense circumstances—the version that wins medals, defies gravity, and advocates for her community. Before falling asleep at night, she visualizes herself sticking a perfect landing and coming home as the first Hmong American Olympic gymnastics champion. History made.

[waywardnerd67]

Cross The Line

Title: Cross The Line Summary: College was meant to be about pushing the boundaries but (Y/N) toes a dangerous line. Pairing: Professor!Sam x Student!Reader Rating: X - Explicit Warnings: Angst/Fluff/Smut Word Count: 1399 Squared Filled: Professor!Sam Bingo Card: @spnaubingo​ A/N: None

Check Out: SPN AU Bingo Masterlist

“Shit, shit, shit.” (Y/N) mumbled as she entered the lecture hall.

Between working late, studying later, she had slept through her alarm. Now, she was late for her Folklore and Urban Legends class. Trying to sneak into the smaller lecture room, she sat down in the first seat she saw just as her binder fell from her grasp. The echoing thud silenced the room and her face heated as all eyes landed on her.

“Thank you for gracing us with your presence, Miss (Y/L/N).” Professor Winchester spoke not turning for the whiteboard he was writing on.

Professor Sam Winchester was one of the more popular professors as he was the youngest on campus. Where his teaching style was matter of fact borderline boring, his good looks and enticing, deep voice made up for it. They were currently talking about famous urban legends throughout the Midwest.

“Your papers are due in two weeks and we will have a test on Midwest urban legends. Miss (Y/L/N), please stay behind for a moment.” Professor Winchester dismissed the class turning back towards the table with his things on it.

She swallowed hard as all the students walked past her. Gathering her things, (Y/N) walked down to the front of the room her knees shaking. Even though fluttering butterflies filled her stomach as she stood waiting for him to acknowledge her presence, she took the opportunity to admire him from behind. HIs broad shoulders were covered by a dark navy blazer and white button down shirt. The matching dress pants fit perfectly around his tight, bubble butt that then led down to his endless legs.

She shook her head as he turned biting her lower lip watching him loosen his black tie, “Can you explain to me why my top student was late today?” He leaned against the table, his kaleidoscope eyes never leaving hers.

“I slept through my alarm due to work and studying.” She watched as he crossed one long leg over the other unable to keep her eyes from looking at the obvious large bulge hidden beneath the thin material.

“How are you going to prevent that from happening again?” The Professor slipped his large hand within his pocket.

“I will structure my time more wisely, however, I will not promise that it won’t happen again. I have to work in order to survive and I have to study to keep up my GPA for my scholarships. I can promise to be more aware of my time and use it wisely.”

(Y/N) watched as the corners of his lips curled upward into a small smile, “I like a woman who is honest and determined. Since this is your first time being tardy to my class I will let it slide and even offer to help you study for your test tomorrow during my evening office hours.”

“Wha… um, that would be great. Thank you, Professor Winchester.” She stammered watching him shift the hand within his pocket against the bulge in his pants.

“You’re welcome. Be at my office at seven o’clock. Have a good day, Miss (Y/L/N).” With that he turned away dismissing her.

Muttering a goodbye, (Y/N) quickly made her way out of the lecture hall. The rest of the day, evening and into the next day was like a blur. Before she knew it, she was standing outside of Professor Winchester’s office five minutes to seven. Rapping her knuckles on the door twice, she heard his smooth voice beckon her inside.

“You’re early.” He observed not looking up from the stack of papers on his desk.

“Trying to make up for my lateness the other day.” She looked around his office as he finished grading the paper in front of him.

He was sitting at a large wooden desk with a couple of picture frames, a lamp and stacks upon stacks of papers. Behind him was a large window that was cracked letting in the cool evening air. Along one wall were bookcases filled with old books and several leather journals. The other wall had several degrees and some photos of the professor on trips around the country.

When she looked back Professor Winchester was watching her intently, “Please make yourself comfortable. I thought I could quiz you and the answers you struggle with or get wrong, we can discuss further.”

She sat on the small couch near the door and took out her notes long with the required books, “Sounds good and thank you again.”

He nodded and for the next several hours, she answered most of his questions correctly. They spent time discussing the legends of The Black Angel in Iowa and Boy Scout Lane in Wisconsin. As they were discussing Boy Scout Lane, Professor Winchester sat next to her on the couch. (Y/N) closed her eyes trying to rub the tension from her neck. She jumped slightly when a large hand began to massage her shoulder.

“Tension freezes the mind and you will not retain anything.”

She peeked open her eyes to see his locked onto her, “My body and mind have an understanding that they have to work together under pressure.”

“When is the last time you just let go and released all the pressure?” His question was laced with innuendo.

“Not in a very long time. My studies are my number one priority. There will be time for fun once I graduate.” As she spoke, he removed the book and notes from her lap and sat them on the table in front of them, “P-Professor…”

“Take it from someone who took their studies way too seriously. Balance is everything and beautiful, smart, clever women need to blow off steam every once in a while.” His hand on her shoulder moved up her neck and cupped her cheek.

Instinctively she leaned into his touch before letting out a loud yelp as his hands dropped to her waist and lifted her to straddle his lap. She braced herself by gripping his shoulders.

“W-What are you doing?”

He chuckled running his hand up to the back of her neck pulling her closer to him, “Something incredibly reckless that I can no longer restrain myself from doing.”

His lips crashed to hers as his hands held her face in place. She was too stunned to move until feeling his tongue lick across her lips. All thought and reasoning left her mind giving in to her body’s instinct. After a semester of fantasizing about touching his hair, her hands immediately went up into the soft, long strands of chestnut. A deep, rumbling groan came from his chest as she tugged on it grinding herself against him.

“Damn beautiful, I need to see you, feel you, taste you…” He flipped her on her back kneeling between her legs.

Like a predator stalking his prey, he ran his hands up her bare legs pushing her skirt up to her waist. Trailing one finger down her panty covered pussy, “Fuck, you’re soaking…” He slowly pulled her panties down her legs.

“I have a feeling you are well aware of the number of panties you ruin during every lecture you give.” She mumbled before sucking in a breath as his finger ran down her slick lips now before pushing inside of her, “Professor!”

He chuckled slowly sliding his finger in and out as he lowered himself between her legs, “Oh I’m aware, but yours are the only one I ever cared about. Also, it’s Sam. I need to hear my name escape those beautiful lips.”

“Oh god… Sam!” she cried out as his thick tongue pressed firmly against her.

***

“(Y/N)!” Her eyes shot open seeing her roommate above her, “You’re late for class.”

“Shit. Shit, shit, shit!” Throwing the blanket off her, (Y/N) grabbed the first skirt and shirt she could find.

Running out of the dorms, she sprinted to the lecture hall for her Folklore and Urban Legends class. Trying to catch her breath before quietly entering the lecture hall taking the first seat she could find. A loud thud from her binder hitting the floor silenced the room.

“Thank you for gracing us with your presence, Miss (Y/L/N).” Professor Winchester spoke not turning for the whiteboard he was writing on.

A sudden wave of deja vu hit her as Professor Sam Winchester continued with his lecture.

If you enjoyed this story then check out my Masterlist!

For updates please follow #waywardnerd67fics

[starstruckcupcakefury]

Moxie

I relate to this book so much, which is now a Netflix movie. Granted I am in my 30′s and this book is about a girl in high school. I read this book last year as part of my goal for goodreads. I live in a small town with no stop lights and if I stand at one end of town I can see the other end of town it’s that small. I use to work at the gas station in town that has closed multiple times because it’s just hard to keep open with a small town. On top of the fact it’s been ill owned a few times. But I digress. I relate to this book because living in this town and having worked in as well I've had my fair share of annoyingly shitty things said to me. I’ve been given crap over the fact I do not drink, I do not like to party. That I keep to myself and do not participate in gossip about others. I have been given shit for keeping to myself as well as the fact I enjoy reading, a lot. Though out of all the dumb things that have been said to me, it’s the fact that when asked if I have children my response is ‘no, and I don’t want them either.’ I get the following ‘oh you're young, you’ll change your mind.’ I get labeled here in this small town with their small town thinking of how everyone should be. That because I'm a female all I am good for is popping out babies and staying at home to do everything. While the only thing a man here is suppose to do is bring home a paycheck. I’ve live in many different places growing up like California and Florida. Never have I ever been made to feel like the black sheep because it doesn't coincide with everyone else. I have lost count of how many people here in relationships that have kids from previous relationships. (Yes I get stuff happens and that is a thing.) But here where I live in the midwest every couple I have met (Family included) that have kids, have at least 1 or more kids from a previous relationship. Reading Moxie I realized that I have seen a lot that backwards, double standard everywhere but worse here in the midwest. That because I am a female I have very little right to anything let alone having a life that doesn't revolve around being married and having kids. I would like to one day be married. But I feel like it’s not the end of the world if I dont get married, I’m to busy enjoying being in the now. I also have thought about it and I do not want the responsibility of having children. I don’t find that having a kid or kids will complete me. I feel hole right now without kids. For me having a kid or kids is a nightmare. I’m fully behind that having a kid or kids should be something someone wants and not because society is telling me that I need to have that to be complete. I never thought and never will think that I am missing anything by not having kids. 

That has been the biggest thing for me since the 12 years I have lived in the midwest for me. But there is so much more I see going on here that just resonated so much with the book Moxie and I wish it would get more recognition

[skarsgard-daydreams]

Voices Carry

Ch. 3: “This Must be the Place”

[ Eins | Zwei | Drei | Vier | Fünf | Sechs | Sieben | Acht | Neun | Zehn | Elf ]

Description: Merkel accepts a job to smuggle a young woman out of East Berlin, and it turns out to be more than he bargained for.

Warnings: smoking, drinking, strong language, poor grasp of the German language, possible historical liberties, probable sexual content in the future

Notes: Glossary at the end. Moodboard here. Thank you for the kind words! They mean the world to me!

When Merkel agreed to take the König job, he never imagined that he would be babysitting the girl at his own apartment. “You wanted to fuck her,” he told Bastian. “She can stay with you.”

But Bastian’s mother had come up from Leipzig unexpectedly, and she couldn’t be trusted to keep a secret. Next, he suggested Sonja, but she was shrewd enough to demand a 40% cut if the girl stayed at her place, and none of the boys were willing to take a hit to their usual shares. Lukas was out. He had taken the Trabant back to his father’s garage to make some modifications after learning that the border guards had new instruments that could detect secret compartments in vehicles. He was supposed to have the car ready for another crossing on Saturday. That left Merkel. Even with the heating out in his apartment, he was the best option, and he knew it. But he made sure to complain enough that they’d all think twice before ever asking him to do it again.

Now Merkel sat in his living room with the girl, a cigarette nestled in between his middle and index finger and a Talking Heads record drowning out the silences between them as he explained that she would be in the West by Sunday. Irina had her arms wrapped around herself. Whether it was from the cold or nervousness, he couldn’t be certain.

“How many times have you done this before?” she asked.

“Hundreds.”

Irina raised a questioning brow. “Successfully?”

Merkel nodded. Though there were a few outliers, in each of those cases, the people they were smuggling had diverged from his explicit instructions. He didn’t count them against his success rate. “If you do exactly what I say, you’ll make it,” he said.

Irina studied him quietly. “Would you do it?” she asked.

Merkel leaned forward and flicked the ashes from his cigarette into the empty coffee mug sitting on the table. “I’m not trying to get out.”

“Yes, but… if you were?” She searched his face as though she’d find the truth hidden in a slight twitch of his lips, or a wrinkle in his brow, but Merkel had no such tells. He brought his cigarette to his lips and took a drag, exhaling slowly.

“I would fake an American passport,” he said at last. And then he made his accent as flat as the plains of the American Midwest and added in English, “But you have to sound like an American, Ja?”

Irina burst into laughter at his attempt. “That was terrible,” she said.

“I know,” Merkel said. A smile played at the corner of his lips. “But I would have a better chance with that than I would trying to fold myself into that little compartment. Fewer broken bones.”

“I’m not so sure about that,” Irina said, but she was smiling.

The opening notes of ‘Naïve Melody’ began to play and Merkel knew the record was almost over. They’d talked enough business for his taste. He made it a point to never discuss his work at home unless it was unavoidable, and on those occasions, he always drowned out the conversation with music to prevent others from overhearing. He snuffed his cigarette out and stood, gathering their coffee mugs and taking them to the kitchen sink.

“You’ll have to hide out here for a few days,” Merkel said as he rinsed their cups out. “The accommodations aren’t great, but…” he paused, searching for some kind of silver lining. Finding none, he shrugged and wiped his hands on a stained kitchen towel. “It’s only a few days.”

Irina nodded, but she seemed far away. Merkel leaned against the kitchen doorframe and watched her silently. He knew that expression well. Years ago, the Western college students who smuggled in paperback copies of A Clockwork Orange and ragged issues of Playboy Magazine always made the same observation about East Berliners: they were a cold, emotionless people. The first person he’d heard make the comment was a haughty American taking a gap year in Germany who got shitfaced on Weisse beer and vomited on a Volkspolizei officer’s shoes outside Bastian’s favorite pub. He’d laughed about Merkel’s stone-faced expression while the officer checked their papers. Merkel thought the American looked more like a caricature than a man the way his face contorted into cartoonish expressions with every passing thought and emotion.

It came as no surprise that the interior life of East Berliners eluded a prick like that. Merkel had become accustomed to looking beyond the surface when reading people. Irina’s expression seemed placid, but it only masked the turbulence within. She occupied herself with picking at a piece of lint on the sleeve of her coat. “You never mentioned my father,” she said softly.

“He only hired us to move one of you,” Merkel said. He stared at the girl for a long moment, and then, against his better judgement, he added, “For now.”

Irina looked up and considered him, her large doe eyes conveying a fragile sense of hope. Guilt twisted in Merkel’s chest, and he found himself wishing he were as icy as the American had believed. The record finally ended.

“Come on,” he said, pushing off from the doorway and showing her into the small bedroom, where the bed was still unmade and the socks and hat from last night still littered the floor. Merkel picked up his laundry and tossed the clothes into a closet stuffed with coats and a few nice shirts. “You can have the bed,” he said. He grabbed a pillow and a thin summer blanket from the pile on the bed. Irina stood in the doorway and gave him the sort of look his mother used to give him right before she’d smack him upside the head with a newspaper.

“Sei kein Idiot,” Irina said. She took the blanket and pillow from him and put them back on the bed, then sat on the edge of the mattress and looked at him sternly.

Merkel shrugged. If she wanted to share the bed, he wouldn’t argue. The sofa was too short for him, anyway. He hung up his coat, disappearing into the bathroom for a few minutes. When he returned, Irina had peeled off her black sweater and stood in front of the window peering out at some commotion in the street below as she undid the clasp of her dark satin bra. Merkel walked over to the window and pulled the blinds aside to look as well. One of his neighbors was walking up the street, boisterously drunk and arguing with another man. He could smell something sweet, like vanilla or almond in Irina’s hair as he leaned over her.

“Don’t worry about them,” he murmured, moving to the edge of the bed and taking off his shoes. Irina draped her bra over the back of a chair and pulled her sweater back on over her head before getting into bed. Merkel drew his long legs up and slipped them under the covers. He folded his arms behind his head and glanced at Irina out of the corner of his eye. If she was bothered by sharing a bed with a strange man, she didn’t show it. She rolled onto her side, facing him, and nestled her cheek against the spare pillow as she burrowed further under the blankets. She caught him looking at her and her face flushed a pale pink that Merkel could barely see in the dark room.

“Gute Nacht,” she said, her tone almost teasing.

Merkel fixed his gaze on the ceiling. “Nacht.”

German Glossary

Sei kein Idiot - don’t be an idiot

Gute Nacht - good night

@skrsgardspam @b-afterhours @flowers-in-your-hayr @bebetriste @bethskarsgard @xluvparis @bskarsgardlove92 @scuba-seamus @goblincxnt @dragsraksllib @upirs @stevesharrlngtons @bethskarsgard​ @jj-lynn21​

[thatgoblin]

Small Town Affairs Chapter 4

Summary: Hazel is an Omega in the small town of Tin Springs, Midwest America. She’s trying to live her life after breaking up with the local sheriff, John Walker, and his mate, Brock Rumlow. New people aren’t something that happens often, but when a new pack comes to town her whole life goes from a small mess to a complete disaster in the best way.

Warnings: Domestic Violence, Assault, Sexual abuse, Himbo Bucky, Misogyny, will update as story goes.

Chapter 4

Peggy gave me the silent treatment that morning and while I wanted to tell her she was being childish over the night before, I didn’t have the energy in me to do it. So, I did my morning routine and got to work with little words exchanged between us. Lunch time rolled around before I knew it. Clint was bringing me food which was the only saving grace of the day so far. I clocked out after letting Peggy know before booking it out the back.

“Hey,” Clint said, as he sat in the patio chair with several take out boxes. “How’s it going today?” He asked as I flopped into the chair opposite of him, groaning as I covered my face with my hands. “That good, huh?”

“Just fantastic,” I huffed before sitting up. “Did you have any trouble at the restaurant?” I asked, looking at the boxes before finding mine. Wait, there were three boxes and three drinks. Who else was there?

“Hello.”

I looked up to see Helmut walking over with a smile as he waved to me. Waving back with a nervous giggle, I wanted the ground to just open up and swallow me whole.

“You have got to be fucking kidding me,” I sighed, giving Clint a dirty look. He looked anywhere but at me as he twiddled his thumbs and whistled as Helmut took a seat next to me. “Hi, how are you?” I asked him, looking to Helmut with a tight smile of my own.

“I’m good. Clint said he was having lunch in town with a friend and asked me to join,” Helmut said, turning to look at Clint as he shot his own dirty look at the blond. “He gave the impression that you knew I would be joining.”

“Funny how he left that part out for me completely,” I said.

“Who’s hungry?” Clint asked with a grin as he opened his box.

“Forgive him, he means well, but I’ve been telling Howard that he should really get him looked at by a psychologist,” Helmut said.

“Hey! I’m perfectly sane!” Clint cried, sitting up. “The military had me tested.”

“It was the American military, it barely counts,” Helmut said, giving me a suffering look. “Poor thing.” I couldn’t help the smile as I giggled while Clint glared at Helmut. Okay, he was funny and good looking. The guy had those points going for him.

“You were in the military?” I asked as Clint stole Helmut’s pickle spear from his sandwich.

“Yes, we all were. Well, almost all of us in the pack,” Clint said. “Howard was a private contractor for a while, selling arms before he stopped developing them and turned his business into a medical research facility.”

“Wait, Howard is Howard Stark? The billionaire, genius, philanthropist Howard Stark?” I choked out.

“Yep, that’s him,” Clint said with a proud grin.

“I gave Howard Stark a lap dance,” I whined, making a face.

“It’s okay, you also gave Helmut a lap dance too,” Clint said, making both me and Helmut choke.

“I swear to god Clint,” I said, glaring at him. “You want to die or something.”

“Howard always says my self preservation is lacking,” he smirked, leaning back in his chair.

“You should definitely work on that,” Helmut said, shaking his head.

“So, military?” I asked, trying to bring things back away from lap dances.

“Yes,” Clint said. “I was in the Marines and went through sniper training, Howard made things go boom, Helmut was a colonel in the Sokovian army, and his mate Bucky was in the US Army with his friend Steve Rogers.”

“Wow, that is a lot of military experience,” I said, raising my brows. “You were a colonel?” I asked, looking at Helmut. “I thought that was like after years of service. Like, many more years than what you look to have.”

“Thank you,” Helmut said with a chuckle. “You are correct in that I am much younger than most colonels, but I went to a military school growing up as well as a military university.”

“He’s also a land Baron,” Clint added. “So, he’s Colonel Baron Helmut Zemo.” My eyes went wide as I looked from Helmut to Clint.

“Seriously?” I asked.

“Yes. I do have a land title back in my home country,” Helmut said with a deep sigh. “Clint, maybe you could allow me to speak for myself before I let it slip about how you started dating Howard as a mission from your former position.

“What?” I asked, grinning as I looked between the two. “Is he serious?”

“I don’t know what he’s talking about. Oh, hey, look at the time. I told my sweet, wonderful mate that I love dearly that we would be back in, well right now. Who knew time could fly so fast?” Clint rambled, chuckling as he looked at his watch.

“I’m not ready to leave yet and I drove,” Helmut said, relaxing back in his seat. “I still have to finish my food as does Hazel.”

“Yeah, I’ve still got at least 10 minutes left of lunch as well,” I said, giving Clint a smirk as I picked at my food.

“Fine, I’ll leave it alone,” he said with a groan.

“Good choice,” Helmut said with a hum. The last bit of lunch was spent talking about the town, how the pack was settling in, and how work was going. It felt refreshingly normal and healthy that I didn’t want it to end.

“Now I should really get back to work before Peggy comes looking for me,” I said, checking my phone. “I had a nice time today though. Thanks for the food, Clint.”

“You’re welcome. I’ll start bringing you lunch everyday if you want. Howard works remotely now from home and it’s mostly just business meetings. I get bored during the day,” Clint said.

“What about you?” I asked Helmut. “You wanna start coming everyday for lunch too?”

“As much as I would love to, I cannot. Unlike Clint, I have a job,” Helmut said with a chuckle.

“Oh yeah? What do you do?” I asked, gathering the trash.

“I make and sell sculptures,” Helmut said. “I most often use clay as my medium. I find it therapeutic. As does my mate, Bucky.”

“Bucky’s your mate?” I asked, freezing up a bit. Fuck. “I mean, you two look good together,” I said, shaking it off and smiling. Of course, the one guy I started to like was already taken.

“I’ll be in the car,” Clint said, quickly exiting the situation.

“He is, but we’ve been discussing for a while about opening up our relationship to someone we both were interested in,” Helmut said once Clint was gone, shifting in his seat. Oh no. Oh no, no, no. There was no way I could have another relationship with two Alphas. Everything in me panicked and I didn’t even realize that I was shaking till Helmut touched my hand. “Hazel? What’s wrong?”

“Look, uh, it was nice meeting you again. Properly this time,” I said, jerking away as I stood up. “I’m sure Clint is waiting for you in the car-”

“Hazel, wait,” Helmu said, standing up as well. He wasn’t demanding or accerting Alpha scents, that was what made me stop. “Please, I did not mean to offend or presume.”

“What did you mean then?” I asked, crossing my arms over my chest as I involuntarily shrank myself as much as I could.

“I meant I would like to pursue you as a romantic partner, but if that is not something you would like, then I would very much like to be your friend,” Helmut said. “Even if it means that we never become more.” Could I do that? He seemed genuine and unlike any other Alpha I’d dated before, he wasn’t trying to force it or bargain with me for what he wanted. He was concerned with what I wanted and what I needed. But John had been like that at first too. Brock not so much, but John had been a friend first too.

I wanted to trust Clint that he wouldn’t let someone close to me that was like John or Brock. Unlike John or Brock though, I didn’t live with Helmut and Bucky, so I had a place to go if things went south. Maybe. . . Maybe it was time to try to move on in some way from my wrecked past.

“Okay,” I said with a nod, relaxing. “Friends. Even if nothing happens. I could always use a few more of those.”

“Thank you. I assure you, friends are good to have,” he said, smiling again.

“Especially if they’re Baron’s,” I said, chuckling as he rolled his eyes. “I do need to get going though. It was nice seeing you again and having actual time to talk to you.”

“I agree,” Helmut said with a hum. “Here, before I forget. I’ll give you my number and you can message me to talk or spend time together.” He started to dig in his pocket for pen and paper before I stopped him.

“Here, just put your number in my phone,” I said. He nodded, offering me his. We exchanged numbers before handing the phone’s back. “Send me pictures of your sculptures. I wanna see them.”

“Of course,” Helmut said. “Would it be okay if I gave you a hug?” An Alpha was asking if they could hug an Omega? The panic from earlier began to feel unneeded as he was proving to be a totally different person than who I was used to dealing with.

“Yeah, I’d like a hug,” I said, my cheeks flushing a bit as we stepped closer. Helmut wrapped his arms around my shoulders, resting his chin on them as I wrapped my arms around his middle. Our bodies slotted together so easily and his scent had me nuzzling against his chest. It was the most content moment with another person that I’d had in so long that I swear I would have jumped into his arms to be carried away to nest if he’d asked.

I could have stayed there all day, but I knew I had to get back to work. Slowly, I pulled away, his arms sliding down mine to grasp my hands and give them a squeeze.

“I’ll message you later,” I said, feeling a dopey smile spread over my face. “Be safe getting home. Tell Bucky I said Hi.”

“I will. Have a good day at work,” Helmut said, slowly shuffling away. At the back door, I gave him one last look before heading back inside.

Oh, he was something else.

“About time you came back from lunch,” Peggy said from her register.

“Sorry, got uh. . . Got caught up in something,” I said, logging back into my register and time card.

“What is that?” She asked, looking around confused before walking over to me. “Is that. . . Did an Alpha scent you?”

“No, we just hugged,” I said, unable to hide the smile.

“It was the bearded one, yes? From the other day?” She asked, leaning in to keep our voices down so no one could eavesdrop.

“Yeah. His name’s Helmut and he’s from Sokovia,” I said. “We’re not. . . Doing anything really. We’re friends. That’s it. It’s what I’m comfortable with.”

“Well, good for you,” she said. “You deserve a bit of happiness. Just let me know if he turns into a prick and I’ll make sure he disappears.”

“Peggy!” I gasped, grinning at her. “Thank you though, I appreciate the thought.”

“Oh, it’s not a thought, I have a tractor with a, what do you call it, a backhoe. No one will find him,” she said, looking at me over her glasses.

“Remind me not to piss you off,” I snorted. The sudden moment between us was comforting, showing me that things weren’t ruined. “Look, about last night, I’m sorry I got awful. I was stressed and money is tight, and a lot of pent mental nonsense from the last few years kinda blew up all at once.”

“I shouldn’t have assumed all that I did,” she said with a sigh. “It’s easy to believe what everyone else does and not question how things are. I also shouldn’t have pushed on the subject. I overstepped boundaries and that may have been some maternal instincts. You’re like family to me and I want you to be happy and healthy, so that may have come across less than helpful. If you need some help with anything, just let me know, even if it’s just to have a cup of tea and some quiet time in the garden. I’ll even scrounge up biscuits as well.”

“Between you and Clint, I’m going to be forced out of my hermit routine,” I said, chuckling as I shook my head.

“Good,” Peggy said. “You need to get out of that routine. Just because it’s safe doesn’t mean it’s healthy.”

“I know. I’m having lunch with people and not hiding behind the building anymore,” I said.

“You’re still behind the building, you just have company,” she said with a smirk.

“Yeah, yeah. Baby steps,” I said, rolling my eyes.

“Just don’t shut everyone out anymore. Even if it’s not me, Clint is a nice person and it seems so is the rest of the pack. Let someone, anyone in,” she said, moving towards the office, pausing to give my shoulder a squeeze. “I know it's been hard since Ethan left, but you have to take care of yourself too.”

“I’ll do my best,” I said, giving her hand a squeeze back. The mention of that name made my chest tight and I felt the air knocked out of me slightly. She was right though, since Ethan moved out of state I’d shut down and relied on John and Brock solely till recently. It was time to change that.

“Good, now get back to work, you lazy git,” Peggy smirked, walking back to the office.

“Rude!” I gasped, laughing at her wink.

At least things were back to normal, if not better, between us. I felt less burden and with Clint basically declaring that I was his lunch partner I was a little less on my own. Did it scare me to open up again? Oh fuck did it, but it was better for me and I didn’t feel that constant hovering of dread. Well, as much as I used to. Yeah, it was better and I could only hope that it kept going up.

Of course the universe had to say no.

At the end of the day when I was home and making dinner when Nick got back to me.

[Nick SMS]: Sorry, Haze. We don’t have any more positions for servers or dancers. If something opens up, I’ll let you know.

The urge to hurl my phone at the wall was great, but my lack of money to replace it was greater.

[Hazel SMS]: Thanks anyways, Nick. Keep me in the loop in case something happens. I’ll be by later this week to get my stuff from my locker.

My options were dwindling and the more I thought about it the more depressed I became. What was I going to do?

[alvie-pines]

AmeLiet — Ghost Tolys AU

Recently, I came up with the idea of America’s love interest being a ghost (his biggest fear), and almost immediately, this AU was born! My friend Amber and I have developed it a lot since then; staying up until 2 am talking about Hetalia will do that. 

So first, the setting: 

We haven’t chosen a specific town for the story to be set in yet, but we’re thinking it’s gotta be a small-ish midwestern town. It will probably be in Kansas. The time is around 2015--so no 2020 madness. 

The story follows Alfred, who moves out of his dad (Arthur)’s house in Minnesota (more on that later) at 19 and moves to a small town in the midwest. He buys an old house for cheap on the outskirts of the town; it was built before the Great Depression, maybe late 1800s. Within a month of living there, Alfred starts to notice odd things happening. His items are moved from where he put them; his room appears tidier than when he’d left; misplaced objects turn up on the kitchen counter more often than not. Alfred, with his paranoid fear of ghosts, assumes the worst and freaks out. He probably calls Matthew and cries to him about it, begging him to come down from Canada and help him get the ghost out. (Matthew says no way, and it’s probably not even a ghost!) 

After a little while he calms down, but he’s still on the alert. Every time he notices something has been moved, he becomes afraid to touch it, which is quite troublesome. 

Everything continues (rather turbulently, with Alfred living in fear) for a little while longer, until one day, while he’s working on something upstairs, he hears a loud crash from the kitchen. Of course, he’s too afraid to go investigate it, but a few hours later, when he finally goes downstairs, he finds the dirty dishes that he’d let pile up cleaned and dried! One plate has been dropped and broken, the pieces of which have been placed on the counter. 

He realizes that this ghost was... doing his dishes? 

Thinking back, everything else the ghost has done has been helpful rather than malicious. It returned his lost items, rather than stealing them. Maybe he’s been... misjudging it? 

This continues for a while, and I will keep some specific details to myself in case I ever want to write a fic--and eventually they form a sort of relationship where, even though they’ve never talked, Tolys helps with things around the house and in return, Alfred tries not a scream when he catches glimpses of a blurry, faded-out humanoid figure walking around the house. 

Eventually, they become chill enough with each other that Alfred can see Tolys more often and more clearly; sometimes Tolys can even talk to him. From there, their relationship slowly blooms into something more... 

Tolys’ backstory: 

Tolys was an American-Lithuanian immigrant who died during the Great Depression. He was born in Lithuania in 1906. From his late teens onward, he worked for a Russian man named Ivan Braginsky*, who paid him little, and mistreated him and the other servants in the house. At the age of 22, he fled to America looking for work; little did he know, within the next few years, the Great Depression would hit and render his choice fatal. Tolys died in 1832, just a year before the economy would have repaired itself. 

*Not Russia. Ivan will make some appearances in the story, but he is the great-grandson of the person Tolys worked for.

FACE family backstory: 

Arthur and Francis married and moved to America, where they adopted two twin boys who were only a year old. However, soon afterwards, their marriage began to turn sour. They fought often, and by the time the twins were 7, it culminated in a messy divorce. Arthur was able to keep custody of both Alfred and their home in Minnesota, while Francis took Matthew to live across the border in Canada. (This is how I got all of their accents to make sense.) Alfred and Matthew visited each others’ houses every month (alternating who went to which house) and Francis and Arthur begrudgingly agreed to alternate who got the kids on holidays. Despite their separation, Matt and Al managed to have a somewhat normal relationship growing up. 

I plan to have an important arc where Tolys sees (current-day) Ivan and has a ghostly breakdown, mistakenly thinking it’s the man he worked for. This will be where his backstory is first revealed, and it will also become a catalyst for Francis and Arthur’s relationship to improve, tho how that happens is a huge spoiler. 

I have more to elaborate on, but I’ll stop here for now; but feel free to ask me about: Tolys’ life, Ivan in general, the Baltics, FACE family dynamics, AmeLiet falling in love, or more plot points. I’ve thought about all of these and have answers to your questions!! I just don’t want this post to get too long and clog up the dash.

[flowerfan2]

Private Time

I’ve been reading and writing (and living with) so much angst lately, I decided to indulge in some silly, sexy funtimes with a fandom I haven’t visited in a while.  Enjoy.

Klaine, 2k, A03.

Summary:  Living with his grad student roommates in quarantine, private time is hard to come by...

Blaine is generally very happy living in the somewhat rickety four-bedroom house he shares with three other grad students.  It’s not too far from school, it’s got a workable washer and dryer in the basement, and the kitchen was renovated sometime in the past twenty years so it’s perfectly adequate for making whatever quick meals he manages to scrounge together after class.

But boy, are the walls thin.

This hasn’t been a problem until recently, when COVID-19 struck.  School has gone online, but unlike the undergrads, Blaine and his roommates have a lease and all of them decided to endure the quarantine here in Somerville, Massachusetts rather than go home.  According to Kurt, Somerville may not be where he wants to end up, but it’s far better than the Midwest town he grew up in and he has no desire to weather the quarantine back in Lima.

Thanks to the quarantine, Blaine has learned this and many more facts about his flatmates  – and yes, they have all taken to calling it a flat, after an evening which started out with teasing Sam about how he likes to talk with a fake British accent turned into one of the most carefree nights Blaine has had in a long time.  Apparently all it took was a few bottles of cheap wine and a defrosted cheesecake from Star Market to loosen them all up.

 “We’re proper mates, now,” Sam had announced, waving his arms and nearly knocking over a lamp in the process.  By the time they had all wandered off to bed, Blaine had learned that Kurt’s favorite singer was Lady Gaga, that Rachel had taken a year off from school to film a television pilot, and that Sam played the guitar rather well, as long as it was country music.

 Blaine has liked Sam since they met playing intramural soccer in the fall.  So when Sam mentioned last month that they had a spare bedroom, Blaine quickly took him up on the offer.  Blaine’s previous apartment was lonely and smelled like something had died in the ceiling, so it was really a no brainer.

 What had caught Blaine by wonderful, wonderful surprise, however, was that Kurt Hummel was one of Sam’s roommates.  Blaine had seen Kurt perform in a production of Macbeth back in October, and had been mesmerized by the man’s performance.  It hadn’t even occurred to him that Kurt was a regular grad student just like he was, not until Sam gave him the tour of the house and Kurt waved to him from the kitchen where he was gossiping with Rachel over skinny margaritas.

 With just a smile and a nod and an agreement to take his turn putting out the trash, Blaine gained three roommates, including the guy he had been crushing on for months.  Not bad for a Wednesday.

 Much to Blaine’s dismay, simply moving into the house didn’t result in any quality time with Kurt. Between school and performances Kurt was hardly ever home, and Blaine’s schedule studying history and music theory was hardly better.  Since the stay at home order was put in place, however, it’s a whole new world. Now the four of them can hardly get away from each other.

 For the first two weeks of their enforced togetherness, everyone was on their best behavior, and the drama of it all gave them a shared sense of adventure.  Kurt sewed them all homemade masks, Blaine carefully organized grocery trips to minimize time in the stores, Sam tried to get them to adopt home fitness routines, and Rachel kept them apprised of the most interesting celebrity bits to watch on You Tube.

 But they are entering into week three of the quarantine, and the novelty is wearing off.  For one thing, Rachel has been getting more and more demanding about household details (she is constantly editing the chore wheel and claiming someone else did it), and while Kurt generally has acted as peacemaker when confronted with Rachel’s whims, even he seems to be getting tired of it. Sam hasn’t done his laundry at all since they got locked in, and Blaine is running out of hair gel.  Kurt has taken to cleaning the fridge so often that Rachel accused him of stealing cleaning supplies and rubber gloves from health care workers.

 They are all becoming short-tempered and irritable.  Blaine even catches himself snapping at Kurt, which is the last thing he wants to do. He’s worried that by the time the quarantine lifts, Kurt will never want to speak to him again, let alone date him.

 Blaine has a few tried and true strategies for when he gets like this, but none of them are working. Sam insists on running with him every time he goes out, and his well intentioned chatter prevents Blaine from finding any escape.  He can’t let off steam by boxing, because his gym is closed.  And as for the things he really knows would do the trick, especially after an afternoon of watching Kurt do ballet stretches in yoga pants, well… the walls of their apartment are very, very thin.

 Blaine knows this because Sam apparently feels no shame in indulging in his own solo activities. It’s easy to hear him, even from across the hall.  Given that Blaine’s bedroom shares a wall with Kurt’s, there’s no way Blaine’s going to risk Kurt hearing anything of the sort from Blaine’s room.

 Towards the end of the third week, Rachel calls a roommate meeting.  Blaine has just finished an endless zoom call with his research supervisor, and he feels like his eyes are going to pop out of his head if he doesn’t get his contacts out soon.  But Rachel insists, so they all gather in the sitting room, Sam and Blaine on the lumpy brown couch, and Kurt sitting on the edge of an armchair, looking to Blaine like he could be posing in a fashion magazine.

 “Thank you for coming,” Rachel begins, as if they had any real choice in the matter.  She launches into an overview of their past few roommate meetings, and brings up an excel spreadsheet on her computer, on which she has apparently made further edits to the chore wheel.

 Blaine tries not to be distracted by the way the asymmetrical neckline of Kurt’s cashmere sweater drapes over his collarbone when he leans forward to look at Rachel’s chart.

 “So I decided on Saturdays, Tuesdays, and Thursdays,” Rachel says, looking around the room for approval.   Blaine realizes he has lost the plot completely, but luckily he’s not the only one.

 “Wait, what?”  Sam asks.  Kurt has found a nail file somewhere and isn’t paying much attention either, but his mouth quirks up at little at Sam’s question, so he’s probably glad Sam is taking the blame for this one too.

 Rachel lets out a long suffering sigh, and places an Amazon box on the table.  “As I said, I haven’t been able to use the practice rooms for weeks now, and my vocal production is suffering.  I need to be able to focus properly on allowing my voice to soar over my accompaniment at its expected volume, without having to censor myself.”

 Sam still looks confused, and Rachel glares at him.  “I need to listen to loud music, and sing loudly, ok?  So I got these for all of us.”

 Sam frowns.  “I don’t mind if you sing, Rach.”

 Rachel’s hands clench at her sides.  “It’s not about you, it’s about me.”  Kurt coughs not indiscreetly into his hand, but Blaine doesn’t quite catch what he says. “I need you all to wear these, for an hour, three times a week.  I’ve clearly marked this as private time on our schedule, from 11 to midnight, Saturdays, Tuesdays, and Thursdays.”

 “But what if-“

 “Sam, let it go,” Kurt says. “We’re all missing <I>private time</I> these days.”  Kurt stands up and smooths his hands down his skin tight jeans.  “It’s fine with me, Rachel.”

 Blaine stands up too, and peers into the box, then takes out a set of headphones.  They are high end noise-cancelling models, clearly expensive, and probably quite effective.  “These are great, Rachel.  Thanks. But you didn’t have to do this. I’m sure we could have worked something out so you could practice.”

 Rachel glares at him now too, and tosses her hair over her shoulder.  “I <i>have</i> worked it out.  

Private time commences at eleven o’clock on each designated night.  I expect you all to go to your rooms, and wear the headsets.  It’s the least we can do to help preserve our collective mental health during this trying time.  Do I have your agreement?”

 They all agree, and Rachel smirks, satisfied.  Blaine chalks it up to roommate harmony and sets about seeing what he can make for dinner out of tortillas, one cucumber, and three apples (answer:  nothing,  they eat frozen pizza).

 Later that evening, he and Sam are on the couch trying to find something to watch on Netflix. Suddenly Sam leans over and slaps Blaine on the shoulder.

 “Ow, Sam, what was that for?”

 “I know why Rachel got the headphones for us,” Sam announces, grinning crazily,  “It���s so she can have a wank!”

 Blaine attributes Sam’s ongoing affinity for British slang to the amount of Sherlock fanfic he’s been reading lately, but now really isn’t the time to get into it.

He reflexively starts to deny it, but then he realizes with a flush of embarrassment that Sam is probably right.  Sam watches his face and his grin gets even bigger.

 “She’s kind of a genius, isn’t she?”  Sam grabs a set of headphones and bounds away up the stairs.

 “Sam,” Blaine calls out, wanting to remind him that it’s Monday, and therefore no private time is scheduled.  Not that it’s stopped Sam before.

 The next night Rachel reminds them all after dinner that private time will begin precisely at eleven o’clock.  After a group viewing of the first episode of Deadwater Fell (during which Blaine divided his attention between watching David Tennant, watching Kurt, and watching Kurt watch David Tennant), Rachel checks the time on her phone and orders them all upstairs.  At five minutes to eleven, she screams “put your headphones on,” and slams the door to her bedroom.

 Blaine thinks this is all fairly ridiculous, but he puts on the headphones anyway, and settles on his bed with his laptop.  He surfs around for a while, finding clips of some noteworthy Shakespeare productions (okay, fine, it’s Benedict Cumberbatch playing Hamlet), but then his mind starts to wander. Being cooped up with his roommates has been… constraining… for him too, and maybe he should go ahead and take advantage of the private time Rachel has arranged for them.

 Blaine makes himself more comfortable and slides a hand down his body, wondering if his roommates are doing the same.  Wondering, especially, if Kurt is doing the same.  He unzips his fly and takes himself in hand, letting out a long sigh at the sensation – and then freezing when he hears himself.  Blaine quickly realizes that as he got comfortable on the bed, the headphones had slipped off his ears.

 And if he can hear himself, what if Kurt can hear him too?

 Any interest in solo activities leaves him in a flash, and Blaine quickly zips himself up and plants his feet on the floor.  He makes sure the headphones are properly situated on his ears, and spends the remaining twenty minutes of private time organizing his sock drawer.

 The next morning his roommates seem downright cheery, and Blaine starts to regret his nerves.  It would have been nice to get a little relief from the stress of quarantine, even at the risk of potential embarrassment. Maybe he just needs to be quieter, next time.

 Thursday night Blaine fluffs his pillows and arranges himself on the bed face down, so that any noise he makes will be muffled.  This turns out to be a brilliant idea, and he has quite a good time imagining that Kurt is underneath him, writhing and squirming and rutting against him, all long lines and warm skin.  It’s not a pillow stifling his cries, it’s Kurt’s wet mouth…

 When Blaine finally comes to, he feels a little guilty, but he’s more relaxed than he’s been in weeks. Maybe he’ll get through this quarantine after all.

[hopeshoodie]

So I’m about to expose myself as a dumb Amercian who knows nothing about Britain (other than that Jonathan Sims is sexy), but here’s my headcanons for where characters from litg would move to if they lived in the US. 

If you don’t care about the US stay for the moodboards :) 

Lottie

I know it’s canon that she moves to New York, but that’s boring. I think she’d end up in San Francisco or LA. There’s more entertainment focused industry there, and I can see her being a makeup artist that works with celebrities and influencers.

Noah

He’s a sensible dude who just wants to find a welcoming community and help others, and I think he’s less invested in living in a city. He’d move to the midwest because the cost of living is low and it’s a safe place to start a family. Anywhere in the midwest would do, but I want him somewhere beautiful so I say western Wisconsin/eastern Minnesota

Gary

He’d need to be in a big city to keep consistent work, but I don’t see him in a MASSIVE city. So he’d end up somewhere like Columbus (Ohio) or Denver (Colorado). He and MC still want a safe and quiet home and a community to contribute to though, so they definitely move to the suburbs.

Priya

Love of my life, the most beautiful girl in the world. She’d move to St. Petersburg, Florida. She loves the heat, the beach scene, it’s close to Tampa (and only a 2 hr drive to Orlando), plus there’s a thriving art scene. She’s absolutely going to meet a dreamy modern artist boy and fall in love. 

Henrik

I shouldn’t even have to say it, but Pacific Northwest FOR SURE. He and MC settle down in Troutdale, Oregon. Henrik can work Broughton Bluff, and they’re basically surrounded by national forests. It’s even close enough to Vancouver and Portland that MC can still have a career. 

Rahim

Obviously he travels a lot for work, but I think when he’s home it’s a condo he rents in Chicago. Jo/MC might have a real apartment that they stay in full time somewhere else, but they always spend time in the condo when Rahim’s home.

Chelsea

I want Chelsea somewhere warm, vibrant, and welcoming. I feel bad that I keep putting everyone in California but that’s what the villa reminds me of and it’s hard to contextualize people who really vibe in the villa going back to normal like in like... Idaho. But I don’t picture Chelsea in a big city, I think she commutes quite a ways to work. So I put her in Walnut Creek, CA. It’s a super cute city with a population of only around 70k and it’s super close to San Francisco, San Jose, and Sacramento. 

Lucas

I actually had to look up where physiotherapists work because I have no idea where Lucas would have to move. Turns out they make the most in Washington state and New York- but I don’t see Lucas there. I think he needs somewhere with a little prestige and a high population of wealthy people, so he’s moving to Massachusetts. I get that New England vibe from him, anyways. He’s going to work with American Football teams because America’s a nightmare and we pay people affiliated with sports triple what we pay normal doctors so uhhhhh.... He and MC would buy a townhouse on the water near the outskirts of a major city. That way they can do the fine arts/galas/entertainment of a bigger city while still being able to own their space.

Bobby

This one was hard because Bobby would genuinely be happy wherever MC wants to be? I don’t think he minds living in the city, but he’d certainly thrive in a smaller community where he could build relationships with everyone and look after people. I think he’d slip into the ‘PTA dad and community support uncle’ role really well. After a lot of searching, he’d thrive in Ocean Springs, Mississippi. The population is only around 20 thousand, it’s known for its food and art culture (which means Bobby’s Boops is a go). It’s also right on the golf coast, which means plenty of swimming and beach days alongside the lowkey small town life.

Marisol

Marisol’s super ambitious, wants to be surrounded by other smart and successful people, and wants to actually make a different in the world. As much as it hurts MC and her’s finances, she works in Washington DC. Obviously they can’t live within the city, so they buy a flat about a 45 minutes commute away (on a good day...). Marisol works for a large firm in the corporate district whilst MC stays closer to home and works in PA. 

Carl

This one’s a no brainer- silicon valley. He and MC are vibing in San Francisco, renting out a gentrified loft apartment.

Hope

Forget Lottie being in New York, Hope is the one who lives and thrives in New York. She loves the corporate culture, all the networking opportunities, being surrounded by business people, and the hustle and bustle of the city.